#the signed ones are apparently taking longer to ship out BUT I WANT CARD

[antarctic-empires]

Staring down my e-mails WHERE ARE MY HERMITCRAFT TCG CARDS

[magpie-to-the-morning]

On Fire from Within

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Tags: Self-Indulgent, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, the helmet comes off, Blindfolds, Sex Pollen, Dirty talk, Mostly in Mando’a, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, PiV Sex, Din is soft and a mess, and so am I, so much Mando'a because I cannot be stopped, Please let me know if I missed anything

Summary: Reader is a newish crew member on the Razor Crest. She was helping out on a bounty hunting mission when she got hit with a laced dart at a shady brothel. It's a sex pollen fic lads, you know how this goes!

Read on Ao3

“Fuck,” you swore softly, pulling a small barb from the back of your neck. It’s only a little thing, a geometric pattern of angles and sharp points. Odd for a piece of shrapnel, but surely nothing to worry about. The small wound wouldn’t be worth the Bacta gel. You tossed it away before walking up the ramp into the Crest.

“Everything ok?” Mando stepped away from the controls of the carbonite chamber. You hadn’t realized he was so close, and startled when you heard the question crackling through his modulator.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. That bastard frozen yet?”

“Just about.”

“Good. That place made me want to scrub the inside of my skin.” You’d just finished helping Mando drag a bounty out of a local bar running an illegal “pleasure house.” It certainly hadn’t deserved the name, and you were more than happy to provide an initial distraction so Mando could come in for the kill. (The metaphorical kill, sadly. You would have been happy to leave the owner of that awful establishment a smoking crater on the floor of his bar, but apparently that was “not following the brief” and “wouldn’t bring in as much money for fuel.” Pfft). There had been a little static on the way out, and you assume that’s when you’d picked up that bit of metal. “I’m going to hit the refresher, unless you need it first?”

The bounty hunter shook his head and moved towards the ramp. “No. I’m going to trade in the puck and get us out off this rock. You go ahead.”

--

You checked the controls of the shower. Again. You’re sweating, and as much as you try, you can’t get the water cold enough to soothe your burning skin. You arch your back, moaning when the stretching movement sends a dart of pleasure straight to your aching cunt. Fuck, why are you such a mess all of a sudden? You slip a hand between your legs and are shocked to discover that you are already dripping wet. You rub the back of your neck and it hits you- that wasn’t shrapnel. It must have been a dart laced with something, and knowing the type of place you were in, you’d bet any amount of credits it was a nasty aphrodisiac. “Those bastards…”

You drag your hands through your hair and take a steadying breath. Ok, you can handle this, pull yourself together… Nice empty ship and a hot shower. Nothing you haven’t done before. You let your hands drift lower, massaging your breast and tweaking an already pert nipple. You’re already so close…

__

An hour later and you’re sobbing from want. Why can’t you just. Fucking. Come already? You’ve tried everything, every fantasy, every technique or touch, and nothing. You try again, stroking your clit and spiraling towards release before it slips away again, a jolt of pain rebounding through you. “Damn it!”

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You freeze. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed, of course Mando is back. What had he heard? “Um, nothing, it’s fine!” You wince at how falsely this rings, even to you.

There’s a pause. “Open the door.”

“… no? I’m not-“

“Open the door. Or I will break it down.”

Shit. You have a second to grab a towel before the door clangs open. Mando is through the door and into the tiny room in an instant, hand on his blaster. He checks all the corners which, takes about 2 seconds, before turning that implacable, visored gaze on you. “What’s going on with you?”

“Jeez, Mando, I-“ you try to bluff your way out of it for a moment before giving it up for lost. Even if you could explain away everything else, you know your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes will give you away. “Fine, just, promise you won’t laugh?”

“Is something funny?”

“No, it really isn’t.” You sigh. “So, I didn’t realize until we got back to the ship, but someone back at that hole in the wall hit me with some kind of dart. I think it was drugged.”

“Show me.”

“I chucked it just before I got on board, but this is where it hit.” You pull your wet hair back to show him the mark on your neck. Mando crosses the floor in one step, and you feel one of his gloved hands steady your shoulder as he takes a closer look. That small touch is enough to drive you wild, and you bite back a groan, leaning into his touch.

“Dank ferrik.” Mando pulls his hands away like he’s been burned, and your cheeks flame again, this time in embarrassment. “There are red marks at the injection site. I’ve, uh.. I’ve seen this before.”

You grit your teeth, finding it easier to talk about when you’re not looking at him. “It hurts, Mando and I can’t make it stop. How long am I going to feel like this?”

“Until it runs its course. Usually, a few hours. And it will get worse.”

You swear again, tears of frustration slipping down your cheeks. Mando stands there for a moment, flexing his hands and looking unsure of what to say. Finally, you hear a deep breath and, “let me help you.”

You startle, sure you’ve heard him wrong. It’s only been a few months since you signed on as his only crew member, a live-in mechanic and occasional extra pair of hands for certain bounties. You’d thought about it, of course. At first you’d seen this as just another short term gig. Some light repair work, the odd stint of standing lookout or patching up his wounds or acting as a distraction for a tricky bounty. The longer you spent with him though, the longer you started to see the man beneath the armor, his dark humor, his unexpected kindness, his tendency to throw himself into harm’s way for the sake of a code you can’t begin to understand. Stars, and that voice… but you knew he would never return those feelings. The idea of him offering himself to you now, out of pity or worse, obligation…

“No.” You move to shoulder past him.

He grabs your wrist. “Look, Y/N, I know I may not be your first choice but-“

You whirl around to glare at him. “Not my- damn it, Mando!” You kick the waste bin in sheer frustration. “I’ve wanted you for weeks and just because I don’t want you to feel cornered into sleeping with me you have the fucking gall-“

“Close your eyes.”

You blink in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“Do it. Now.” You shiver at the steel in his voice and comply without another thought.

There’s a soft hiss, and the clang of metal set down on metal. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t… You start in surprise, feeling his leather-clad fingers cup your face and tip your chin up. “Are you sure you want this?”

You laugh, a little shakily, amazed to hear how deep and rough his unmodulated voice still is. “Are you?”

The next thing you know, he’s got you backed up against that wall. You gasp, reaching to pull him closer. His mouth slides over yours, lips warm and surprisingly plush. You deepen the kiss and moan, needing so much more. He responds by reaching down, pulling you up to straddle his waist. Trapped between the wall and a cage of Beskar, you’ve never felt freer. You card your fingers through his hair, marveling at the curls under your hands. Mando gasps, already sounding ragged. “How do you want me?”

You drag your nails down his scalp and lick your way up the column of his throat. You taste salt and pant into his ear, “in the cockpit chair.”

Mando groans. “You have been thinking about this, haven’t you, sweet girl?”

“Less talk. More chair sex.”

He huffs a laugh against your neck and pulls you from the wall, carrying you through the ship like you don’t weigh a thing. You make it through the corridor, with only a few brief stops against walls and doorways. Mando sets you down once you reach the cockpit and you whine at the lack of his touch, but still keep your eyes closed. He kisses your forehead. “Patience, sweet girl.” You give up the last shreds of your dignity and moan, rubbing your thighs together. “Can’t, I need you to touch me now.” You hear a few soft clinks, and realize Mando is removing his armor, piece by piece. Not wanting to be outdone, you toss your towel aside. Your eyes are still shut tight, but you add a hand to cover them, afraid you’ll forget yourself. You may not understand his beliefs, but you are damn sure going to respect them, even now.

There’s startle at a ripping sound, and Mando asking “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Good. Keep your eyes closed.” Mando pulls your hand away, pressing a kiss to your palm before knotting a blindfold around your eyes. You feel yourself pulled down to his lap. You twine your arms around his neck and lower yourself until you’re straddling his hips, grinding as close to him as you can.

“Tell me what you need.”

“Touch me.”

He’s eager to comply, and you shiver as you feel his hands (his hands, not the gloves, stars) skim up your sides. Mando cups the back of your head, drawing you closer as he kisses and licks his way into your mouth. You immediately open your lips to his, stroking his tongue with your own, teasing the roof of his mouth to egg him on. You’re rewarded with a small groan, and Mando palming your left breast. He strokes your nipple with his thumb, rolling and pinching it to make you arch your back. “What else?”

“Maker, that’s so good… talk to me, Mando, don’t stop touching me.”

“Never, mesh’la.” Mando rolls his hips and makes you squirm against him. You can feel his arousal, pressed so close to your own, separated only by the canvas of his trousers. You mewl and buck your hips against him.

“Oh gods, yes…”

Mando chuckles as your breath speeds up. “You’re so gorgeous, Y/N, going to take such good care of you. Going to make this so good for you.”

He bends his head and sucks one of your nipples into his warm mouth, and you nearly black out. The sheer relief of such a touch when you need it so badly nearly undoes you completely. “Mando…”

“Din.” The word is muffled against your chest, and you have to ask “what?”

He rests his forehead against shoulder. “My name, Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you taste the short name, adding it to what you’ve learned about this man. This capable, dangerous, surprisingly gentle Mandalorian. How can such a hard man be so… This train of thought is interrupted as another wave of desire bowls you over, making you shudder with need and pain. “I need more, Din, please…”

You don’t even need to finish that thought before you feel his rough, calloused fingers drifting down your belly and lower, lower… You lean back to give him easier access, his other arm coming to rest around your waist, holding you up. You gasp when he strokes your folds. “Me’bana? You’re so wet, mesh’la. Is this all for me?” He doesn’t wait for a response before slowly fucking two of his fingers deep inside you, dragging the pads over your G-spot over and over. He’s a quick learner, adapting to touch you harder or softer, quicker or slower, as you gasp and buck your hips. “So good for me, so wet and ready. Do you want me to make you come?”

“Yes, yes, please Din, I’m so close…” you whine.

Din rubs your clit while fucking his fingers into you. He bites down on your earlobe, whispering, “Then come for me, cyare.”

You do. You cry out as you feel yourself coming apart under his hands, your hips thrashing despite you as you moan and call out his name. When you drift back to yourself, you’re grateful for his supporting hold as waves of pleasure continue to roll through you. Din strokes you through all of it, only backing off when your breathing slows and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

__

You exhale slowly, taking stock after that release. “That was… whew…” Now that you have a moment to think clearly again, you can feel your mind spinning up to overthink this. Will you ever be able to look at your employer (partner? friend?) again? Not that you can ever look him in the eye anyway, but what if he’s completely disgusted with you after this? Your racing thoughts pause when you hear what can only be Din sucking your slick from his fingers.

“Maker, you taste as good as I hoped you would.” Thoughts: gone. Brain: empty. There can’t be any room for overthinking when your head is suddenly full of HE THOUGHT ABOUT TASTING ME?! “How do you feel?”

You force yourself to consider this. You can already feel the fire in your core roaring back to life. “Good, but, I can already feel it ramping back up.” You blush. “Not that I didn’t… I totally did, but.. sorry…”

“Shh, k’uur. I get it. Just relax and let me take care of you.” He stands up, depositing you gently in his seat. You only have a moment to wonder at this sudden shift before feeling him kneel down in front of you. Without even thinking about it, you let your legs fall open to him. “That’s it, sweet girl, let me see that pretty pussy.”

If you weren’t already positive you were running a fever, that would have tipped you over the edge. Din runs his hands up your thighs, his breath ghosting over your throbbing core. “Ibac’ner. Ni copaanir dinuir gar ner lalat akay gar jair.” Is he… praying? You’re past the point of caring, all you want is for him to stop sucking marks into your inner thigh and finally move to where you need him most. You nearly scream when he drags his tongue up your slit. He flattens his tongue against you, humming appreciatively as your roll your hips. He wraps his arms around your thighs suddenly, jerking you closer towards him. “Jatisyc, ni larayc teh gar.”

You are glad of the blindfold because you are so far beyond controlling your face. Din’s tongue feels like it is everywhere at once, tonguing your cunt like it was your mouth one second, then laving your clit the next. You curl your toes and howl when he sucks your clit into his mouth and you feel the barest hint of teeth around you. “So close, so close” you chant, reaching down to hold his head right where you need it.

Din releases your clit, licking circles around it instead. “You liked that, didn’t you cyare? Do you like it a little rough?”

You shudder, thrilled to have been caught out so soon. “Gods, yes.”

Din chuckles and you hope you haven’t slipped up by confessing quite so enthusiastically. “Oh this is going to be fun. I am going to ruin you, mesh’la.” He dives back into your pussy, licking and sucking and nipping at your thighs like a wild thing. You whine and arch your back.

“Hold. Still.” Din’s arm clamps over your waist like an iron bar. “How am I supposed to finish you off, if you won’t stop writhing around, you etyc dala?” When you push your luck, trying to squirm free, you feel a sharp slap to your thigh. “Are you going to be a good girl and let me make you come? Or should I leave you here by yourself?”

“No, please, I’ll be good for you I promise!”

“Damn right you will,” he snarls. Without warning, Din shoves two fingers into your cunt and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard. You come in a rush, screaming his name.

__

You’ve barely come down from that high before chasing your next. While your first orgasm left you with some temporary relief, this one only stokes the fire even higher. You seize Din’s face from where he was resting his cheek against your thigh and pull him to your mouth. Reticence is a distant memory and you devour the taste of yourself from his mouth. When Din leans back and groans from this spectacle, you palm his length, spear-straight and hard as Beskar under your hand.  Din shudders underneath you, and you can almost see the effort of restraining himself.  You trace the shell of his ear and murmur “Why are you still wearing pants?”

Din rushes to his feet, pulling you from the chair and pushing you up against the nearest wall in one smooth motion. He holds you in place with one arm across your breastbone, panting with effort. “Hang on, I don’t want to rush you.“

You wish you could look at him, to show you the burning desire in your eyes, how much you truly want this. Alas. You settle for dropping to your knees and fumbling blindly with the fastenings of his trousers.

“Dank ferrik…” a muttered oath somewhere above your head. Din reaches down to help you, drawing his cock out. Once again, you wish the blindfold wasn’t necessary. You can feel the velvet-soft skin of him, trace the head of his cock and stroke up and down the length of him, but you wish you could see him. You breathe over him and, holding his shaft to help guide you (and madden him), lick just under the tip of his cock. You run your tongue around the ridge and lick your lips before taking him as far down your throat as you can. Din hisses and unleashes a stream of Basic and that same tongue he’d been speaking earlier. “Fuck… ori jate, ori jate, yes, Y/N. Parer, ke’pare, ah!”

You hum around him, loving the sound of him absolutely losing it. “Too much?” you ask, all innocence.

Din actually growls. “Yes. Don’t stop, please.”

You smile, hoping he can see you amidst his unraveling. You bob your lips over the head of his cock, once, twice, before sliding down the length of him as far as you can take. Din’s fingers tangle in your hair and you can feel him jerking his hips, holding back from fucking your face like he clearly wants to. You pull back again, letting go  of his cock with a wet pop. “Don’t hold back, baby, I want all of you.”

This is more than Din can stand. He hauls you roughly to your feet, kissing you with abandon. “Say that again?”

“I want you Din, please. I fucking need you.”

Din grabs one of your legs and holds it over his hip. He teases your entrance while you beg him, rubbing against your folds. You moan in relief when he finally thrusts home, stretching you and dragging against your walls. You rake your nails down his back, biting at his shoulder. “Gods, yes, that’s so fucking good. Don’t hold back. Unh, yes, yes, yes…” He is pounding into you now, setting a brutally quick pace- just like you need. You try to kiss him but you’re getting sloppy and your kiss is more just dragging your open mouth along his jaw, panting as he fucks you. “Din, I’m so close…”

“That’s good, you’re so good at taking this cock aren’t you, mesh’la? Me'copaani? Do you want me to tell you how I’ve fantasized about fucking you over the console almost since you came on board? Do you want to hear how good it feels to be buried in your cunt, with your tight pussy around me? Because it is good, Y/N, and I am going to fucking destroy you.”

You scream his name. “Gods, Din, I’m gonna come!”

He seizes you by the throat, not hard enough to cut off your air but more than enough to let you know who is in charge now. “I want to feel you come on my cock. Come on, cyare, give it to me. Come. Now.”

It’s the full on bounty hunter voice command that slams you over the edge. You come hard, shaking in Din’s arms and soaking his cock. You absolutely would have fallen without him holding you up. He fucks you through it all, and as the aftershocks roll through you, you realize the screaming urgency has finally quieted. You can just about remember talking him through his own release before slipping below the cool depths of unconsciousness.

—

“Y/N? Here, drink this.”

You blink awake and feel a cold glass pressed into your hand. You take a sip. The icy water grounds you, and you take stock of your surroundings. You’re curled up in the captain’s seat, warm under a slightly tattered woolen blanket, or maybe a cloak? It takes you a moment before you realize what else is different. You can see again. “Din?”

“I’m here.” His voice is distant, slightly fuzzed. You look around, seeing him once again hidden beneath the helmet. “How do you feel?”

You’re still restless, like some distant part of you needs to get up and run or fight or fuck, but your limbs are feeling a bit heavier now and it’s easier to breathe. “Better.” You lift the glass again, drinking the rest of the water like you’ve never tasted anything so sweet.

Din lays his hand on your cheek, and you’re relieved to find that at least this bit of him has not been covered up again. “You’re still running a temperature but it feels like it’s easing up.” He takes the empty glass from you, setting it aside before taking your hand and drawing you up. “Come on, let’s get you to your bunk.”

You rise, unsteady on your legs after several rounds of fairly vigorous sex. Din steadies your elbow, guiding you out of the cockpit. “Sick of me already?” You’re aiming for a light tone but you know you missed the mark.

Din turns you to face him and studies you for a moment. “Yeah. Probably going to drop you off on the next planet we hit.”

You narrow your eyes at him, looking at your own skeptical face in the reflection of his visor. “Oh yeah?”

He presses his forehead to yours, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “No, ner kar’ta.” You couldn’t tell before, but now you’re almost sure he’s smiling. “I think you’re stuck with me for awhile.”

_________________________________

Mando'a Translations mesh'la beautiful

Ibac’ner. Ni copaanir dinuir gar ner lalat akay gar jair. This is mine. Going to give you my tongue until you scream.

Jatisyc, ni larayc teh gar. Delicious, I (am) drunk from you.

Etyc dala dirty girl

Ori jate so good

Parer wait

Ke'pare wait (emphatic)

Me'copaani? What's this?

Ner kar’ta My heart

[skellebonez]

How's about Shadowpeach with 10 and 73, specifically with Wukong taking care of Spider Macaque in the Spider Monkie AU?

The ShadowPeach in this fill is pretty vague, so if you don't ship them I think you could still read and enjoy this! I really wanted to just have an introspection from Macaque about what the transformation has done to to him and how much he thinks it had done to Sun Wukong as well.

Stop it! You’re only making it worse!/You’re putting an awful lot of trust in them.

"Macaque?"

"I'm fine, Peaches."

Macaque was not, in fact, fine. In any sense of the word. His back and shoulders ached horribly, deep set into the muscle, aches that stemmed from what he had willingly put his body through. The extra height. The new grown fur.

His extra set of arms, totaling four overall, set below his regular arms that had their own shoulder blades to ache with. No, he was not fine.

Not to mention the headache from his extra eyes...

The fact he was laying face down on a pile of leaves because he ached too much to make it back to any of buildings was a pretty clear sign to anyone passing that while he sounded convincing, as always, he was clearly lying.

“Is there anything you want me to do for you?”

The question made Macaque pause in his musing and look up. It wasn’t as if the offer to help was unexpected, no. Wukong had made it very clear since they reunited that he can and would help in any way possible. It was the way the help was offered. Or, rather, the way he was asking if he could offer any to the ailing demon.

It was... different.

Maybe because now that Wukong went through something similar he could possibly understand a bit more.

It was odd for the dark furred monkey to have to crane his neck to look up at the other now. Sun Wukong towered over... well, everyone. Even Sandy was shorter than the new Spider-Monkey King. The only person who could probably best the other in stature now was possibly DBK, and that was on a day he wasn't using his own magic to shift to his smaller form.

He'd also been granted a third set of arms, instead of the extra eyes that Macaque had to get used to and deal with on a regular basis. But often he wondered if the trade off was worth it...

The places where they matched transformation wise, however, were their fur and eyes. Both had grown a mixture of coarse spider fuzz and soft monkey fur, often times mingling into a warm mixed coat that granted extra protection from the elements. Macaque's black fur had grown a deep purple over his chest and arms, offset by silver bands and stripes in places. Wukong's, on the other hand, became a soft white and a light peach fuzz shade that mixed with his natural deeper fur color. And their eyes each attained a brilling green hue.

Spider Queen once said they shone like emeralds and Macaque couldn't find himself arguing with that.

What he could argue with, however, was the fact that HE got really cool purple markings around his eyes and Wukong's face marking didn't change at all.

So point 1 to him for getting something extra.

Built in eyeliner.

"Mac? Mango?" Wukong asked again, pulling the other from his thoughts abruptly. "I can leave you alone for a bit if you want. Check in on you later?"

Macaque tensed and pain shot through his spine and, for some reason, the thought of suddenly being alone again filled him with dread.

"Can you..." he started slowly, low enough that he was uncertain that the other could hear him. "Can you groom my back for me? I couldn't finish it and..."

He trailed off, to embarrassed to admit that the whole reason he was even in this mess was because he had stubbornly tried to clean the fur on his own back when it had gotten caught on some brush and the stretching of his already painted muscles proved too much for him.

"Sure," was all Wukong said before sitting down beside the other and quietly getting to work.

They sat silently for a while. Wukong doing his best to run his many fingers through only the glossy tangled fur. The coarser fur would require a comb or brush and Macaque douted that the other wanted to even attempt brushing his fur out in this situation.

And while the deep set ache in his spine didn't vanish, the longer he laid there and felt the other working on his fur the longer he relaxed and felt the surface aches slowly dampen themselves.

“What did Syntax say about the next batch?” Wukong finally spoke up as his fingers worked their way through the knotted fur between Macaque’s second set of shoulder blades. Every graze against the skin beneath the fur felt like a new ache, but the touches we so soft and fleeting that Macaque knew the temporary pain would be worth not having to attempt to groom his own back again. “It’s supposed to last longer, right?”

"He thinks so," Macaque said, voice tight but clearer than he expected it to come out. "I know it will. He's never failed me before."

For better or worse.

"Seems like it," Wukong agreed quickly, apologizing as he pulled a stubborn knot just a bit too hard and earned a pained yelp from the other. "You're putting an awful lot of trust in him... but his serums have been working so far so even if everything is guess work he seems to know what he's doing."

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

The reply came so fast that Macaque knew that it was practiced. Said so clearly that even after all this time he knew that the other spider-monkey mutant was hiding something. His actions never ceased, though. Grooming continuing on as if nothing was said, hundreds of years not being dampened by the addition of size or number of fingers in the slightest.

“You can’t expect me to believe that you went through a transformation more drastic than mine so quickly without anythin-”

“Yes,” Wukong interrupted, voice more form and snappy than he has sounded the entire time he was tending to Macaque’s fur and muscle aches.

“You’ve always been a shit liar, you know. That’s my forte.”

Now the movements slowed, not to a stop but noticeable enough to be felt. Not until he finished working through the fur after another minute or so of silence.

"Only to you," Wukong admitted, running his fingers through the finished patches of fur to catch any missed knots. "Apparently I'm pretty good when it comes to others."

"That's because they haven't known you as long as I have," Macaque said, sitting up against the urges from the other to keep laying down.

And the sight before him, closer and clearer in the light than before, proved his suspicions that he'd had since the other's transformation correct in his mind.

Sun Wukong looked exhausted. Not physically, except for the dark bags under his eyes that Macaque could see forming. But his posture and the dull shine of his eyes gave it away. The way he leaned forward and his eyes were half lidded and the way he smiled in that awkward nervous way that showed far too much teeth.

"You've been treating me differently," Macaque continued as he stretched and the pain was worth the light rush of relief from the way the stretch relieved some pressure on his back. "Since your transformation. It's because you know how I feel now, don't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop it!" Macaque snapped, startling the other. "You’re only making it worse, pretending it doesn't happen! Have you even gone to Syntax for any treatment?"

In the back of Macaque’s mind he could swear he heard "hypocrite" shouted at him for the pretending bit.

"... no," Wukong admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with two hands. That wasn't from embarrassment or nervousness, that was from pain. Macaque recognized it from so long ago. "He comes to me, though. Practically throws the stuff at me while insulting me for being too stubborn for own good."

"He's right you stubborn ass," Macaque said with a half chuckle, standing with more than a bit of effort. When he stumbled forward he was grateful that Wukong held out a hand to grab his own and didn't catch him, who knows how much that would hurt. It had when he'd caught him before. "The new batch should be ready, actually. We should go see him together."

Macaque smirked up at the other, hoping he was playing his cards right.

"Besides, I know how much you like proving people wrong."

The loud laughter that resounded through their little patch of forest told him he was still good at playing that little game of chance.

"Alright, yeah," Wukong agreed, smile softening as he held out one of his lower arms from Macaque to hold onto as he walked. "I do like proving people wrong. I'm not too stubborn to accept help after everything that's happened."

"Now tell Queenie that next time we see her so she can stop worrying over you so much," Macaque chided with a laugh of his own as they walked the path to home Wukong had built for the spider demons on his island.

As they walked Macaque felt the soft and firm brush of Wukong's tail against his own and he wrapped his around it. Their tailed wrapped together, twining like rope behind them, and they just had to hope that Syntax wouldn't have a rant planned out for the two of them when they arrived.

[wackybuddiemewbs]

That wedding planner!Buck fic I'm definitely not writing...

A non-existent excerpt...

“Tulips with the other flowers in the arrangement? Are you trying to kill me, Vanessa? Peonies. I will only accept peonies. Write it down again if you have to… It is the season and I know the colors are available… because I have internet access and can research things… Yes, I checked… And since I checked, I stick with peonies until you give me a proper reason why I have to change my mind… So talk to the purveyors another time… I will pay extra if they have to ship them from another state, I don’t care. Just get on with it and don’t come me with tulips again, thank you very much…”

“This is like watching a horror movie where you finally get to the big reveal that someone snatched the protagonist’s body and is just about to murder the family,” Hen mutters, stuffing popcorn into her mouth.

“Tell me about it. You only have to suffer through that when we’re not on call at work,” Chim scoffs, hugging his arms. “He is over at ours to continue making phone calls the whole damn time. I haven’t seen the surface of our dinner table in weeks.”

Hen scrutinizes him. “You are aware that he is planning your wedding?”

“And you are aware just how freaky that is? I mean, look at him!” Chim whines, pointing at Buck, perfectly absorbed into the task at hand, which is to roast Vanessa the florist over the tulips, it’d seem.

“I didn’t even know he knew the difference between peonies and tulips,” Eddie snorts, sitting down with a mug of coffee in hand. He can’t say Buck struck him as someone who was particularly interested in gardening or flowers in general. The hell, Eddie never saw a plant in Buck’s apartment before.

Though granted, it’s as Buck told Vanessa – he will research. So it’s very well possible Buck knew nothing about peonies until it sparked his interest. Be it as it may, Eddie feels almost a bit bad for poor Vanessa. Because he knows Buck does not take no for an answer once he set his mind to it. And that much Eddie can tell, Buck set his mind to this task.

As per usual, 180%. At least.

“Well, say what you want, but our Buckaroo is always a bag full of surprises,” Hen sighs.

“Will you share any of that popcorn for the rest of the show?” Chim asks, eyeing her, then bow of popcorn resting in her lap.

Hen clutches the bowl tighter against herself with a snort. “You make your own or you help him.”

“Not the body snatcher!”

“Then you gotta snatch your own popcorn.” She shrugs, stuffing more into her mouth with a triumphant grin, leaving Chim to pout beside her.

Eddie shakes his head. This has been going on for a while now, and while he is not sold on the body snatcher theory by any means, Eddie will agree that this is all rather strange. Ever since Maddie and Chim announced the happy news that they’d seal the deal, Buck has been… different.

Because yeah, Eddie didn’t know Buck could tell flowers apart. Just like he didn’t know Buck knew how to plan a wedding venue, schedule dress fittings, book locations, talk about color schemes, send out “save the date” and actual invitation cards – or know the difference between them in the first place, select a font and a paper weight… the list is probably much longer than the papers on his clipboard and his notebook would lead one to assume.

Because yes, we are now at a stage where we have clipboard and notebook combined. Which can never be a good sign.

But here they are, watching in awe and sheer anxiety as Evan Buckley uses every free minute to sieve through his sister’s wedding folder, working on lists and arrangements and appointments, and, apparently, peonies.

Not tulips, though, got it.

“Eds?”

Eddie whips his head around to look at his partner. “Hm?”

“Do you think Chris could be interested in coming along to visit a location after the shift? I’d also pay for dinner to reimburse for changing plans at the last minute,” Buck asks, not even looking at him as his fingers fiddle over his phone, typing message after message. “It’s the only available timeslot for the next couple of weeks, and it’s highest on the priority list. See? Right up here.”

He points at the clipboard for emphasis, something Eddie can’t help but smile at.

“That’s very high on the list,” Hen chuckles softly.

“It’s definitely in the Top 5.”

“Uhm, sure, we can go together,” Eddie answers, his frown deepening as he considers the actual implications of that.

“Awesome!” Buck chirps happily, ticking something off his long, long list. “That’s another point off the list.”

“How many points are there still on that list?” Hen wants to know, amused by all this above all else.

“Too many, but if all pans out, it should get done well before Maddie walks down the aisle,” Buck sighs with a content smile tugging at his lips. “Like, five minutes before that.”

“Piece of cake, huh?” she chuckles.

“Totally. Which reminds me… cake!” He lets his fingers dance over the papers to find what he’s looking for. “If not for the time constraint, we probably should’ve gone for something off-season. Because everyone wants to get married about the time. But that’s what the quitters say, and we ain’t no quitters… So let’s see where we have that list of bakeries… because that color scheme is fixed, Vanessa can eat her heart out, don’t care.”

And back to the list he goes.

“You may need something stronger than popcorn after that,” Chim laughs, nudging Eddie in the side.

“I reiterate: You’re aware that he’s planning your wedding?” Hen scoffs.

“Well, now Eddie’s gotten dragged into it,” Chim snorts. “Sorry about that, dude, but better you than me.”

“Brighten up, Chim, if someone can get Buck out of his strange ways, it’s gotta be Eddie.”

“Are you implying that I’m the spoilsport?” he snorts.

Hen cocks an eyebrow at him. “Out of the two of you… definitely.”

“Gee thanks.”

“… Yes, I know that fondant is great for covering cakes, but my sister will hurl on her own wedding cake if she has to take as much as a bite off of this sweet window putty. So, what alternatives do you have? And please don’t tell me a cake made out of cupcakes, that’s so 2016… Oh, and what colors can you do with anything but fondant? I need them to go with the flower arrangements. I can send you the exact colors, but right now the spectrum goes from soft apricot over daffodil to periwinkle, so…”

Hen claps Eddie on the shoulder. “This will be a long day.”

“Just don’t let the body snatchers get you. Even if they are periwinkle,” Chim sniggers.

Eddie just shakes his head, his eyes still focused on Buck.

This day is sure to get… interesting.

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

“We have a pavilion we can set up right in the big garden on the other side.”

“Georgia, you may make me cry right now. I’ve been aching for an open ceremony with a pavilion. Most places don’t offer them unless they are on a beach. Is it white or at least a light color? Please tell me it’s white.”

“It is.”

“That means it goes with all colors. Psych!”

“Dad, why’s Buck so excited about white pavilions?” Christopher asks, leaning over to his father as they watch Buck gush about pavilions with the woman kind enough to give them a tour around the property.

“I’m not entirely sure, kid, but I guess we should just be happy for him,” Eddie whispers back.

“Okay.”

Eddie certainly didn't wake up this morning, thinking he’d spend the remains of his afternoon walking through a possible wedding location for his friend and his fiancée. Neither did he expect to do it with his son and Buck.

But then again, being friends with Buck should have taught him by now that he does best expecting the unexpected. Because Buck is the kind of guy to wind up at your place with packed bags, having planned out a weekend trip for you and your kid from start to finish just because he can.

“But alternatively, we could host it inside, right? In case there’s bad weather or whatever else?” Buck continues, the damn clipboard resting by his hip.

Georgia nods her head. “Sure thing.”

“You’re making me very happy right now, Georgia.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Buck beams at her with the kind of smile that can light up an entire room – and that for white pavilions and the option to host the wedding entirely inside.

“Well, that’s about all I can show you. You can either go with our own catering or bring in your own, whichever you prefer. And you can see which rooms you want to book. If you want to, I can work out an offer for you as an estimate, and how big the deposit would be,” she tells him.

“That’d be great, thank you.”

“Alright, then I will leave you to it for a while, and come back with the papers. You can venture around a bit, see for yourself. If you have any questions, you find me right at the reception. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” He grins at her.

“Alright, then I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Thank you,” Buck says, waving at her as she walks off. Once she is out of sight, Buck turns around on the back of the heel to look at Christopher with utmost sincerity. “So, Christopher! I need your honest opinion.”

“About what?” he asks.

“Do you like the place? Would you be okay spending a day here sometime?” Buck questions.

Christopher tilts his head, carefully considering his reply. “I liked the fountain.”

“The fountain was great, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Christopher agrees. “And they have a white pavilion.”

Eddie chuckles to himself, patting his son on the back.

“See? This kid gets it. Why can’t Chim, too?”

“Wouldn’t have any idea. After all, it goes with all colors,” Eddie snorts.

“Thank. You. Finally someone talking some sense!” Buck waves his arms around in dramatic fashion, nearly losing the clipboard in the process.

“So is there anywhere else you need to go?” Eddie asks.

Buck wrinkles his nose, then shrugs. “Just down this way to see whether we can get a golf cart in here.”

Eddie makes a face. “Golf cart?”

Last time he checked, golf carts were no necessary component of a wedding. But then again, it’s not like he’s been reading all of the wedding magazines that have since piled up right next to Buck’s bed.

“Some people are not well on their feet, some don’t like walking, others are lazy, and golf carts are always fun. So I thought putting some here would be a great idea. I know a dude who knows a dude who runs a club,” Buck replies matter-of-factly.

Eddie shakes his head. “You have strange relations.”

“You’d have noidea,” Buck laughs. “But anyway, count yourself lucky I don’t play golf. That’s for old people… Does Bobby play golf, do you know?”

“I wouldn’t ask him if I were you,” Eddie snorts.

“Yeah no, now I’m gonna.”

Eddie shakes his head before turning his attention to Christopher glancing up at them both. “You wanna come with or wait and play with your Gameboy a little?”

“I’d like to play a bit,” Christopher answers.

“Okay, then you stay here and play,” Eddie agrees, smiling at his son softly. “Buck and I will be right over there.”

“Okay.”

They make sure the kid is all settled in the grass before they head to where Buck wants to set up the golf cart palooza. Hugging his chest, Eddie watches silently as Buck checks the ground, takes some notes, then continues walking about.

“So,” Eddie says after a while.

Buck blinks at him. “So?”

“Will you explain to me why you work yourself up so much about your sister’s wedding?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“Buck, trust me, weddings are not about the event,” Eddie sighs. He’s been to his fair share, he’s had one of his own. In the end, none of that matters the moment that one person walks down the aisle.

“Don’t say that when you haven’t seen all seasons of Say Yes to the Dress, the spinoff with the bridesmaids picking dresses and fights, The Wedding Planner, the one show where…,” Buck recounts, but Eddie cuts him off, waving with his arms, “Enough.”

“I know it’s not about that, trust me, I know. Even though I haven’t walked down any aisle for that reason.”

“Well, if you know, then why do you insist on making it a huge event?” Eddie wants to know.

“This is Maddie’s and Chim’s big day. I want them to have a good time and not worry about a single thing, simple as that.”

Eddie frowns at that. “Worry?”

“Maddie has enough on her mind as is, now also including the prospect of marrying again. Thanks to Doug that asshole… that’s just another thing to add to the list of things she shouldn’t have to think about, but still has to because that’s what happened and we can’t change it anymore.”

Eddie grimaces. That does shed some light on the situation. While Buck caring for his sister and for Chim is perfectly out of question, wanting her to forget all about the past and focus on the future is… very much a thing Buck would do, Eddie knows.

“Maddie’s first wedding was all self-made, self-organized, and low-budget in a shitty place that smelled of toilets and moldy wood. She was entirely on her own coz I knew shit and I hardly got to leave the house. She made all the food herself, the location was mediocre, the music was shit… and the husband was evidently the biggest shit of all. I want it to be different for her this time.”

“But do you think Maddie needs all that?” Eddie ponders.

“I think she deservesall that,” Buck corrects him. “Maddie deserves a fresh start. A sign that all is headed in the right direction now, after they came such a long way together. I want this to be the perfect opposite of what she had before, so the only thing she thinks about will be how happy she is and not how unhappy she used to be.”

“You are a very good brother.”

“And I hope to someday deserve the amazing sister I’ve got, but… yeah, I want to do that for her. And if that means bossing around some purveyors? Piece of cake for me.”

Eddie smiles softly. “I honestly didn’t know you were that much of a wedding enthusiast.”

“I am not really,” Buck snorts. “Some images are scourged into my brain about women turning to banshees over the wrong cream tone for a dress.”

“Which does not at all sound familiar. Peonies.”

“Vanessa was pulling my leg, I’m telling you, Eds,” Buck insists. “Either way. I don’t much care about the pomp and the glitter and the ironed table cloths.”

“But you think it’s important to Maddie?”

“No, which is precisely why I am taking care of it. Coz it isn’t important to her… just that it kinda is,” Buck replies.

“And why is it, kinda?”

“I know she won’t say it out loud, but Maddie is freaked. She’s scared that things will remind her of the first wedding, that it’ll show on her face and that she may upset Chim. I don’t want her to look back but focus on her bright future with the man she loves ahead. That’s all,” Buck answers. “So I… take care of these things in her stead and make sure it’s all different.”

“Which is very kind, but still, I think you are being a bit over the top,” Eddie argues. “Said as your best friend.”

“Just a bit?” Buck snorts, then shrugs. “Might be. I don’t know.”

Though honestly, Eddie finds it admirable. Buck is throwing himself into this so his sister doesn’t have to. Not that this in itself is any surprise. Now that he understands the reasoning, he knows he should have understood all along. Because Buck will do whatever it takes to make his family happy. And if that means making sure his sister doesn’t have a flashback to her shitty first wedding or her even shittier marriage, he’ll outdo himself.

That’s Evan Buckley for you.

“Leaves me wondering what you’ll cook up for your own wedding,” Eddie teases.

“Oh, if I get married, there will just be family, a tiny chapel or some open field, and family dinner over at the firehouse. I’m pretty set on that,” Buck declares.

Eddie blinks, somewhat caught off-guard. “I didn’t even know you had a plan for that to begin with.”

“It’s not that much of a plan as a picture in my head. Dunno. Also, are you slut shaming me with the whole ‘I didn’t take you to be the guy to wanna get married’?”

“You can be kind of slutty,” Eddie sniggers.

Buck nudges against him. “Piss off.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You know how I mean it.”

“That was Buck 1.0. That guy was, admittedly, a bit slutty. But Buck 3.0 will be decisively different once he seals the deal.”

“Not the software updates again,” Eddie sighs.

Honestly, he really wished Buck would stop that. It always makes him uneasy somehow. That Buck still tends to think of himself as some piece of faulty software waiting to be fixed. Sure, Buck is not perfect, and he may be a bit over the top with all this here, but Eddie wouldn’t want to change a single thing about who Buck truly is. That does not need updates or fixes.

But that’s a conversation for another day.

“But just for the record, I’m not surprised at you wanting to get married,” Eddie adds. “I was just surprised at you having a fable for weddings. That’s two different things.”

Buck smirks at him faintly. “True again. Well, funny enough, I wanted to get married for longer than most guys should probably have business thinking about it.”

“Did you?”

“Oh yeah. First big crush I had as a kid? I had the whole damn wedding and reception planned in my head. Though it didn’t last long when I understood that you actually had to be dating that person, and not just pine after them.”

He laughs, leaning his head back at the memory.

“Things turned sour when I had to watch Maddie marry that asshole. That definitely does something to how you perceive the… whole deal. But still, I’d always wanted it. I just didn’t feel like I had that kinda special connection with anyone. With Abby, I thought it would come, but things changed. Well, and with Ali and Taylor… that just wasn’t meant to be.”

Eddie opens his mouth to utter a quick reassurance, but Buck beats him to it. “But… the day will come. Buck 3.0 is a patient man. And until then… I plan weddings of the people I care about.”

“… And you are surely doing one hell of a job.”

“With white pavilions? You bet I am. Now let’s see what Chris is doing. If he set a new record, I need that Gameboy for the ride back.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as they start to head back.

“So golf carts are still in the game?”

“Definitely. They won’t fit the color scheme, but with some festoons and some cloth, they should look festive enough.”

“Just make sure everyone gets a proper instruction – and the kids don’t ride them alone.”

“Oh please,” Buck snorts. “You don’t seriously think I haven’t considered that yet, do you?”

The two continue silently. Eddie frowns when Buck stops in his tracks and turns around slowly.

“Something the matter?” he asks.

“Actually yeah,” Buck answers. “It’s decided. This is the place.”

“And you don’t intend to consult with, you know, the people getting married?”

“I have a permit!”

“You wrote it yourself?” Eddie snorts.

“You bet. With fancy font. They complained about how much work it is, so they don’t get to complain about not being in the picture. It’s like a huge surprise party!”

“Buck! I found some beetles!” Christopher’s voice rings out. The two turn their heads to see him sitting in the grass, the Gameboy abandoned, entirely focused on those beetles, apparently.

“Coming, little Superman!” Buck hollers. “Just don’t eat any!”

“You know that’s basically like daring him?” Eddie huffs.

“Well, you’re the dad. You keep your kid from eating bugs.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “You taunt him to eat a bug, you keep him from eating a bug. Or else I will end you.”

“They are actually nutritious. In some parts of the world they are common snacks and source of proteins.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t eat beetles,” Eddie rolls his eyes.

Buck smiles at him oh so sweetly. “If you go check in with Georgia to see if she’s done with the estimate, I might.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you don’t want your son to eat any beetles. And I got a push message for the forum I dug this place up at for when it’s getting recommended. And it is. So, off you go!” he shoos him.

Eddie shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Eddie waves him off as he starts walking. No, this is definitely not what he envisioned his day to look like when he woke up this morning. Because even expecting the unexpected does not prepare you just what that unexpected thing is going to be.

After a quick chat with Georgia, Eddie heads back over to where he left Buck and Christopher and the beetles, with Georgia in tow. Buck has Christopher balanced on his back, mimicking an airplane as they rush over the grass, pulling sharp turns around the trees framing the large garden. Christopher croons happily as he is tossed from one side to the other, though always feeling perfectly secure when he’s held by Buck. Because that man would never let go of him, simple as that.

Eddie can’t hold back a soft smile at the sight.

Some things are going as expected after all.

“You have an adorable son,” Georgia hums beside him.

“Thanks. He’s my world.”

“So, when this wedding is through, you two will be planning your own, I suppose? Just to let you know, we still have some slots available early September,” she continues.

Eddie whips his head around. “What? Buck and I? We are not… we’re just friends.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just assumed you two were… nevermind.”

“It’s okay,” he assures her.

“Georgia! There you are!” Buck calls out from afar. He expertly rolls Christopher off his back to gather him in his arms and set him down. “We’re taking it! Sign us up!”

“Glad to hear that!” she laughs.

Buck runs up to her, beaming from one ear to the other. Eddie watches with amusement as Buck hands her his clipboard to take hers and sign the necessary forms, only to rotate it all back around again in a rather awkward manner.

“Alright, then I’m going to put down your info and arrange for the rest. You have my card right there. So the rest we can discuss once I have booked your slot. Sounds like a plan?”

“Like the best of plans,” Buck chirps.

“You’re welcome to stay a while longer and venture around.”

“Thanks, Georgia.”

“Enjoy your time. See you.”

“See you!”

She waves at Christopher another time, before heading back inside.

“We did it!” Buck shouts, raising his arms above his head for a victory pose.

“Congrats, man,” Eddie chuckles softly.

“Okay, you two can chill on the grass for a bit,” Buck then says. “I will take some pictures to send to Decoration Dude.”

“Is that how you call him?” Eddie frowns.

“Dave is great fun and yeah, he lets me call him Decoration Dude, or Décor Dave. I didn’t get too fancy with the names after her snort-laughed his green smoothie when I called him the former.” He grins at Christopher. “It looked like the boogers just kept coming out of him nonstop!”

Christopher giggles at that mental image.

“Sounds like you’re great friends, you and Decoration Dude.”

“Getting jealous?” Buck laughs, elbowing Eddie lightly in the side.

“Hey, if you and Decoration Dude are happy together over snort-laughing smoothies, it’s fine by me.” Eddie raises his hands.

“What can I say? He has an eye for details and he has reasonable prices. Anyway. I didn’t plan an actual picnic coz the timeslot came up on short notice, but I got these,” Buck ponders, reaching into his backpack to take out some bottles of water, a few nut bars, a bunch of apples, and three small packets of chips.

“And you seriously didn’tplan on this?” Eddie laughs.

“Actually not,” Buck admits. “Normally, I would’ve taken you to the park and I didn’t find it in me last night to actually cook food to take along, so I just grabbed whatever I had lying around my kitchen.”

“I think we’ll survive on that diet,” Eddie assures him, taking the not-a-picnic items from Buck.

Buck smiles at him, visibly relieved. “Okay, catch you in a bit.”

With that, he starts to roam around the area, taking pictures from all kinds of angles. Eddie settles himself down on the grass next to Christopher, making sure the boy eats at least some of the healthier items Buck brought along.

“Are you enjoying yourself alright, mijo?”

“We should go looking for locations more often,” Christopher says between bites of his apple. “It’s fun.”

“Well, that may be a bit expensive,” Eddie laughs.

Though he will have to admit, the afternoon was surprisingly pleasant.

“This place is nice,” Christopher sighs happily.

“It really is.”

“So Uncle Chimney and Aunt Maddie will get married here?”

Eddie nods his head. “That’s the plan.”

It certainly is Buck’s. And the happy couple will have to deal with that.

“They’re going to love it,” Christopher declares with utter surety.

“Yeah, I think they are. I mean, Buck sure loves it.”

“Then everyone’s going to love it.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Eddie laughs.

“Because everyone loves Buck,” his son says, as though it was the most obvious thing on earth.

Eddie lets his gaze wander back over to the other man busy taking pictures, making even visiting a wedding location a day trip to be remembered.

“Everyone loves Buck, yeah,” he whispers, smiling.

A couple of minutes later, Buck seems satisfied with the amount of pictures he’s taken. He makes his way back over to where Eddie and Christopher sat down on the grass and flops down next to them unceremoniously, which earns him another heartfelt giggle from Christopher.

“So? Cartographed the whole place?” Eddie teases.

“Oh yeah. Dave’s gonna love me. My phone’s storage is gonna hate me for flooding the gallery again,” Buck chimes.

“Well, then how about you stuff your phone away at last?” Eddie snorts.

“In one hot second,” Buck laughs, before holding up his hand to snatch a quick group picture. He checks the picture for a brief moment, his smile growing even bigger. “And that one’s for me.”

“You’re not gonna share?” Eddie scoffs.

Buck rolls his eyes. “Fine, since you asked kind of nicely.”

Eddie smirks when the message pops up on his screen. His gallery is going to hate him for it, too. After all, Eddie has an almost endless collection of just those pictures, the three of them smirking brightly in the camera. And while he won’t say it out loud, he will look just through those pictures after a rough shift or when he needs to distract his mind on the way back from a tough call.

“Dad? I think Buck fell asleep again,” Christopher mutters.

Eddie turns his head to look at Buck’s peaceful expression, still clutching that clipboard tightly to his chest.

“You get to wake him in a bit, however you want to,” Eddie chuckles softly. “For now, let’s let him dream of that wedding for a bit.”

Eddie pulls Christopher against his side, ruffling the boy’s hair as he enjoys the soft breeze, glad that he let Buck be Buck and change his plans.

Because very often, they turn out unexpectedly good.

[themurphyzone]

Nova Ch 11

AN: This is gonna be the last of the set-up chapters. The story will start snowballing (see what I did there? Heehee) from the next chapter on.

This chapter includes an art piece I requested from the talented @plutonis​, and I’m so glad I can finally show this off because it contains some very gorgeous colors.

AO3 Link

Ch 11: Spectrum 

Terran Date 2015.4.28

Yesterday, Pinky showed me one of his favorite pieces of media to thank me for the story of Heikro var Silda, even though he cried for fifteen minutes because of the tragic ending. While indeed sad, I’m proud to say I remained steadfast and controlled my emotions upon revisiting the story. And while I told him it wasn’t necessary, he insisted and I acquiesced to his demands.

That’s how Pinky introduced me to The Lion King. Once again, I remained strong even when the emotional distress threatened to override my logical mind. It was...rather difficult, I’ll admit. We watched the sequel afterward, and though I’ve created five different charts that list the plot points in order, I cannot come up with a satisfactory sequence of events that connects both movies into a cohesive narrative.

Moving onto real life matters...Pinky seems to be under the impression that I will be a permanent resident of the lab.

Celestial bodies above, what use is my intelligence if I’m trapped among heathen, dimwitted fools who can’t tell the difference between left and right! I refuse to be a lab rat, made to do the so-called dominant species’ bidding. Snowball and I shall be taking over this planet and progressing their backwards society far beyond their wildest dreams! That’s what we came here for, and I will not be sidetracked again.

As for Pinky...well, his imagination can make up some personalities for his inanimate object friends once I leave. He doesn’t have any shortage of those. The newest addition to the crew is an eraser nub with the moniker of ‘Gummy’.

Signing off for now,

The Brain

o-o-o-o-o

Brain saved the new transmission to an encrypted, password-protected file. None of the scientists were technical experts, so the odds of discovery were miniscule or nonexistent. He only had five audio files in total, a meager amount compared to the hundreds of transmissions he’d made back on New Selene. The pointer hovered over the Delete All button. He didn’t have a reason to keep making transmissions when he was leaving the lab behind in just a few days.

Still, he hesitated.

Maybe he could leave it as a memento for Pinky. But even a basic level of encryption and case-sensitive password would remain far beyond Pinky’s capabilities.

Perhaps it was best to leave the issue for another night.

He logged off the computer and joined Pinky, who’d surrounded himself with Gummy and the rest of his inanimate object friends as he played a board game called Monopoly. Though Brain had looked up the rules and goals of the game during his online session out of curiosity, he didn’t really understand the appeal or mass marketability of such an unbalanced game.

Although, given the number of different versions of Monopoly out there, creating and selling his own version of the game with the title of Brainopoly could prove to be a viable plan.

Pinky was playing as if there were four players and not just a free-for-all against a nickel, button, and eraser. It became disturbingly obvious that Pinky was either overly generous or just woefully terrible at mental math, because he continually doled out the wrong amount of money from the bank or his own meager cash pile.

And Pinky was far better off if Brain cut in now, because there was no chance that anyone else was catching up to Gummy, who owned the most lucrative properties and had the largest amount of money.

He had to stop anthropomorphizing these objects. He was starting to think like Pinky, and that was an extremely distressing thought.

“You’re losing to an eraser,” Brain said. Pinky only had a few fives in currency, and the three properties he owned were all flipped over and mortgaged.

“Yeah, Gummy’s just very good at this game! Narf!” Pinky said as he rolled the dice for Mr. Button. “It’s so nice of him to let us sleep in his Marvin Garden Apartments though. Otherwise we’d be homeless!”

“Nice indeed,” Brain replied. For his peace of mind, he didn’t dare press for more details.

Pinky threw the dice, then moved the bucket token seven spaces, landing on the Luxury Tax space. “That’ll be seventy-five dollars, Mr. Button,” Pinky said as he gathered the money, which only totaled sixty. And Mr. Button’s four properties were all mortgaged. Pinky realized this too. “Oh...you don’t have enough. Poit.”

Any normal player would’ve tossed in the towel right there, but Pinky wasn’t a conventional player by any means. He frowned, scratched his head, then picked up his own pile of fives and tossed them onto the sixty, bringing the amount to seventy-five, with two leftover fives for Mr. Button.

“You can have that, Mr. Button!” Pinky chirped as he dumped the luxury tax money in the middle of the board. “With a little more for the bus!”

Pinky had completely knocked himself out of the game.

This was supposed to be an extremely competitive game for families and seasoned professionals, right? Though the rules of Monopoly appeared confusing and controversial to most players, he was certain that nobody would willingly lose with such a reckless method.  

Well...maybe it was just a fluke. Pinky was only playing against himself, so if he wanted to give up the money to something he was making the decisions for, that was his choice.

Besides, he couldn’t watch this game much longer.

“I’ll be your next opponent,” Brain announced. He’d never played before, but the basics seemed simple enough. And the math involved was basic arithmetic he could do in his sleep. “Reset the board at once, Pinky.”

Pinky’s tail wagged as he gathered up the houses and hotels and tossed them back into the box, then settled down as he skillfully shuffled the Community Chest and Chance cards. From the way he hummed and twirled around, an outsider could easily mistake Brain for a playmate instead of an opponent.

Brain quickly read over the instruction sheet, then divided the game currency into a starting amount for himself, Pinky, and the bank.

“Can I be in charge of the property cards, Brain?” Pinky asked as he organized them by color.

“Yes, but I shall handle all other banker duties,” Brain said. “Listen closely, Pinky. I’ve looked up stories about Monopoly games going on for a long time with no definitive winner, so we’ll stop the game when one of us runs out of money, or if chance has favored you or I enough that we can place a hotel on the board.”

“Chance always has a problem with favoritism,” Pinky said as he moved the horse token to the Go space. Indeed, chance hasn’t always favored members of either of their species, but it could stand to be more merciful during a board game. He hugged the horse token to his chest. “Anyways, Pharfigtwoton is always my choice! What’s yours?”  

Brain didn’t understand how anyone in their right mind would want to play as a wheelbarrow or bucket, and the only pieces that interested him at all were the ones that resembled modes of Terran transportation. In the end, he chose the battleship.

He was tempted to call it the Conquistador Two, but he didn’t want to follow the trend of naming random objects.

“Good one!” Pinky said as he pushed the ship over to the horse token. “A gorgeous ship like this needs a name...so I hereby dub thee Battley McBattleface!”

“We’re calling it the Conquistador Two, and that’s final,” Brain snapped.

“The Conquesodor Two,” Pinky agreed.

They tossed the dice to decide turn order, and Pinky won that battle easily since Brain had the misfortune to roll double ones.

On his first turn, Pinky managed to land on St. Charles Place with a high roll. He happily shelled out the money required to buy the property. “I’m putting a nice dog park here!” he declared, placing the unused dog token in the magenta space above the property. “Now Pharfigtwoton can give rides to all the puppies!”

Brain didn’t know if Monopoly required players to create their own storyline, but it certainly made the game more interesting and baffling at the same time. He rolled the dice, sighing when he could only advance to Reading Railroad.

He hoped it wouldn’t be a trend for Pinky to receive high rolls while he was stuck in the first half of the board.

But he quickly changed his mind once he paid up for Reading Railroad and read through the card information. Just like any real life war or corporate strategy, the key to his victory would lie in controlling the flow of transportation and goods!

Pinky landed on New York on his next turn, rambling about taking all the puppies to New York for a double decker bus tour of the city as he slid a stack of bills to Brain. Brain sighed and tossed an extra twenty bill back at Pinky. He wished Pinky would pay more attention to adding properly than the make-believe puppies.

Brain rolled the dice and moved his battleship to Virginia, claiming the property so Pinky couldn’t control one-fourth of the board this early in the game.

“Brain, can I have a house?” Pinky asked as he drew a Community Chest card. He read through the card and grinned. “Awww, I got second in a beauty pageant! Thank you, everyone! It’s such an honor! Oh, and it says I also won ten dollars.”

“You don’t meet the conditions required for a house, Pinky,” Brain said, giving Pinky a ten. He didn’t care about the fake beauty pageant, just that money was either gained or lost depending on luck of the draw.

“Oh, I’ll keep them off the board,” Pinky promised. “I just want a house for Terry to live in.”

He held up the dog token, who was now apparently called Terry.

“Fine, but don’t mix your ridiculous fantasies with the board,” Brain sighed and tossed a green house at Pinky, which smacked him in the head when he didn’t catch it in time. Pinky laughed it off and coaxed Terry to stand next to the house.

Houses and hotels. His Internet searches on the Clarkes led to tons of websites on the Terran real estate market and hotel industry.

Which reminded Brain that he hadn’t shared his research into the Clarkes with Pinky yet. There hadn’t been enough time during the day, where the incompetent scientists poked and prodded them. And in Brain’s case, tried to figure out where the antennae came from.

Their hypotheses, and he was being exceedingly generous when he described their speculation and conspiracy theories as hypotheses, amounted to claiming a Terran mouse and insect had reproduced together.

“I’ve brushed up on the Clarkes so we can properly impersonate them at the party. According to-scrik!” Brain hissed under his breath when he landed on New York and had to pay Pinky.

“Sixteen please!” Pinky chirped. “All proceeds will go to buying toys and treats for good dogs in need!”

Brain grudgingly gave up the sixteen. Probability was not on his side tonight. “As I was saying before cruel fate reared its ugly head, the man I shall impersonate, Anthony Clarke, is an esteemed real estate and luxury hotel mogul, with a net worth in the billions. His success is rooted in savvy, ruthless business against competitors. It appears that he and Lamont are old college acquaintances, which we can spin to our advantage. And...yes! B&O Railroad!”  

He claimed the B&O Railroad for himself, and Pinky wrinkled his nose. “I wouldn’t ride on the Body Odor Railroad even if you pay me in cheese,” he said.

Brain rolled his eyes. “The temptation for cheese is too powerful for your empty mind and bottomless stomach.”

“You’re right, Brain. It’s too yummy.” Pinky licked his lips. “So does that make me Mrs. Zoey Clarke then? Unless he divorced her already. I haven’t kept up with them in a while.” The butler on the phone had made a similar comment, thoroughly expecting ‘Mr. Clarke’ to divorce his spouse by the end of the week.

“So you’re aware of the Clarkes,” Brain said. He rolled the dice, and chance immediately sentenced him to jail. He had to push his battleship all the way to the jail space.  

But all of this divorcing nonsense was trivial to his goals. Hardly worth a footnote.

The objective was to infiltrate the party, mingle with the guests to throw off suspicion, then steal the military weapon and take over the world, not involve himself in a Terran’s relationship drama.

“Ooh, tough.” Pinky clicked his tongue in sympathy as he bought Waterworks. “But everyone knows who the Clarkes are. Didn’t you see anything about all those divorces when you looked them up?”

“I’m more interested in his business ventures than his messy personal life,” Brain replied. “All this talk about divorce is simply incidental. But now I digress. Escaping jail so I may continue my conquering campaign is of utmost priority.”

“Doubles! Doubles!” Pinky chanted as Brain threw the dice. A two and three faced up, but no doubles. Pinky deflated, but only for a moment. Then he picked up a fifty. “Here, Brain. I’ll bail you out.”

From Brain’s brief skim over the rules, he didn’t recall a single one that allowed players to bail each other out of jail. He wanted to refuse and tell Pinky to focus on winning for himself, but obtaining Pennsylvania Railroad, which he’d missed the first time he’d passed through this section of the board, was just too tempting.  

Brain took the fifty from Pinky, put it in the bank, then moved his battleship out of jail and used his draining resources to buy Pennsylvania Railroad. Only afterward did he realize that he’d been steadily losing money every turn and hadn’t gained anything since the beginning of the game.

Contrast to Pinky, who rolled a twelve and skipped over the last fourth of the board, placing him squarely on the Go space and guaranteeing himself a free two hundred. Then he rolled a low number and bought Mediterranean.

A poor investment, given that it was hardly worth anything. But Pinky didn’t think so.

And he wouldn’t stop cooking up new fantasies either. “Now we can host a beach jubilee for your welcome home from jail party! With hot dogs and beach balls and those big umbrellas and-”

Brain lobbed the dice at Pinky so he’d quiet down and allow Brain to formulate a strategy in peace.

Perhaps a pass around the board without purchasing anything would be necessary. He had to rebuild his financial resources again. The downside was that Pinky could potentially take the spaces for himself, but it was entirely possible that he’d miss some of the open spaces too.

So he did just that, finally lucking out when a Community Chest card sent Pinky to Reading Railroad.

But Pinky was incapable of keeping his mouth shut, and soon he was back on the topic of the infamous Clarke divorces.

“-so I think Zoey is number eleven, and I know they all blend together, so when I confuse them I just remember divorce, beheaded, died, divorce, beheaded, survived!”

Brain stared at Pinky, praying to all the ancient Selenian gods nobody believed in anymore that Snowball didn’t have him take the identity of a murderer.

“Oh wait no, no...that’s King Henry, not Clarke. Must’ve mixed them up, poit. Sorry.”

Brain threw another green house at Pinky, nailing him in the shoulder. Pinky yelped, but once he realized he had another house he immediately thanked Brain because that meant Terry’s friend could move next door.

Since there was little point to dissuading Pinky entirely, Brain focused on his game strategy instead.

It was mostly repetition anyway. Roll dice, move piece, board event, repeat. Perhaps it would be considered tedious and monotonous, but the storylines Pinky improvised were what truly made it fascinating, even though Brain could only follow about half of it since Pinky created plotholes within the fantastical yet mundane place named Monopoly City faster than the speed of light.

According to Pinky, he and his sister co-ran an enormous pet supply shop attached to a humane animal shelter next door to the dog park. Meanwhile, Brain was conductor of a magical train and seeking the mayorship because the corrupt mayor was involved with an evil cigarette corporation who wanted to diabolically sell their products to innocent children.

And while Pinky certainly had a knack for improvisation, the matter at hand was that Brain couldn’t resist buying Boardwalk, but he’d used up a third of his money and Pinky wasn’t landing there to make up for the deficit. But Brain also had Baltic, the least valuable property, and Pinky had Park Place, which Brain desperately needed since neither of them had houses on the board yet.

This wasn’t going to be a fair trade for Pinky, but it was the best chance Brain had to etch out a victory. He was going for it.

“Park for Baltic so we can finally build some residences,” Brain said, sliding the card over to Pinky.

And to his surprise, Pinky jumped at the opportunity. “Sure, Brain! If you’ll trade me Oriental for Marvin Gardens. We’re gonna open a Chinatown district!”

He’d be giving Pinky control of the first quarter of the board, but the allure of the most expensive properties was far too tempting to pass up.

They swapped properties, then paused the game to set up their houses. Brain didn’t have enough money to buy houses for all his properties, so he set two houses on Boardwalk and hoped he could deal a staggering blow to Pinky’s finances. And even this decision was costly, for he only had $180 left.

Pinky set four houses on Baltic and clapped his hands together. “They’re beach houses,” he explained, and didn’t bother putting houses on the rest of his properties even though he could afford it.

Brain kept his mouth shut. Best not to give Pinky ideas. So he rolled the dice and got doubles.

Luxury Tax.

Scrik.

Now he was down to $105. But he’d pass Go on his next turn, so he could obtain an extra two hundred and hopefully skip this portion of the board.

Then he landed on Baltic.

He slowly looked at Pinky, and Brain couldn’t tell if Pinky was being perfectly innocent or just very, very good at pretending to be perfectly innocent. “That’ll be $320 please,” Pinky said.

Including the two hundred from passing Go, he’d only have a grand total of $305.

And according to the conditions he’d set, he’d lost the game through losing all his money.

“Can’t pay it,” Brain sighed. “Congratulations, Pinky. You’ve bested me.”

Pinky giggled and threw his play money in the air in celebration. “Aw, thanks for playing with me! I’ve never played Monopoly with anyone before. Never been able to get the board to Pharfignewton’s stable without the play money flying all over the street. It took me a long time to pick it all up. We should definitely do this again, Brain! Troz!”

But there wouldn’t be a next time. No matter how much he wanted to be victorious in another match against Pinky.

“Yes, we should,” Brain forced out, willing his racing heart to calm down so he wasn’t caught in his lie.

Pinky beamed, and Brain only wished it wasn’t so difficult to explain.

o-o-o-o-o

Terran Date 4.29.2015

Tonight, we shall seek appropriate outfits for the masquerade ball. I have been informed that my jumpsuit is not considered formal attire and that we will need to shop for proper clothing. However, I will be bringing my jumpsuit along since I will not return to the lab, and I require my conquering outfit to carry out our plans.

Pinky knows a place that may contain what we need. He’s spent the last two hours finishing his hat for the Kentucky Derby and has proudly shown off the finished product to me. Though I’ll admit that the result can only be considered a hat if one is generous with their definition.

I have not been able to contact Snowball. I can only assume he’s making the necessary preparations on his end.

Signing off for now,

The Brain

o-o-o-o-o

They stood in front of an enormous building with bright neon letters, impossible to miss even with his direction-challenged companion. Thankfully, it was only a few blocks from the lab. After the scientists strapped him to a machine that tested centrifugal force, he didn’t have the energy to walk much further.

“Welcome to Toyz ‘B’ We, Brain!” Pinky exclaimed, and Brain cringed at the horrendous grammar of that name. “It's the most wonderfulest toy shop ever!”

Wonderfulest wasn’t a word, but Brain was given no time to inform Pinky of that fact before Pinky dragged him to the entrance, where a large, cartoonish statue of a Terran bee stood off to the side, greeting customers with a cheerful wave of her magic wand.

“So that’s the mascot, Becky Bee,...let’s see, those are the shopping carts and the baskets and those machines that give you washable tattoos-”

“Focus on the clothing, Pinky. Not all the extraneous material,” Brain reminded him as they entered the store. Unlike their disastrous mall trip, Brain had brought along a source of money, an ACME credit card one of the scientists had carelessly left at their desk after purchasing a chair online.

They had a right to use the card as ACME employees who never got paid for their hard labor in experiments. And he promised Pinky he’d give it back once they were through purchasing the necessary items, so it didn’t catch on that pesky ‘no stealing’ radar.

Based on Pinky’s descriptions of the store, he expected an interior full of wonder, excitement, and interesting objects designed for enjoyment for young Terrans.

Instead, everything was a sterile white, yellow, or black. Rectangular kits of building blocks of all shapes and sizes sat neatly in a row, their price tags dusty as if they hadn’t been moved or cleaned in some time.

Dozens of bee models hung from the ceiling rafters, all of them sharing the exact same dead stare and pose. The whole setup was rather unnerving, and Brain averted his eyes.

He spotted two workers at the registers. They scrolled through their phones, not noticing Pinky’s cheerful greeting as he skipped past them. A third worker called out in alarm to them, and they suddenly dropped their phones and picked up rags, repetitively wiping their counters in circles in a poor attempt to appear busy.

The only one who acted like they were in a store meant for entertainment was Pinky, who oohed and ahhed and zigzagged all over the place to get a look at all the toys.

“Brain, look at this Barbie convertible! It’s so sparkly!” Pinky exclaimed before darting off to admire the box art on five-hundred piece jigsaw puzzles, then crawled onto the lowest shelf to hug a life-sized chihuahua plushie. “Narf! This one’s a cutie! And I also like the polka-dotted lizard, that green unicorn, and that rainbow koala looks really soft too-”

Brain grabbed Pinky’s tail, yanking him out of the shelf and onto the floor.

“This store’s already eroding whatever’s left of your mind,” Brain said, dragging Pinky away from the stuffed animals.

Pinky propped himself up on his elbows, humming as they passed aisle upon aisle of action figures, balls, and building blocks.

It was strange how they seemed to be the only customers here. Shouldn’t there be more snot-nosed brats running amok or haggard parents corralling them so they didn’t destroy everything with their grubby hands?

Still, perhaps he shouldn’t complain.

It was a relief that he didn’t have to worry about people trampling him underfoot for now.

But the peace didn’t last long, since Pinky suddenly peeled away in a completely different direction, forgetting that Brain was hanging onto his tail. Though he tried to dig his heels in, Pinky was too fast and the floor too slippery for Brain to bring them to a halt.

Then Pinky stopped on his own, and Brain only caught a glimpse of a metallic table leg before he crashed face-first into it, his nose smarting from the impact.

“Sorry, Brain,” Pinky said sheepishly, and there were five upside-down images of him. Brain swatted at the one in the middle, but his hand hit empty air instead. He shook his head to clear his vision, and all but the Pinky on the far left vanished.

Pinky didn’t stay put for long, darting past Brain. He hauled himself up the table leg and onto a light blue tablecloth. “You have to come up and see this, Brain!” Pinky squealed, peering over the edge of the table, his tail wagging beside him. “There’s an entire fence made of Legos here!”

Brain sighed, wondering if it was an exercise in futility to get Pinky to focus on the task at hand. “This is the last time I’ll repeat myself!” Brain shouted as he climbed up to retrieve Pinky. “We’re here for the clothes and-”

Though Brain only took fifteen seconds to ascend, Pinky managed to don a cropped, checkered top that showed off his slender stomach and a very short blue skirt in that short timeframe.

“Well, what do you think?” Pinky giggled and twirled in circles, the skirt flying in a graceful arc around his waist. “I could go square dancin’ in this, pardner! Yee-narf!”

Realizing he’d been staring at Pinky’s exposed stomach rather than making proper eye contact, Brain quickly turned away and pretended to find a row of small toy cars interesting. Next to the toy cars, there was a menagerie of small, plastic animals penned in by a colorful fence.

Part of a garden themed jigsaw puzzle served as a lawn under his feet, the pieces leading up to an enormous pink dollhouse.

Pinky took off the clothes he’d tried on, neatly threading a bent wire through the crop top and skirt and hanging them on a piece of string that served as a makeshift clothesline. There were five different clotheslines, each stocked to the brim with a variety of colorful articles.

Brain thumbed through the selection, though he didn’t feel an attachment to any of these pieces. While these clothes were designed for toys, most of them were still too big for him.

Finding something that would fit would be more difficult than he realized.

There was a large empty space past all the clotheslines, but it seemed it would be filled in soon enough. The display had all the signs of being a work in progress, and Brain couldn’t help but wonder who had the patience to put all this together. Certainly not the bored workers at the registers.

It was a welcome splash of creativity from the rest of the dull store.

“Poit. This is exactly how I imagined my dream home to be,” Pinky said in awe. He walked up to the front door and popped it open, revealing a spacious interior. Brain followed Pinky inside and they explored the first floor together, which contained a kitchen, living room, and a playroom.

“I really like the coloring on those kitchen cabinets, and the fireplace is a great touch! Very retro. And the kiddies will have a grand ol’ time in the playroom,” Pinky said as they climbed the staircase to the second floor and walked through two bedrooms and a bathroom.

“Marble countertops would make the kitchen and bathroom more refined,” Brain argued. Really, did Pinky want any visitors to think uncivilized brutes owned the house? “But the fireplace is a welcome touch.”

Pinky shrugged as they entered the master bedroom. “It’s fine as is. Now if the backyard was bigger with a dolphin-shaped swimming pool, that would be really, really amazing!”

And Brain preferred marble countertops, but since he wouldn’t be getting everything he wanted, neither would Pinky.

Brain sat on the large bed that took up half the room, the fluffy covers soft and welcoming. But they were on a mission, and future world rulers didn’t roll around on beds in an undignified manner, no matter how tempting it was.

Pinky threw open the closet doors, revealing more clothing inside. “Oh, these pajamas are lovely!” he said, pressing a yellow nightgown close to his body.

“Anything that would suit our purposes?” Brain asked. In hindsight, doing some research into what people wore for masquerade balls would’ve been helpful. He didn’t know why it slipped his mind. Perhaps Pinky’s scatterbrained traits were contagious.

“Hmmm, it’s all pajamas and casual wear,” Pinky said, flicking through the different articles. He closed the doors and reopened them, as if the formal wear would magically appear if they were out of sight. “No suits for you or the porpoises, Brain.” And he’d been so hopeful too.

“Maybe we can find something in the aisles,” Pinky said.

A sensible suggestion, for once.

Brain tried not to appear reluctant to leave the bed, but necessity demanded it. As he stood up, the fur on his neck pricked, his ears twitching towards the large window in the bedroom.

An odd sense that he was being watched came over him, and when he turned to look at the window, he saw a Terran’s eye peering into the balcony.

They stared at each other.

Then the eye blinked.

And Brain was suddenly very, very glad Snowball wasn’t here to bear witness, or he’d never hear the end of how he’d leapt onto Pinky’s back in his moment of panic.

Pinky yelped, and so did the Terran outside the window. There were several loud thuds, followed by a frantic apology.

Brain released Pinky, rubbing his face to get rid of the blush as he ran down the staircase and out the front door.

“S-sorry!” a young woman stammered as she bent down to pick up several packages of toys, only to lose her large glasses on the floor in the process. She wore the standard uniform of the store. “I didn’t think anyone would be inside! I thought one of the furniture pieces fell over, that’s all!”

Pinky hopped down from the table, picking up the woman’s glasses and pressing them into her hand. “It’s okay!” he chirped. “You scared us good, but now we can laugh about it! Oh, your name tag says Sharon! What a lovely name! I’m Pinky, that chubby alien up there is Brain, and we’re going to a party this weekend where we’ll raise awareness for the plight of frosted animal crackers!”

“That’s not the event’s objective,” Brain corrected, and he had no choice but to let Pinky come to his own conclusions. Stealing the secret weapon on Lamont property would remain classified information as promised. “And if you call me chubby again, I shall have to hurt you.”

Sharon took her glasses from Pinky with a tentative smile, then let him climb up her arm and onto her shoulder. “Zort! You have very good taste in Polly Pocket dolls!” Pinky said, peering down at the packages in her hands. “Do you collect?”

Sharon blushed. “I, um, have a lot of Beanie Babies at home. I’m not really interested in Polly Pockets, but they’d fit much better in this display than a standard Barbie.” She glanced at Brain. “I’m sorry, could you please move? I’m putting a few things in that area.”

Brain moved out of the way as Sharon carefully opened the packages. Then she placed several small tables and chairs in the empty space next to the clotheslines, bending the dolls’ legs into sitting positions and placing them on the chairs. She worked slowly and diligently, taking great caution to not knock anything over or break the items.

“Did you make all this?” Pinky asked. “It’s amazing!”

“Y-yeah, I did. The display, I mean. Not the toys.” Sharon didn’t look at Pinky as she straightened one of the Lego fences. “Store’s been on the decline, and because there’s not really much to do, I’m trying to create a few displays to generate some interest. The toys in this one were supposed to be thrown away since nobody’s buying them, even on clearance, but it just seemed so wasteful.”

She was resourceful. It was a valuable trait, but she seemed more embarrassed than anything.

“Take pride, Sharon. It’s an excellent use of parts,” Brain advised.

Pinky nodded eagerly. “And you’re saving the toys from the evil furnace! I’m sure they’re very grateful to you when you’re not looking!”

“You...you really like it?” Sharon lifted her glasses and wiped a tear from her eye. “Nobody’s ever really noticed my efforts around here.”

“Well, they should!” Pinky declared. “I’ll tell them so myself!”

Sharon smiled as Pinky hugged her face, then rejoined Brain on the table. “Thanks, but I don’t think you came to this store just to invade a toy home.”

“No, we didn’t,” Brain said, seeing his opportunity and seizing it. “We require formal clothes for a masquerade ball, and unfortunately, we haven’t seen anything of interest yet.”

“There’s plenty of interesting things in here, Brain,” Pinky said. “Like the busybody bees up on the ceiling!”

Apparently they had two very different definitions of interesting.

“Well, I can bring out some items from the back,” Sharon offered. “We had to pull the entire line of formal Zuma Ben accessories last week. Some parents found the outfits a little scandalous for their kids, so now the accessories are just going in the trash. But maybe you’ll find something to wear from the pile. Be right back, guys!” She walked away, her steps growing slightly more confident.

“Real Zuma Ben accessories?” Pinky clasped his hands to his cheek. “I’ve never worn anything like that before!”

“It’s just a name,” Brain said. He didn’t see why Pinky was treating Zuma Ben’s name like a sacred object. “As long as we’re dressed to impress, the name doesn’t matter.”

“I just think they’re pretty,” Pinky replied. “And I like looking at them, even if I can’t buy anything. Still, I’m really happy with the clothes I have now.”

But Pinky had a sizable wardrobe. Those clothes had to come from somewhere.

“So how did you obtain your clothes if you never bought them?” Brain asked.

Pinky smiled. “The scientists. They’ll drop clothes into my cage, which is really nice of them! One time, I put on this pretty sundress they gave me and I started itching really bad. I was jumping around like a tiny monkey and I managed to make them all laugh! I must’ve been quite the sight!”  

Pinky laughed at the memory, but Brain was more disturbed at how the blatant act of humiliation didn’t affect him in the slightest. Then the laugh faltered and restarted at a higher pitch.

No, that initial assessment was wrong. True, Pinky could withstand many things, but not even the most resilient being could tolerate the sound of mockery for long.

Should he say something? Was an ‘I’m sorry’ sufficient? Was there any act of comfort that didn’t involve unnecessary physical contact?

Brain wanted to be decisive, but dozens of scenarios played out in his head, and none of them led to a satisfactory outcome. Tell Pinky to cease his laughter, embrace him, talk about the weather. He didn’t know.

Emotions led to nothing but trouble.

“Quit staring,” Brain snapped when Pinky wouldn’t stop watching him like he wanted something.

Pinky’s ears fell, but Sharon came back before the pang of guilt could fully settle in Brain’s stomach.

“Thanks for waiting, guys,” Sharon said as she dumped the accessory packages onto the table. “See anything you like?”

“All of them!” Pinky declared, happily tossing a three-pack of formal dresses into the air. He tried tearing it open, but the packaging wouldn’t give. Sharon helpfully tore it open for him, and Pinky made a happy, grateful sound before pulling a sparkly purple dress over his body. He twirled around. “So how do I look?”

“Lovely,” Sharon giggled as she pulled out her phone. She set it against the Lego fence, allowing Pinky to see himself in the camera app.

“I’ll put this as a maybe,” Pinky said. “But I have to give all the dresses a chance too!”

He tried four other dresses on in quick succession, and all of them went into the maybe pile.

Meanwhile, Brain searched through his choices of men’s formal wear. He wanted the best possible option for successful infiltration, but he didn’t know much about Terran fashion. His nose wrinkled at a powdered blue suit with far too many ruffles. He was fairly certain that wouldn’t garner respect on any planet, so he pushed the offending pack away from his other options.

The pure white suit would get stained too easily. He needed something darker. That one was out.

“Hey Brain, what about this one?” Pinky asked. He now wore a long sleeved lime green dress, which Brain found extremely tacky and unappealing to the eyes. Not even Pinky could salvage that monstrosity. Yet in Pinky’s hands, there was a black suit with a white shirt underneath. Not extravagant by any means, but since the coloration was similar to his conquering attire, it was the most probable choice by far.

But while Pinky was comfortable with changing in front of others, Brain wasn’t so keen on the idea.

“I require privacy,” Brain said. He took the suit from Pinky and went inside the house, shutting the door behind him and ensuring the shutters were closed.

Then he removed his gloves and jumpsuit, shivering from the cold air as he laid the items over a chair. He put on the new set of pants first, then the white collared shirt, and finally buttoned the jacket over his abdomen.

Well, it was comfortable. And it hid most of his stomach too, which was also a positive. But he needed to see how it looked in the light before making a judgment call, so he rejoined Pinky and Sharon, who were playing with different filters on her phone while Pinky wore a magnificent feathery pink dress.

“Now you really look like a flamingo,” Sharon laughed as Pinky changed the filter to sepia, the image now different shades of tan. Pinky blew a kiss to the camera. “This one’s my favorite so far,” Pinky declared with a graceful curtsey.

And the sleeveless feathery dress did seem to match his personality much better than all the other dresses. Flamboyant and quirky, but inviting and friendly as well. A darker pink feather boa was draped over his shoulders, and purple feathers fanned out from the back of his neck. A light green choker was wrapped around his neck. Then Pinky added a matching headband with a light pink tuft to complete the ensemble.

“That will certainly make an excellent first impression on the partygoers,” Brain said.

Pinky changed the phone filter back to normal with one hand, playing with the feather boa in his other. “Egad, you really think so?” he exclaimed. “Hold on a sec, Brain. Where’s the rest of your outfit?”

“Rest of?” Brain echoed. “This doesn’t require anything else.”

Pinky shook his head and dug a red bow and matching sash out of the clothes pile. “You need a few splashes of color, Brain! Or you’ll just end up a sad wilty wallflower!”

“They’d really match your circles,” Sharon added.

Well, he’d always looked good in red. It was a bold, attention-grabbing color.

Brain draped the sash over his shoulder and fastened the bow around his ear, checking himself over in Sharon’s phone. Then Pinky and Sharon started giggling for some odd reason.

“What?” Brain asked. He was presentable at a formal event now, wasn’t he?

“You’re kinda wearing it wrong,” Sharon admitted.

His ears flattened from embarrassment. Selenians typically wore practical jumpsuits with minimal accessories, and none of their databanks ever mentioned Terran outfits. They must’ve found it unimportant.  

“Don’t worry, Brain. It’s an easy fix! May I?” Pinky exclaimed.

Brain nodded his permission, and Pinky removed the bow from Brain’s ear and carefully fastened it underneath his collar, taking great care to not pull the bow too tightly around his neck.

“So this isn’t a sash. It’s a cummerbund and you wear it around your stomach,” Pinky explained as he demonstrated the proper way to wear it. It was relieving to know Terrans made accessories that would hide the slight bulge, and Brain donned the cummerbund correctly.

The accessories really did match his orbs. For the first time, he was dressed to the nines and it was a glorious feeling indeed.

“Aw, you’re both so spiffy!” Sharon exclaimed. “Mind if I put a photo of this on the Twitter page to boost some interest?”

“We’ll return the favor,” Brain said. She deserved some reward for helping them out anyway.

Sharon turned her phone around, ready to snap the picture when Pinky suddenly darted out of frame. “Hold on! Narf!” he cried, shoving a small blue butterfly-themed mask into Brain’s hands and flipping a pink feathery mask over his face. “It’s a masquerade ball, you know!”

While Brain’s mask only covered the area around his eyes, Pinky’s face was mostly hidden by his birdlike mask, leaving only his bright blue eyes exposed.

“Doesn’t that tickle?” Brain inquired as Pinky stretched his boa out for a picture.

Pinky shrugged. “A little. But I don’t mind!”

“Smile for the camera, you guys!” Sharon grinned.

Brain didn’t smile, but he stood in front of the toy house while Sharon snapped pictures and Pinky struck a different pose with every shot.

Pinky’s laughter rang joyously in Brain’s ears.

He would leave that sound behind in just a few days. But it was a small price to pay for the world.

End AN: Maybe this chapter is a little disjointed, but oh well. Sharon is based off the toy store worker who helps the mice in Brain’s Night Off. 

I tried to do the math for the Monopoly game and even pulled out my Monopoly property cards so I could get the amounts correct, but if anything is inaccurate I am hereby excused from responsibility because I am a writer and not a mathematician. Yes i use that excuse every time but it’s true. 

Brain's outfit comes from the tuxedo he wore in the reboot's Future Brain episode. Pluto designed Pinky's outfit herself (somehow we both were thinking lots of pink feathers for Pinky) and deserves all the credit for it cause it's so beautiful. I chose a butterfly mask for Brain and a flamingo theme for Pinky.

[iffeelscouldkill]

TSCOSI Week Day 3: Sana / Leadership

A/N: ssshhhhhhh yes I know it’s late but ssssshhhhh let’s just pretend I’m posting this 5/6 days ago

Here, finally, is my fic for Day 3 of TSCOSI Week, on the theme of Sana / Leadership! This takes place in an ambiguous point in Late Season 2. It does not have any bearing on the episode that was released today, which I haven’t even listened to yet, because I was busy trying to finish off this fic 😂😭 Energy and motivation have not been on my side lately. But here we are!

I had two ideas I could have gone with for this day’s prompt, and of course I chose the one I knew would lead to a longer fic, but it was worth it. This type of TSCOSI fic is my favourite to write - pure Rumor/Iris crew fluff and shenanigans. So enjoy!

---

The first clue Sana had that something was amiss was when she woke up.

Rather than waking to the vibration of her comm against her ear (yes, her comm had an alarm function and yes, she slept with it in in case of emergencies. She would not be taking questions at this time), she came to naturally, which she hadn’t done in months. Sana smiled to herself, stretching – and then froze.

She never woke up naturally, and the few times that she did wake during the night she didn’t feel this pleasantly well-rested. What time was it?

“Computer?” Sana spoke aloud to ELLA. “Current on-ship time?”

“The current on-ship time – is – nine – forty-three AM,” ELLA’s voice intoned. Sana sat bolt upright in her bed.

That wasn’t right. There was no way she’d slept through her alarm, and she had it set to recur at the same time every morning. Which meant…

“Sana Tripathi to all crew,” Sana said, opening up a comm line to all of her crewmates’ devices. “Hey, guys. Would someone mind telling me why my alarm didn’t go off this morning?”

“It didn’t go off because I deprogrammed it when I poured you into bed last night at some ungodly hour,” came the reply in Arkady’s deadpan tones, and Sana cringed slightly, regretting opening up a line to the whole crew. “Also, I’ve said this before, but sleeping with your comm in your ear? Pretty unhealthy, and that’s coming from me.”

“Thank you for that feedback, Arkady,” said Sana, with all the dry sarcasm she could muster.

“Prolonged comm usage, even when the comm is idle, has also been known to lead to hearing damage in a small percentage of cases,” put in RJ, and Sana’s eyebrows rose. “Something to do with a low level of uh, high-frequency feedback? So as a best practice, you should really take it out before bed.”

“RJ, are you lecturing me right now?” Sana asked, halfway between deeply amused and indignant.

“Uhhhh- n-no Ma’am! I mean, uh- no, Captain.”

“They’re right, you know,” Violet put in next. “I mean, it really is a small percentage of cases, but as your medic I have to advise you not to leave your comm device in for prolonged periods. Also, that sounds – uncomfortable? For sleeping?”

Sana sighed, resigning herself to being ganged up on by her entire crew. “Duly noted, Violet. Getting back to the subject at hand-”

“Wow, human ears are so fragile!” This, of course, was Krejjh. “They can really be damaged by comm feedback?”

“For a prolonged enough period-” RJ began to explain.

“We don’t all have your ‘superior alien senses’, dude,” put in Brian, laughing. Sana put a hand to her head.

“Guys-”

“I deprogrammed your alarm because you need a break, Captain,” Arkady cut in, almost gently. “Don’t think we didn’t notice that you’ve been pulling extra shifts so that the rest of us could take breaks, while not taking any yourself.”

“The human body is at its best when given time to rest and recover,” Violet added, also gently. “And you’re human too, Captain.”

Sana could feel her face flaming, but she was also extremely touched by the concern the crew were showing her – even though they’d apparently ganged up on her in the process.

“All right, I can admit that the lie-in was appreciated,” she said. “Thank you for the thought, everyone. Krejjh, I’m coming to relieve you in-”

“Oh, no need, Cap’n,” Krejjh interrupted cheerfully. “Crewman Park is taking your shift! He’s relieving me in ten minutes, and then Crewman Jeeter and I are going to play cards.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Sana said, beginning to feel slightly alarmed. “Park, I’m coming up to the cockpit in-”

“Sorry, Captain, but I think you’ve been outnumbered,” Park said, as mildly as ever. “Also, Krejjh promised me fruit jerky in exchange for taking the next shift, and I’m not about to give that up.”

Sana stared at the wall, running a hand over her face. “Park, you hate fruit jerky.”

“This is special fruit jerky,” Park replied, deadly serious. “The really good kind. Enjoy your time off.”

“There must be something I can do,” said Sana, realising she sounded slightly desperate.

“Uh, you can join me and Krejjh for a game of cards in ten minutes?” Brian suggested.

“Or you can relax, Captain,” Violet said, still in that gently amused tone. “It’s for one day. We promise you’ll be back to keeping us all in line tomorrow.”

The whole day?! Sana exclaimed internally. And okay, maybe the way that she balked at the idea of a day of enforced rest said something about the habits she’d fallen into.

She could at least give it a try. The crew had obviously put some thought into this – and it didn’t seem like they were backing down any time soon.

“Maybe I could use a breather,” she admitted aloud, and pretended not to hear someone’s sigh of relief over the comms. “But if any of you need anything…”

“We’ll let you know, Captain,” Arkady promised her, sounding not in the slightest bit sincere. Sana sighed.

“Okay. Sana Tripathi out.”

Or maybe by the afternoon her crewmates would let up, and she could go back to doing something useful.

---

Sana spent the next ten minutes or so trying and failing to relax with an audiobook, one of a handful she’d downloaded off the public net for sleepless nights. It just felt wrong to be lying on her bed doing nothing during the day. Normally she cherished her moments of downtime when she could get them (and okay, they’d been few and far between lately), but this felt… too much. Surely she should be somewhere else, maybe off discussing their next destination with Krejjh after they managed to resupply on Hathor, going over the new truck with Arkady to check it was outfitted to their needs, or maybe putting her head together with Park and RJ to get their analysis of the latest information about Regime movements.

And sure, they didn’t have any immediate jobs for Boss Violet that needed doing, and it was far enough to Hathor that planning their next destination could probably wait a day or two. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t needed. Even when Sana was off-shift, she tended to linger around the crew areas, just keeping an eye out; watching for signs of exhaustion among her crewmates, making sure they weren’t hiding injuries or strain. Injecting a cheery comment here or a calming word there, to keep people’s spirits up.

She was the Captain, and it was her job to look out for her crew. It had been a tough past few weeks, and Sana didn’t want to take this current peace for granted.

Sighing, Sana shut off the audiobook recording and went to the mess hall. Krejjh and Brian were sat at one of the tables, playing a rousing game of something that Krejjh dubbed ‘Reverse Snap’, where the object was to call out when you turned over two cards that were ‘spiritual opposites’. Unsurprisingly, Krejjh had been the one to devise the system of ‘spiritual opposites’, and was therefore given the power to decide whether a play was valid or not, a power that they abused liberally. Brian never seemed to mind; Sana suspected the enjoyment for him was in watching his fiancé get caught up in the game, and laughing at their ridiculous justifications for why they should be allowed to win each round.

Sana declined to get involved in the action herself, but it was a nice change of pace to just sit and spend time with two of her crewmates, without any other purpose beyond having fun. It was true that she didn’t get to do this often enough.

Unfortunately, the game came to a halt after Krejjh lost three consecutive rounds and poutingly declared that Brian must be cheating, even though he’d been faithfully citing their own rules each time he won a hand. “This is boring. Let’s go snuggle in our room and listen to RIFT!” they said.

Brian just smiled and gathered up the cards. “Okay,” he agreed easily. “How’re you feeling, Captain? More relaxed?”

Sana smiled wryly. “I do take downtime, you know. Despite what everyone seems to think.”

“Captain, you sleep with your comm in your ear,” Brian pointed out, mild and easy-going, but unerringly right, as always.

“I wish everyone would stop fixating on that,” Sana grumbled. Brian laughed.

“Look, this whole ‘enforced day off’ thing wasn’t my idea, but I am on board with the concept,” he said. Sana thought about asking him whose idea it had been, but she supposed it didn’t matter. “You deserve to have a break from looking after us all the time, you know? It was the least we could give you.”

Sana sat back in her chair, a little taken aback. She hadn’t been thinking about it in that way – that this was a joint effort by the crew to do something nice for her, to gift her with a day to herself. She’d been so caught up in chafing at the enforced idleness. But they’d all obviously pitched in on this, making sure that her shifts were covered and that everything was taken care of.

“Honestly, being Captain of this crew? It’s no hardship,” she told Brian – and Krejjh, who was hovering by the table – honestly. “But… thank you. It’s an incredibly sweet thought, and I do appreciate it.”

Brian smiled again. “It’s really nothing,” he told her. “See you later, Captain.”

Krejjh gave her a parting salute. “Enjoy your morning, Cap’n Tripathi!” they chirped, and then bounded after Brian.

Which left Sana with some food for thought, but still nothing to do. The mess, for now, was deserted, everyone evidently occupied with their own work or rest. Should she go back to her room, or try to find something to do around the ship? She wondered whether fixing things up and doing handiwork around the ship would be classed as ‘working’ in the eyes of the crew. Sadly, it probably would.

Resigned to giving her audiobook another try, Sana got up from the table and made her way along the corridor to her room. Passing by the medbay, she noticed that the light by the door was green, which meant that it was open, and she could movement from inside. She knocked, wondering if Violet would want a hand – or some company.

“Come in,” Violet called, and Sana pressed the button to open the door and stepped inside. Violet was inside, surrounded by rows and groups of orderly supplies - evidently doing that full inventory she’d been planning. She didn’t look surprised to see Sana.

“Can I… help with anything?” Sana asked. Violet gave her a wry smile.

“I don’t have a dictionary on me, but I’m pretty sure this wouldn’t come under the definition of “relaxation”,” she teased. Sana put her hands up.

“All right, granted. I can just keep you company for a while, then? Unless you prefer to work in silence.”

“Company is welcomed, Captain,” Violet told her. “And actually, there is something I could use a hand with.”

Sana was about to ask what it was, when she followed Violet’s gaze up to a high shelf full of supplies that she’d evidently been unable to clear. “Oh! Sure, I can help with that,” she said, trying not to seem too outwardly pleased at the opportunity to do something. Judging by Violet’s expression, she probably hadn’t succeeded. “Do you want them all down?”

“Yes, please, Captain.”

Sana got to work lifting boxes of what appeared to be empty syringes and some basic first aid supplies – bandages, gauze, cooling packs – down off the shelf and handing them to Violet, who made a noise of satisfaction when she saw what they contained. “So, how’s the overall situation with our med supplies?” Sana asked her. “Anything we need to restock?”

Violet gave her a sidelong glance, and Sana huffed. “If you want me to just turn off the part of my brain that’s concerned about the well-being of this ship, I’ve got some bad news for you.”

Violet laughed a little. “Okay, fair. We’re pretty well-off for med supplies, though I’d like it if we could get some more heptocaldrin – for injuries, not as a… stealth weapon.”

“Can’t it be both?” Sana joked. “I’ll put some feelers out with contacts who have connections with medical suppliers, see if we can get hold of some. – After today,” she added hastily at Violet’s raised eyebrow.

“Thank you,” Violet said, smiling serenely. “Are you planning to stay and watch me sort these?”

“Well, since I have so much leisure time at my disposal today,” Sana said lightly. “Can I sit here?” She gestured to the recliner that sat in the corner, the spiritual successor to the much-loved beanbag chair.

For the first few minutes, neither of them said anything much. It was quite soothing watching Violet work, although Sana itched to actually get involved and help her. She couldn’t help taking note of the condition of the medical supplies as Violet sorted them and made notes on her checklist, thinking about where they could find better-quality suppliers.

“Can I ask you something, Captain?” Violet said. Sana felt almost like she’d been caught out, though Violet’s tone was casual, almost idle; she hadn’t looked up from her work, still methodically sorting supplies.

“Of course,” Sana said.

“You’re always making sure that the six of us clock off and get enough rest. Why don’t you ever do the same for yourself?”

In hindsight, Sana should have known this question was coming. Before today, she likely would have given it a chipper, joking answer (like she did when Violet asked her, a few weeks after their flight from New Jupiter, how long she had been on shift), but now she made herself give the question some proper consideration.

“It’s different when you’re the one in charge,” she said after a little while. “If something goes wrong, if there’s an eventuality that I’ve overlooked, that’s on me. And given our current – status – the consequences of that could be much worse than me going without a break, or a couple hours of sleep.”

Violet gave her a sad smile. “But those are important things. I know it’s easy for me to say, when I don’t have to feel the weight of that responsibility – I couldn’t do what you do. But you’re at your best when you’re well-rested, too. What happens if you overlook something because you’re underslept and you haven’t had a break in days?”

“Well, that’s what I keep you all well-rested for,” Sana said lightly.

“Captain,” Violet said reprovingly.

“Violet,” Sana replied in the same tone. Jokingly, she said, “Are you going to start singing at me to take a break next?”

Violet blinked confusedly at her before the light of understanding dawned in her eyes. “Was that a ‘Hamilton’ reference?”

“You spend enough time with Arkady, you find yourself making opera and musical theatre references without even knowing it,” Sana replied. “You’ll need to watch out for that.”

“I’ll be on my guard,” Violet said. And then, more seriously, “But if it turned out to be a reliable method, then yes, I would sing at you.”

Sana couldn’t help laughing. “Well, luckily, there’s no need. Here I am, taking a break.”

“Uh huh,” was all Violet said, giving her an appropriately sceptical look.

“I am!”

“And if I asked you for your opinion on the overall quality of our med supplies, I’m sure you wouldn’t have any thoughts at all,” Violet said pointedly.

“Well, you can ask,” Sana replied. “But I’d have to tell you that the Captain will get back to you about that tomorrow, when she’s back on the clock.”

“Oh, good to know.”

 ---

Spending time with Violet in the medbay took up another hour, but before long Sana found herself back in her room and at a loose end again. And okay, maybe she was going about this wrong; she shouldn’t just be looking for ways to kill time all day. Plus, spending time with the crew was nice, but they were all busy with their own jobs, so that didn’t really equate to relaxation. There had to be something she could do by herself – other than listening to that audiobook.

On the Rumor, Sana had spent a lot of her downtime in her room working on sewing or embroidery projects. But lately, she hadn’t really had a project that she could – wait.

Sana sat up straighter on her bed, thinking. When they’d been putting together the ‘shopping list’ of supplies for Hypatia, she’d joked about adding a hammock to the list. She hadn’t seriously gone looking for one, but when she’d been checking out some of the hardware stores near where they made landing, looking for parts for the engine and the ship’s various systems, she’d discovered that they also sold swathes of fabric, rope, and – crucially – wooden poles.

Sana got up and went to the little closet built into the wall of her room. At the back, right where she’d left it, was a bundle of poles and rope with brightly-coloured fabric wrapped around it. Sana pulled out the bundle, breaking into a grin. She hadn’t really expected to find enough time to work on this when she’d bought the materials, though she’d vaguely intended to do a bit here and there. But now was the perfect time to try and put it together.

Sana unrolled the bundle on her floor and got to work.

---

“Incoming call from… Ignatius Campbell. Incoming call from… Ignatius Campbell. Incoming…”

Sana was in the middle of sewing the wooden poles into either end of her hammock fabric when the call came through to her comm link. “Computer, accept call. Campbell, hi!”

“Captain Tripathi!” Campbell’s voice boomed cheerily. “Is this a bad time?”

“It’s a pretty good time, actually,” Sana said as she worked the needle in and out of the fabric. “I’ve got the day off today, so I’m just doing some sewing in my room.”

There was a fractional pause on Campbell’s end. “The day off, huh?” he said. “How’s that going? Not too bored, I hope?”

Sana smiled to herself as she tied a knot in the sewing thread to secure it and then bit off the thread. She had scissors, but they were buried somewhere in the heap of fabric and she couldn’t be bothered to root around for them. “It was a bit slow to start off with, but I’m getting into it now.”

“Gotta say, I can’t believe they actually managed to persuade you to take a whole day out of your schedule to relax,” Campbell said. “The last time I called, you hadn’t slept in – was it thirty-six hours?”

“Thirty-two,” Sana said quietly, to herself.

“-And you were on your sixth cup of coffee – do you even remember that call?”

Sana sighed, part amusement and part resignation. “Yes, I do remember. Sorry for-”

“No, no, it’s fine, I was just – well, it was a bit worrying,” Campbell said. “Anyway, glad you’re taking a break. You sound… better.”

Who knew that everyone had apparently been so concerned for her wellbeing? Sana thought. Then her hand stilled in the middle of threading her needle. Maybe she should have realised how concerning it was to everyone. But she hadn’t thought – well, she guessed she hadn’t noticed that everyone was looking out for her just as much as she’d been trying to look out for them.

She cleared her throat a little. “Well, what can I do for you, Campbell?”

“Oh, nothing in particular,” Campbell replied. “Just wanted to call to catch up, really. Trade some gossip, funny stories about the crew… It’s been a while since you were able to stop by.”

Sana smiled ruefully, and then a thought occurred to her. “So, you just so happened to call to catch up on the one day when I don’t have anything going on? That’s good timing.”

“Uh—” Campbell’s cornered response was immediately telling. “I might’ve heard that – today would be a good time to call—”

Sana huffed in amusement again, rolling the fabric over the pole at the other end of her hammock and lining up the ends of the material. “Be honest, Campbell. Did the crew ask you to check up on me?”

“I called the ship’s comms last night, and Arkady picked up,” Campbell admitted. “I really was calling just to see how you all were, and well, she filled me in on how things had been lately. How they were all planning to cover your shifts and chores today to give you a break. She said that you might be at a loose end, so I offered to call you back around this time. I would’ve called earlier, but Eloise asked me to watch the boys in the morning.”

“How are they?” Sana asked, smiling.

“Oh, as full of energy as ever, I can barely keep up with them,” Campbell said, a smile in his own voice. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped-”

“No, it’s – fine, Campbell. Really,” Sana assured him. “I’m touched at how everyone’s been…” She searched for the right phrasing. “I’m touched at how much thought went into this. It really means a lot.”

“What you do means a lot,” Campbell responded, sincere. “To the whole crew. And to… me.”

Sana’s face warmed, and she realised she’d been sitting there, holding the fabric together without doing anything for the past several minutes. She picked up her needle and began on the same neat row of stitches that she’d made at the opposite end. “Thank you, Campbell.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Campbell replied gruffly, and then cleared his throat. “So – any good stories to share?”

“I’ll make you a trade,” Sana offered. “One story about the crew, for every story about your nephews.”

“Oof. You drive a hard bargain, Captain Tripathi, but I accept.”

Sana laughed. “Okay. Well. You might remember how Arkady has an unfortunate habit of leaving some of her weapons holsters in odd places around the ship…”

---

A few hours later, the new hammock – strung up in a corner of the mess where Sana had mounted some sturdy hooks on two adjacent walls – was almost ready. All it needed was a test subject; Sana could of course get in and test it herself, but it would be ideal if she could observe someone else getting into the hammock, so that she could judge how things looked from the outside.

Oddly, the mess hall was deserted, and had been for the past while, which was strange; she would have expected to find at least one or two members of the crew spending time in here. Just then, she spotted RJ, who had entered on the far side of the room and frozen.

“RJ!” she said happily. “You’re the perfect person to test out my new hammock.”

“Uh-” RJ looked around, as if hoping to be rescued by someone, before reluctantly walking over. “You’ve been making a… hammock?”

Sana gestured towards her creation with a flourish. “What do you think?”

RJ’s eyes narrowed as they inspected her handiwork, pulling lightly on the ropes that suspended the hammock. “Is it structurally sound?” they asked doubtfully.

“Why don’t you get in and test it for yourself?” Sana invited them. “Don’t worry about the hooks – they’re the same kind that you find on industrial pulleys. They’ll hold.”

RJ’s eyes flicked towards the doorway. “I’m not really sure if I should be-”

“Oh c’mon, you can take three minutes out of your shift, can’t you?” Sana cajoled them. “Just blame it on me waylaying you.”

RJ laughed a little. “Well – I guess if it’ll only take a minute…” Gingerly, they hoisted themself up onto the hammock, legs dangling over the side, before swivelling round and reclining more fully in the hammock. “Wow, this is actually – really comfortable.”

“Isn’t it? Hammocks are the best,” Sana enthused. “Is the amount of rocking okay?”

“Yeah, it seems fine. It’s not making me seasick, at least,” RJ joked. “You’ve done a pretty good job with the placement of-”

“RJ, there you are,” Park’s voice came from the other side of the mess. “Did you- oh, hi, Captain.”

“Hey, Park,” Sana said easily as Park approached, eyeing the hammock with curiosity. In the hammock, RJ sat back up, a guilty expression on their face. “RJ was being good enough to help me test out this hammock I’ve been making.”

“So I can see,” Park said, neutrally. “Seems like a good use of your time off.”

Sana raised an eyebrow at him, unsure whether the comment was sincere or impeccable sarcasm, but deciding to interpret it as sincere. “Thank you,” she said. “Want to test it out? It would be good to get data from someone taller.”

“I’d love to help, but I really need to borrow RJ,” Park said apologetically. “Sorry, Captain. Maybe after dinner?”

“Of course,” Sana said, as RJ quickly got out of the hammock. She watched Park take their arm and almost steer them away, the two of them conversing in hushed whispers once they were far enough away that they evidently thought she wouldn’t overhear.

Something odd was going on. Sana glanced at the hammock, and then back at the doorway that Park and RJ had just left through. Maybe she should leave it alone – after all, she was off the clock, and she didn’t have to know about everything that was going on on the ship.

Even though Park and RJ were behaving really strangely.

After a few seconds, Sana’s curiosity got the better of her, and she quietly followed.

“Well, I can’t go back through now,” RJ was saying to Park in slightly annoyed tones, as they walked down the corridor. “The Captain will definitely know something’s up. Anyway, I don’t remember seeing a screwdriver in the kitchen.”

A screwdriver? Sana thought, baffled.

“Well, Arkady says there are none in the engine room, and there’s not many other places on the ship left to check,” Park said tiredly. “So, if you’d like to tell her that you weren’t able to look in the kitchen…”

RJ made a reluctant noise. “Fine, what if we-”

Sana, from her vantage point around the corner, saw the two pause in front of the door that led to the medbay. Park raised his hand and knocked on the door in a specific pattern – one long, and three short knocks. After a second, the same knock came back and the door opened.

“Bad news,” Park said as the two entered the medbay. “Sana was in the mess, so RJ wasn’t able to check the kitchen properly.”

Sana moved around the corner until the open door of the medbay was in view, where a baffling sight (and this was coming from someone who’d seen a lot of weird things in her time) greeted her. The medbay observation table had been dragged into the middle of the room, and an array of screwdrivers, knives, and for some reason, spoons cluttered the tabletop. Arkady, looking irritated, was standing on top of the table with a knife in her hand, trying to pry at the cover that enclosed the medbay’s ceiling lamp. Violet, Brian and Krejjh were grouped around the table, looking up at what Arkady was doing; Violet was holding a penknife and shining a small torch in Arkady’s direction, while Krejjh was holding a small hammer, a steel rule and a lightbulb. Brian just looked entertained.

“I think we should check the engine room again,” RJ said. Arkady rolled her eyes.

“I told you, McCabe, I – Captain!”

Instantly, every crew member in the room (except Park, who simply looked resigned) whipped guiltily around, trying in vain to hide what they were doing. Krejjh dropped the steel rule.

“Cap’n Tripathi!” they said cheerily. “You are just in time for our – uh – table performance art routine! We’ve been practicing specially for you!”

“Really?” Sana asked, amused. “Because it looks to me like you were all trying to change a lightbulb. Badly.”

“As it so happens, Act One of our performance-”

“Krejjh, give it a rest,” Arkady said, as Brian laughed behind his hand. “Captain, we’re fine, honestly. We found the replacement bulb, we just need to figure out how to get this damn cover off.”

“And how long have you spent trying to pry it off, so far?” Sana asked.

“It’s been about an hour and a half,” Violet admitted. Arkady’s shoulders slumped.

“I’m almost there, but I think I need a different screwdriver to-”

She stopped as Sana walked over to the table, and held out a hand for Arkady to pull her up. Climbing onto the table, with the help of a steadying hand from Park, Sana took a magnet out of her pocket (she had a lot of things in her pockets) and held it near the rim of the ceiling lamp cover. A tiny screw flew out and clung onto the magnet. Sana held the magnet to the other side of the cover, attracting another screw, and then another, and another. Finally, she twisted the cover, and it popped off the ceiling.

“Lightbulb,” she said.

Krejjh handed her up the lightbulb, and Sana switched the working bulb out for the dead one, before easily replacing the cover and pushing the screws back into place. She dusted her hands and looked around at the crew.

“Well, that was fun. What’s Act Two?”

Violet smiled, and RJ looked impressed, while Brian shook his head. “I told you we should have just asked her.”

Sana looked back at Arkady, who was glowering at the knife she’d been holding like it had personally offended her.

“You could have asked me,” she agreed. “But I get that you were trying not to disturb me after you worked so hard to give me some time off. And, honestly, it’s been one of the best days I can remember for a while. So – thank you all. So much. I know that being the Captain doesn’t make me invincible. Or infallible. And as much as I want to look out for all of you, I need to remember to apply the same thought process to myself as well.” She caught Violet’s eye, and winked.

“In hindsight, it probably shouldn’t have taken a day of forced rest for me to see that, but I’m grateful that you were all willing to go to the trouble of arranging it so that I could. Even to the point of changing lightbulbs.” She smiled.

“And while you’ve all been working hard, I’ve rigged up a pretty awesome hammock in the mess hall, so it would frankly be a crime not to hold a movie night after dinner.”

Krejjh whooped, and Brian and RJ immediately struck up a fierce debate about whether they should watch a historical fantasy drama or a sci-fi epic. Park tiredly followed them out of the room, presumably to act as adult supervision.

“I’d better go make sure that they don’t forget about dinner,” Violet said, and went after them.

Arkady climbed down so that she was sitting on the edge of the table, and after making a space in the collection of cutlery and engineering tools, Sana joined her. For a few moments, neither of them said anything.

“I meant what I said just now,” Sana said, eventually. “I had a really good day, and… it meant a lot that everyone would go to the trouble of doing something like that for me. And of thinking it up and arranging it.”

“Violet did a lot of it,” Arkady said, a little too quickly. “And Park, especially with covering your shifts. And the comm thing was Krejjh’s idea.”

“Really?” asked Sana, amused. “And what about intercepting the call from Campbell that came in last night, making sure it didn’t disturb me, and then arranging for him to call back when you knew I might be going a bit stir-crazy?”

Arkady huffed. “He told you.”

“Of course he did,” Sana said. “Look, I’m sure it was a group effort, but… I couldn’t help thinking that the idea had to have come from someone who knew me pretty well. And maybe someone who’s been more worried about me lately than they wanted to admit.”

Arkady looked away, her shoulders raised in a defensive half-shrug. “I know you’re the Captain. I know you’ve got to look out for us, and – it’s not like I can really talk when it comes to putting in too many hours when I work on something. I don’t think there’s anyone in the crew who hasn’t done that at some point. But you’re always there to kick our asses into taking a break, and-”

“And someone needed to do that for me?” Sana finished for her, wryly.

Arkady looked back at her and snorted. “Pretty much. Thirty-two hours, Sana. With six cups of coffee.”

Sana winced. “In hindsight, that was probably the first red flag.”

“The first?”

“Okay, okay,” Sana said, laughing a little and holding up her hands. “You have my word that I will not let things get to that point again. And if they do, you have my full permission to-”

“-Kick your ass?”

“I was going to say, ‘put me in time-out in my own hammock’, but either works.”

“Speaking of which,” said Arkady, giving Sana a significant look. “Do I need to ask which part of the ship lost its emergency harnesses?”

Sana laughed. “This one is made from actual wood and fabric and rope. Turns out, I had a lot of time on my hands this afternoon…”

“And you used it to build another hammock.”

“It was that, or listen to a really dull audiobook,” Sana said. “I call it an investment in future relaxation! And future movie nights. Good for the whole crew.”

One half of Arkady’s mouth ticked up, and she looked almost wistful. “We haven’t had a movie night since we were on the Rumor.”

“I want to reinstate the tradition,” Sana said. “I think we could all use a bit of a breather every now and again. Today reminded me of that. So – thank you, Kady.”

She was purposely laying it on thick, because winding up your best friend with excessive sentiments that you meant every word of really never got old. She was rewarded when Arkady quickly jumped down from the table. “I think we’ve already done the Feelings Corner for this evening, so if you need me, I’ll just be in the kitchen, helping with dinner.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to hear the latest motivational speech I’ve been working on?” Sana teased her. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it today. It’s a good one.”

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind,” Arkady said. “You’re not allowed to have days off any more.”

---

A/N: This idea came about as a bit of an inversion of the ‘leadership’ prompt - what if Sana couldn’t be in charge for the day? What would it look like if the crew decided she needed to take some time off? I was really taken with the concept (apparently I just have a thing for members of the crew gently but insistently taking care of Sana), and then I came up with the idea that something goes wrong that Sana would normally be able to fix, and the crew is desperately trying to keep it from Sana while she’s “off-duty”. This image popped into my head of like, the entire crew trying and failing to change a lightbulb, and it was so absurdly perfect that I had to write it xD

It also wound up being a spiritual continuation of the theme we’ve had so far in Season 2 of “Sana is bad at clocking off” - hopefully nothing in Episode 3 has come along and contradicted that xD (Guess I’ll find out!)

[oh-for-fic-sake]

The Mount Teaser

Warnings: Swearing, Typos

A/N: so this is the first little teaser for a small probably two part for the Cavillry School Writing Challenge. My teacher is August Walker as Truant officer. i hope you all enjoy. XXX

Please ignore any typo’s this is unbeta’d.  

You frowned at all the girls around you. All tittering and giggleing like children. Most younger than you. Stupid children. But each a terror in her own right other wise she wouldnt be here. You hated this place already, the garish pink and peach cheque short skirt and white blouse with a bow around the neck, even in year thriteen-sixth form you were required to be in uniform. Ugh. Mount Ephrame academy was a a strange institution. A huge 100 acre plot in the countryside huge caslte like building no not like hogwarts...Think Balmoral or somthing like that. Some gothic Victorian structure with almost everything you could think of dotted around the grounds stables, pool, walled garden, cloisters a fucking orangey even a small bloody lake! It was insane here once stepping out of the car you'd gone cold. Houston we have a problem! A big fucking problem! It was remote and a whole different world you felt it in the air as you'd entered the building lile you were cut off from the world. But if the ten foot grey stone wall that encompasses the grounds was anything to go by. You were. On the one hand it was an all girls boarding school. On the other? A prison. Its where the delinquents were sent. You go to a young offenders unit or if your bad enough or 'salvagable' your sent here if theres any space. It was unnerving. It pitches itself as an 'institution of learning, growth and reform' you can find yourself here from the age of eleven to twenty one the curriculum covers from your year seven SATS through gsce and higher education even some degrees!  Once you are here you are trapt untill you get the go ahead from principal Cavill untill you prove your 'good and well mannered and will contributeto society'. Your trapped despite your age, your classed as a ward of the 'school' untill he says you can leave. You thought it was illegal but no in actual fact it was like prison. Catch you teach and mold you untill you can become a functioning member of society. The school itself had a reputation of being effective but no one knows how or why. No one questions it, if its not broke dont fix it. Aslong as the students excel and come out as pristine young ladies no one cares. You looked around at the long line of portraits hanging on the walls. A gallery of the staff. Nintey percent male. One hundred percent of the gorgeous, even a few abnormal looking ones like a certain Mr...Rivia??. Eyes are not naturally that bright even for honey brown. Contacts. And he must dye his hair. You scoffed at his portrait. He tries to hard. Probably trying to cater to the younger teens newfound 'werewolf' infatuation thats popped up. Just a few years ago when you were their age 'vampires' were all the rage...As long as the sparkled. You paced the hall small heels clicking on the stone floor as you went. You'd done your research you'd been here just over two weeks and you hadnt been idle. Finding out as much as you could and yet nothing at all. The girls didnt talk much about what goeson here one did slip saying 'the mount' as they called the school was traditional in values and the way it handled things. The girl was quickly shushed by the others who turned a suspicious red colour. Other then that not much was said and you were avoided which was fine by you. You wasn't staying. You traced the picture frames slowly one by one the stunning thick men staring back at you from behind the glass, most blue eyed some a bright azure like the astrology teacher a Mr Kent crystal clear blues looking at you from behind thick framed nerd glasses. Others darker. Like a Mr Walker. Ah yes your new foe apparently. You stopped and stared at him, he looked tough but... looks can be deciving, just looke at that Rivia one for instance. No you didnt think the stoic Mr walker dyed his har or wear contact's, but you did think he was trying to seem more intimidating thennhe wpreally was. He was the Truant officer, normally in schools the truant officer is the only member of taff who can really touch you. But here things were. Different. You'd learned from the others that what happens in the mount, stays in the mount. Walker was the one all the students feared most he had a reputation for being the toughest and meanest of all the staff. It was said he was CIA and trained to kill-had killed. And that he hunts down pupils how skip class stalking them like prey before dragging them into his office and giving them hell before taking them to headmaster Cavill for a second dose. Dose of what you didnt know but apparently it was bad. Painful even. You doubted that very much. You doubted many things about this place, the reputation, the legality, the curriculum, the teachers! But most of all you doubted they would contain you. You doubted they'd manage to keep you here at this correctional institution. You'd got to your final compulsory year at school and been thrust into this place dragged kicking and screaming into its halls of residence and set to stay untill 'further notice' you were just about to turn eighteen! Just about to leave behinde the 'holier then thou teachers' and do what you wanted and???  No. The government decided you used up our chances. A few warnings from police and being expelled from a few schools were fine but apparently drinking underage and caught with class A drugs was a step to far. The courts called you a liability and shipped you off here to continue education in a 'safe structured environment' your parents were only to happy to agree, why wouldn't they be? You'd get a free education, free room and board and collage courses a free degree to if you were not 'reformed' withing the next yer or so. All they had to do was sign their rights to the school for the duration of your stay. And indoing so condemned you to stay here until your new Headmaster deemed you could leave and not a second before! But what he didnt know, what everyone around you failed to realise is that your not like the rest. your not a simpering little girl who'd be 'put in you place' by a few pretty men spouting sweet praise and stern glares. you were getting out! you just had to put a bit of work in. "Miss y/l/n/? are you okay?" you snapped your gaze away from the photo snapping out of your thougts seeing Mr Cavill the headmaster. Your jailor, he frowned as he gained on you coming to a slow stop before you chest heaving with a sigh one brow quirked waiting for an answer. "yes I'm fine" you spoke stiffly, it was no secret you didnt want to be here, you hadnt yet fallen under what ever fearful lusty haze that seemed to hang over the other students yet. he huffed shifting on his feet tucking the folders under his arm tightly tipping his head forward  eyeing you over his glasses with an almost scolding look the made you jolt. "Well you wont be if you hang around here much longer. Your skipping class young lady, and right infront of me to. Didnt you hear the bell?" he asked slowy motioning to the school bell in the corner of the hall but you kept your mouth shut chooseing not to look at him. "Right well come on off to class with you, I'll let this one pass but you'll not get another get out of jail free card. come on get out your planner i'll walk you to class we can say you got lost" he added waving his hand at you making you scowl and pull out the planner rage boiling inside of you and you looked at the classes. Block B Art with Mr Solo. you huffed as Mr Cavil turned and motioned for you to follow him. "Come along before Walker Catches you, he does not put up with this type of thing accidental or not and take it from me you dont want to get in his bad books he is not known for being merciful to the girls" he utterd you growled under your breath casting one last look to the portrait trying to commit it to memory. you didnt give a shit about the truant officer's reputation. you'd be the one to get the better of him. And you'd be the first  to get out! You'd be kicked out. You swear to god your not stayng here. You couldn't!

[its-kili]

You’re Brave (Part 2/2) - Levi x Reader

Link to Part One

Synopsis: You’ve been losing sleep because you’ve been hearing noises in your bedroom at night and you think you’re being haunted. Levi makes plans to help put your mind at rest and later helps to investigate the source of the noises in your bedroom.

Warnings: No smut but a brief mention of sex. Just fluff.

The abandoned house was eerily quiet despite its lack of windowpanes (and even a roof in some parts of the building) exposing it to the whistling wind and distant murmur of people heading home for the night in Trost. A bitter breeze crept through the building, slowly shifting between bodies as if taking its time to scrutinise the people who dare obstruct its path. Some of the brick walls had crumbled into a pile of debris on the floor while others were barely intact, seemingly held together by the graffiti sprayed onto the stone. The house felt as if it were one harsh gust of wind away from disintegrating into the ground, its history buried with it like an avalanche of memories provoked by the quaking of the present.

               We were stood in a decrepit foyer as our tour guide explained its past and the people that used to live there, along with stories of ghost sightings in this room. A decaying painting was leaning against the wall – a portrait of someone once noble but now their legacy is far less grand. Despite its face worn away and hardly visible, its unnerving stare sent a chill up my spine. I shuffled towards Levi and when he noticed my apprehension he positioned himself between the painting and me so I was no longer in its line of sight. I’m sure he moved his body nearer to mine, but it was most likely something he was unaware of as opposed to an active effort to stand even closer to me. Nevertheless, the feeling of his bicep and part of his chest pressed against my back, coupled with his slow and soft breath brushing past my ear, was titillating.

               “Excuse me, sir.” Levi spoke when our tour guide asked if we had any questions. I could feel his deep voice resonating through my body as it vibrated through his chest, causing my knees to tremble slightly and butterflies to frantically flutter in my stomach as if they had just been released from a killing jar. “What are the signs that a building is haunted?” I shivered as his breathing near my ear resumed and Levi, assuming that I was cold, adjusted my jacket to ensure that my skin was not exposed to the cool air. Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Ackerman?

               “Well, you’ve got ya classic signs: items fallin’ off shelves, hearin’ strange noises, doors openin’ or closin’, candles goin’ out. Ya might also notice some cold spots around yer house. Those are the most common signs, but in rare cases ya might actually see some shadows or even an apparition.” The tour guide paced around the room and counted off his fingers with confidence as he answered Levi’s question.

               “At the risk of sounding like a sceptic, couldn’t those things be explained by, I don’t know. . . the wind?” He protested and I didn’t need to look at Levi to know that his expression was unimpressed. I could picture his face in my mind: eyebrows slightly furrowed with apathetic eyes and his mouth in a straight line across his face.

               “I s’pose it depends on the context of the situation – it might be a bit silly to attribute strange happenin’s in yer house to the wind when, say, there are no windows open. Anyway, let’s move on to the next room.” The guide panicked as he attempted to persuade us against Levi’s apparent ignorance.

               “I don’t know about you, but I’m not convinced.” Levi whispered into my ear and I momentarily froze on the spot, my knees almost giving out and falling to the floor like a house of cards collapsing at the sound of his voice so close to my skin.

I agreed with him though; those things that our tour guide said could be attributed to the wind, so I didn’t think he could say anything that would convince me that this building was haunted, especially because the windows were all smashed and I could feel the wind in every room. Any activity that was claimed to be supernatural in this house could have, in fact, been caused by the wind. It did put my mind at ease somewhat when I realised that my wardrobe activity was unlike any of the ‘classic signs’ of a haunting that our guide mentioned, so it was unlikely to be due to ghosts. I still had no explanation for that, though, and that irked me more than anything.

 The next room we visited was a large kitchen with a pantry at the far end of the room, darkness engulfing the doorway. After the tour guide had given his speech about the room, he invited us to look around and I took it as an opportunity to ask him a question of my own.

               “Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me? I’ve been having an issue in my bedroom for the last couple of nights and I was thinking it might be haunted? You see, I’ve been hearing noises from my wardrobe as if it were shaking violently and last night a painting even fell off my wall.” I sheepishly explained my predicament to him, part of me was hoping he would be able to give me an explanation so I at least had an answer – ghosts or not – while the other part was wishing he was clueless so I would be certain that this man’s arguments lacked any credibility.

               “Ah, yes, definitely sounds like you’ve got a ghost. I don’t s’pose you’ve told ya friend over there? Let me guess, he said it was caused by an earthquake?” He chuckled to himself as he nodded his head in Levi’s direction. An earthquake would have been a reasonable explanation to be honest, but it’s unlikely that two earthquakes would hit only my bedroom at the same time in two consecutive nights.

               “Well, he didn’t say anything actually.” That’s not entirely true, he said ‘spooky’, but the tour guide didn’t need to know that.

               “That’s the thing with sceptics – they’ve always got some sort of ‘scientific explanation’ for everythin’, but as soon as it’s somethin’ that doesn’t fit with their beliefs they’ve got nothin’ to say.” I didn’t appreciate the hostility in his tone as he spoke about Levi and my shoulders tensed up as I felt defensive. I had already made my mind up that I wasn’t keen on this man, so out of stubbornness I decided not to take anything else he said too seriously.

               “So how can I get rid of the ghost?” I asked him firmly just to silence any further criticism he could make of Levi.

               “First you should burn some sage to cleanse ya room. Then you’ve gotta be firm and let ‘em know they’re not welcome an’ if that doesn’t work, hold a séance.” His tone was unconvincing and he sounded like he was just making all of this up as he spoke. Even if what he was saying was true, I doubt that telling the ghosts they are unwelcome in my room would work since I had already tried to politely reason with them last night and failed.

               Another person who was taking the tour with us came to the guide to ask him some questions of their own, so I took my leave and looked for Levi. He was walking over to the pantry on his own and I mentally commended his bravery – I would not go inside a dark hole on my own in an abandoned building in the middle of the night, but he was humanity’s strongest soldier, of course he's brave. This was the perfect opportunity to test his courage, I thought, so I silently followed him and when he was alone in the pantry, I jumped through the doorway and playfully nudged his shoulder.

               “Boo!” I shouted, but my attempt to scare him was in vain. Levi stood in front of me, almost invisible in the dark, with the same apathetic expression on his face. “How?!” I moaned, amazed that he was immune to my childish prank.

               “I’m not scared of anything.” His tone was smug as he took a step closer to me, his face just a little bit more visible now because it was mere inches away from mine. There was a smirk on his lips – bigger than the one he wore in the mess hall that same morning – and I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. Did I make him smile? Even in the absence of light, with what little my eyes could see, I thought that he was beautiful and I wanted to kiss him right then and there. But what would happen if I did? Would it come as a surprise to him? Would he push me away? Would he pull me in?

               I watched his lips, drunk on the rare sight of his smile, before two tourists made their presence known behind us as they chatted with each other about the unsettling aura of the house. Levi’s smirk faded and I was sober again with my hopes diminished. I could not kiss the captain for his ship had sailed.

               As we left the pantry, I felt a pair of hands grab both of my shoulders and a disembodied voice shout a startled ‘ah!’ behind me. I flinched and let out a loud squeal in response, attracting the attention of everyone in the room.

               “I’m sorry, I thought that would be funny.” Levi confessed and I relaxed my shoulders, internally smiling about him showing his playful side and getting revenge on me for trying to scare him. “Are you alright?”

               “Yeah, just a little bit scared.” I chuckled and ran my hand through my hair as we walked towards the next room in the house.

               “I guess you’ll just have to stay close to me if you’re that fearful.” Say less, Levi. I timidly wrapped my hand around his bicep and linked my arm with his as we walked. He looked down at me before he spoke again, “Your bedroom isn’t haunted, by the way. And setting fire to herbs won’t do anything other than make your room smell funny.” It was an attempt to reassure me that I had nothing to be scared of, and while it put my mind at ease, I wasn’t prepared to let go of his arm just yet. He didn’t move away from me, though, and I thought that it was probably because he felt guilty for scaring me and there was nothing more to it.

 We returned to the barracks in the early hours of the morning. Admittedly, I paid more attention to Levi than the tour itself, especially after our guide had been so critical of my companion, I didn’t particularly want to listen to anything else he had to say. Besides, the feeling of Levi’s muscular arm linked with mine was overwhelming and I couldn’t concentrate on anything else, even if I wanted to. It’s safe to say that my thoughts were completely distracted from the supernatural, at least for the time being.

               “Will you be alright?” Levi asked me after he walked me back to my bedroom.

               “I think so. I wasn’t particularly convinced by what the tour guide was saying, I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for what has been happening in my room. If any ghosts want to start shit tonight I’ll knock ‘em out.” I joked as I put my fists up and pretended to spar with the air. “Anyway, if the noises continue and they scare me, I’m just going to have to tell my brain to get over it because I need to confront my fears. If it’s going to become a regular thing, I can’t keep losing sleep over it.”

               “You’re brave.” Levi patted the top of my head and I smiled at him in return. “If you do get scared and you want some company, just come and find me. Goodnight.” He turned around and walked down the hallway after I said goodnight to him in return, and when I entered my room and closed the door behind me, I fought the urge to scream and jump up and down in excitement. Just come and find me – I’m sure he wouldn’t just offer this to anybody, right? Somewhere in the back of my mind I was praying for another scare tonight just so I had an excuse to visit Levi. I shook the thoughts away, realising that what I told Levi was true: I need to confront my fears.

 It wasn’t long after I hopped into bed that I heard the shaking noise sounding from my wardrobe again. I remembered Levi telling me that I’m brave before he left, and after hearing those words in my mind I decided to keep my eyes closed and ignore the noise. I pictured Levi in my head and thought about his chest pressed against my shoulder and his whispers in my ear to override the fear of the mysterious wardrobe noise.

               This tactic didn’t work for long, however, because the familiar sound of my painting falling off the wall and crashing onto the ground filled my room. And in that moment all my thoughts ceased. My breath caught in my throat and my whole body tensed up as my heartbeat pounded in my chest and chills ran through me. No, I thought, Levi thinks I’m brave.

My hand tentatively grasped onto the covers and hesitantly pulled them away as I sat on the edge of my bed, my heart thumping against my ribcage. I took a few steps towards the wall to hang my painting back up, but before I could I heard a door creaking in the hallway outside my room. I’m brave, I repeated in my head as I tiptoed towards my door. After turning the doorknob and peeking through the gap I had created, I witnessed the silhouette of a woman walking down the hall in the darkness. Instinctively and out of fear, I slammed the door shut and pressed my back to it.

I felt pathetic as my breath was shaky and a tear escaped my eye; after all my time as a captain in the Survey Corps, after risking my life to save my comrades, this was the thing to almost break me. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t an apparition, it was probably just someone going to the bathroom or getting a glass of water. But I wasn’t the best at persuading myself to think reasonable thoughts, I needed someone more convincing.

I’m brave, I said to myself, my voice shaky as I wiped away the few tears that ran down my cheek, and I opened my bedroom door and ran in search of Levi. I navigated the hallways, trying to stay quiet out of courtesy for everyone else who was sleeping, and I finally found myself outside Levi’s bedroom. Before I knocked on his door I made sure to compose myself; I couldn’t let him see me looking like a trembling mess. Levi opened the door almost instantly after I knocked three times, calmly and softly.

“Hello. You look like you’ve seen a- no, never mind, I said that one last night. Kuso. Are you alright?” Seeing the concern on his face was enough to distract me from my worries, at least for a brief moment.

“Funny you should say that, actually,” I chuckled nervously but it wasn’t enough to hide my fear, “the noise, i-it happened a-again and my painting fell off the wall again. Then, I heard a door opening and I looked into the hallway and saw a woman.” As I stood in his doorway, I waited for Levi to tell me that I was being ridiculous and I had nothing to be scared about. I waited for him to give me a logical explanation for what I just witnessed, but he didn’t say anything of the sort.

“We need to go and check this out.” He stepped out of his bedroom and closed the door behind him, then he motioned for me to lead the way and he walked down the hallway with me. “So let me get this straight: you heard someone opening a door and then you saw a woman and you immediately assumed. . . ghost?” His tone was a little condescending, but I didn’t mind it because I needed him to make me realise my thoughts were silly and clouded with fear.

“I realise it sounds quite stupid now that I think about it, but at the time I was scared so. . . I came straight to you.” I was embarrassed that I admitted to Levi that he was the first person I ran to in a time of crisis, but he didn’t mention it and instead linked his arm with mine as we walked. I was surprised by his gesture, but I realised that he probably did it to offer me some comfort after I did it to him when I was scared in the abandoned house.

“There’s no ghost.” He assured just before we arrived at my bedroom. I opened the door and I lit some candles after we stepped inside so that we weren’t in complete darkness and I could hang my painting back up on my wall.

The shaking noise from my wardrobe had stopped so we stood in silence for a while waiting for something to happen. It wasn’t long before the creaking of a door was heard in the hallway and my head quickly turned to face Levi. I ran towards the door and pulled him with me as I slowly turned the doorknob and poked my head out of the room. Levi’s body pressed against my back as he stuck his head through the gap in my door, the feeling reminiscent of when we were stood in the foyer of the abandoned building, but this time it was more than just his arm and a bit of his chest against my back. This time I could feel almost all of his chest and the hard abs on his torso, and my knees felt weak again as my breath hitched. Despite Levi’s cold exterior, his body was warm and inviting, and I resisted the temptation to lean back into his chest.

“There’s nobody there.” He whispered into my ear and again I felt myself shivering upon feeling his words on my skin. We stayed in the same position for quite some time before Levi moved away, the cool air on my back replacing his presence.

I closed the door and walked across my room towards my bed, but before I could get there the noise from my wardrobe resumed. My wide, anxious eyes met Levi’s as I pointed towards the furniture. He grinned slightly and shook his head, then proceeded to gently place his hand around my wrist and pull me inside the wardrobe. I didn’t have many clothes, so it wasn’t too much of a struggle to fit two adults inside, but our bodies were very close with our legs almost entangled.

“Eren’s bedroom is the one next to yours, right?” He whispered. I was unsure of why he was asking me this, but it made me realise that I could have asked Eren if he had been hearing strange noises in the middle of the night too.

“Y-yes.” I stuttered. The lack of distance between us caused my heart to race and my breathing was less controlled.

I think Levi mistook this for fear because he gently put his hand on my shoulder and said, “press your head against the wardrobe and listen carefully.” I did as he instructed and pressed my ear against the wood, unsure of what I was supposed to be listening to. And then I heard it. Through the connecting wall between Eren’s bedroom and mine, I heard the sound of a woman moaning Eren’s name and what I assumed to be his bed banging against the wall. I pulled my head away in disgust and due to the complete darkness in my wardrobe, I misjudged the distance between myself and the wood and ended up banging my head quite hard. Ow!

“Be careful, are you alright?” Levi asked as he reached his hand out to rub my head.

“Was that Eren and Mi-”

“Mikasa, yeah. The ghost that has been terrorising you these past few nights has actually been Eren and Mikasa going at it pretty hard. I heard the noise when I stayed here last night and this is what I heard when I investigated.” There was a brief pause as I processed the information that Levi was telling me, and then the silence in the air was broken when both of us burst into laughter. After hearing Levi’s laugh for the first time I noticed that it was beautiful and I wished that it would never end, but we both calmed down when I realised that he was still stroking my head. I softly placed my hand on top of his and lowered it so it was by my side before entwining my fingers between his. Levi took his free hand and cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking along my cheekbone.

“This reminds me – there was something I wanted to do back in that pantry.” He declared, his voice low and sensuous. He moved his face closer to mine so that our noses were touching and I could feel his soft breath against my skin. My hand squeezed his in anticipation as his hair brushed against my cheek and the centimetres between our lips felt like lightyears spanning over distant galaxies. He was a star shining brightly in the night sky that I would extend my hand out to touch before realising that it is too far out of my reach. But I would build a rocket and traverse the cosmos with my bare hands just to feel your lips against mine.

“May I kiss you?” Levi breathed and I lifted my hand and wrapped it around the back of his neck, my face yearning for his under the touch of his thumb.

“Yes.” I whispered. And as I closed my eyes his nose brushed against mine before I felt his soft lips press firmly onto my own. All of the anticipation that had built up suddenly exploded in a supernova of passion and I was being dragged into a black hole of desire, unable to escape the gravity of his taste that was pulling me into him.

Levi untangled his fingers from mine and wrapped his arm around my back to pull me closer to him, his other hand still caressing my cheek. I took my free hand and ran it through his hair before resting it on the back of his head. We pulled our faces away for a short moment as we regained our breath, but it wasn’t long until our lips were reunited, spiralling into an abyss of ardour where time ceased to exist.

I’m unsure of the amount of time that had passed while we were in my wardrobe – perhaps it was hours, maybe it was mere minutes – but we were interrupted by a loud bang coming from the opposite side of my wall.

“Your ghost is back.” Levi playfully nudged my arm as he guided me out of my wardrobe and back into the dim light of my bedroom.

“Oh, shush.” I turned away from him and pretended to sulk with my arms folded across my chest. He responded by gently pulling on my elbow so I faced him again, then he planted a delicate kiss on my forehead and my fake frown turned into a large, open-mouthed smile.

“You’re really cute when you’re scared, by the way.” Levi confessed before pulling me in for another kiss.

“Stop,” I whined, “I lost so much sleep over that whole ghost ordeal!”

“Well, you can rest easy now. Come on.” Levi led me to my bed and tucked me in, sitting himself on the edge while he held my hand.

“Please stay, I’m still terrified.” I pouted and widened my eyes in an attempt to convince him that I was still scared.

“I know that’s a lie, but fine.” Levi smirked as I lifted the blanket up and motioned for him to get under it. When he was comfortable he lifted his arm and I rested my head on his chest while I wrapped my arm around his waist.

Levi pressed his lips against my head one last time before I closed my eyes, drifting off into a dream incomparable to the one I was already living in.

[ceealaina]

Title: Is This Love? Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card: TSB - 4008 IHB - 2007 Link: AO3 Square Filled: TSB A2 - Pining IHB G2 - Mutual Pining Ship: IronHusbands, Pre-SteveSam Rating: Teen Major Tags: Mutual Pining, Fluff and Humor Summary: 'Tony wasn’t looking at him though, or at the speaker. His gaze was fixed through the glass windows and into the hallway beyond where the military delegation had just arrived, among them Colonel Rhodes. “Oh my god,” Tony breathed, staring at him. “He’s so hot.”'

Steve's stuck in the world's longest debrief and, to make matters worse, he's stuck beside Tony who won't stop waxing poetic about his husband. Word Count: 1531

Steve fidgeted slightly, doing his best to at least pretend he was paying attention as the pencil pusher from SHIELD droned on, and on, and on. Normally their debriefs were, well, brief. Or at least as much as he could manage to make them; he’d learned from experience what happened if they ran too long. 

But this time some important government official or another had been in the group of near victims, and apparently he’d gotten a bit of a scare and now had some Thoughts on how the Avengers could work more efficiently. So following their regular debrief, there was a secondary SHIELD debrief, and then a military debrief, and then probably some other government debrief. Sitting through them was more lip service than anything, and Steve had been assured that nobody actually expected them to change anything, but despite his attempts at setting a good example, and for all that he gave Tony shit about debriefs being important, he couldn’t help feeling this was a giant waste of time. 

He was running over his to-do list in his head in an attempt to stay awake when Tony made a low whining noise beside him. Steve glanced over briefly, doing a quick scan for any visible injuries. He wasn’t even in the Iron Man suit anymore, and there were no signs of bleeding or breaks, but Tony was notoriously good at hiding injuries. Ignoring the speaker, Steve turned to face him. 

“Hey, you alright?” 

Tony wasn’t looking at him though, or at the speaker. His gaze was fixed through the glass windows and into the hallway beyond where the military delegation had just arrived, among them Colonel Rhodes. 

“Oh my god,” Tony breathed, staring at him. “He’s so hot.” 

It was through sheer force of will that Steve resisted the urge to smack himself in the face, focusing his gaze on the speaker again. “Jesus Christ, Tony.” 

“Are you looking at him?” Tony hissed, not even trying to pretend he wasn’t ogling Rhodes. “That uniform does things to me, Steve. And that ass?” 

“I hate you so much.” Steve regretted even asking. Next time he was just going to let Tony suffer, even if he did have hidden injuries. 

“He’s just so gorgeous, oh my god. Do you think he likes me?” 

Briefly forgetting they were in a meeting, Steve turned to stare at him incredulously. “Tony, he’s your husband.” 

Tony was smirking and gave Steve a wink. “I know,” he told him before he gaze slid back over to Colonel Rhodes and his expression softened. “I just want him so bad.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and turned to face front again, but apparently while he’d been distracted with Tony the SHIELD portion had finally come to an end because their speaker was packing up. A minute later Colonel Rhodes was entering the room, along with the other military officials. Tony reached out and clutched Steve’s arm like a teenage girl. 

“God, the way he walks,” he breathed, scooting his chair in closer when Steve tried to pull away. “He’s so commanding, gives me the fucking shivers.” He elbowed Steve. “I’d follow his orders, know what I mean?” 

“Tony!” Steve hissed.

“Oh please,” Tony whispered back. “I’ve seen the way you look at the non-hawk bird member of our team. Wait, are falcons a type of hawk too?” He shrugged, apparently deciding it didn’t matter. “Anyway, I know you know what I’m talking about.” 

Steve felt his cheeks heat when his gaze automatically moved over to Sam, only to find him watching them curiously with an amused look on his face. There was no way he could hear their conversation from the other end of the table, but it wouldn’t take super hearing to know that Tony was giving him a hard time about something. 

“You’re the worst,” Steve told Tony, fixing his eyes on the table before he turned bright red and gave the game away entirely. “I don’t know why I’m friends with you.” 

“Because my wealth is only matched by my charisma?” Tony offered before immediately getting distracted when Rhodey took the seat directly across the table from them. He grinned at Tony, giving him a wink, and Tony made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut, the fingers that he still had around Steve’s arms tightening even more. “Oh my god, he’s so hot.”

Tony tuned the meeting out entirely, instead spending the entire thing making soppy, lovestruck expressions at Rhodey. Apparently the colonel wasn’t actually speaking today, and Steve wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. On the one hand, he was pretty sure that Tony would have spontaneously exploded if Rhodes did something as ‘commanding’ as lead an entire meeting, so at least he didn’t have to deal with that. On the other hand, he did have to deal with Tony whining every time Rhodes would look at him, followed by a forlorn sigh when he’d look away again. That was on top of the way he’d constantly remind Steve of just how hot his husband was, how much he loved how capable he was, how turned on he was by the way the man talked or walked or breathed. 

He knew that Tony was partly doing it to drive him crazy, but also because he was just genuinely that in love with his husband. Steve would never tell him this, but it was actually really sweet. Not that that didn’t mean he wasn’t ready to set something on fire by the time they got out of there. 

Rhodey had slipped out first, talking with one of the other military guys, but he lingered and pulled away when Tony and Steve came through the door, moving to join them instead. “Hey, baby,” he hummed, not even hesitating to give Tony a soft kiss in front of everyone. “Nightmare of meeting,” he added, giving him a suspicious look. “On your best behaviour?” 

“Always,” Tony scoffed, like he hadn’t spent the entire time trying to drive Steve crazy. 

Rhodey caught a look at Steve’s expression. “Yeah, I bet,” he said, twining his fingers with Tony’s. “So I’ve got a couple things to finish up, but I should be home by seven.” 

“Barring any more end of the world scenarios, of course,” Tony pointed out.

“Of course,” he agreed. “Chinese for dinner? I’ve got the worst craving for that lo mein.” 

“From that place on 47th?” Tony asked, grinning at Rhodey’s enthusiastic nod. “You’ve got it, baby. I’ll have it ready and waiting for seven.” 

“Such a good little husband,” Rhodey teased, before their voices dropped as they wandered a little further down the hall, probably declaring their undying love a few more times for good measure. 

“Hey, you alright?” 

It was only the super reflexes that kept Steve from jumping when Sam suddenly spoke from beside him, and he was sure that the look he gave Sam was a little manic. He didn’t comment on it though, just gave Steve that same amused look. 

“You were looking a little frazzled during the meeting.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Steve gestured over to where Tony and Rhodey were still talking, giving each other heart eyes. “It was just, you know… Tony.” 

“I do know Tony,” Sam agreed. He paused a moment and then shrugged. “Anyway, I’m gonna go take a shower, have a beer. Maybe zone out in front of the TV for a couple hours.” He winked at Steve. “Catch you later, Cap.” 

Steve watched him go, giving Rhodey and Tony a wave as he passed them, and Steve felt something flutter in his stomach. Tony may have been a pain in the ass, but Steve wanted what he had with Rhodey, wanted that kind of relationship for himself. And, well, he was many things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. 

“Hey, Sam!” he called, jogging the few feet to catch up to him. He hesitated for an instant, acutely aware of Tony and Rhodey standing right there. “Uh… You wanna grab dinner later? You know, after your shower and beer?” 

It wasn’t that unordinary of a request; the two of them had grabbed dinner together any number of times before. But if the grin on Sam’s face was any indication, he knew what Steve was really asking. 

“Yeah, Steve,” he said, clapping him on the arm and holding his grip for a few beats longer than he normally would. “Sounds great. Pick me up around eight?” 

Steve could feel the blush creeping up the back of his neck as he watched him go, more from the fact that he could practically feel Tony and Rhodey staring at him than the interaction with Sam. He was expecting the teasing to start at any moment, but when he finally looked over, Tony was grinning at him. 

“Aw yeah, Cap,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Get it.” He leaned over to give Rhodey another quick kiss. “See you later, handsome,” he purred before following Sam’s path, giving Steve a proud smack on the back on his way by. 

“Oh my god,” Rhodey sighed as the two of them watched him head off down the hall. “He’s so hot.”

@tonystarkbingo @ironhusbandsbingo

[joshslater]

Five Step Program

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I stared at the contents of the envelope, a blue jockstrap, and a folded piece of paper. I hadn’t put much hope into this “miracle solution” to becoming a jock without any of the work. Of course there was a catch. “First 20 customers get their first shipment free of charge” was enough for me to fill out the form with my information. It wasn’t anything too revealing. Name, address, height, weight, age. A box where you could write what you hoped to achieve with this revolutionary five step program. That’s what they really were after, I guessed. Having people enter their dreams so that they can tailor their next scam better. I was even surprised I got anything in the mail at all, and now having opened it, it made even more sense.

I could see how sending a jockstrap to someone perhaps fulfills some legal requirement that the recipient could now look like a jock. It could be a way to avoid getting a federal fraud charge. But I hadn’t spent a dime on this, so it didn’t make any sense. The jockstrap looked like any other jockstrap, I guessed. I’d never owned one, nor worn one. The pouch was dark blue and made with two layers of some synthetic mesh material. The big waistband was light blue with the letters JOCK repeated in dark blue around it. There was a faint smell of synthetic material and detergent. I did a mental sigh and opened the folded letter.

Congratulation on becoming one of our first customers on the revolutionizing five step Jock Express program. As a thank you for signing up, this first part is totally free of charge. Should you wish to continue the program, as we are confident you will after having successfully completed the first session, simply use the URL at the bottom of this page to enter your credit card information and we’ll send you the next item as soon as the payment is confirmed. I’m happy to inform you that we can offer a reduced price for the entire program, should you chose to start it within five days. The price is only $100 for the next installment, and progressively higher as you advance in the program. There is no commitment to purchase so you can stop the program at any point. We’re confident you will want to complete all the five steps in the Jock Express program.

Fuck that! What morons sign up to this kind of shit?

Instructions: The Jock Express is the easiest and most user friendly fitness program ever developed. Simply drink a lot of water, put on the items included in each program step, as you normally would, and go to sleep.

I was even more confused. Why would that sway anyone to put out $100 for at best another piece of gym clothing? I put it all in my in-tray on my desk and let it slip from my mind. I had dinner, watched TV, answered some late emails and the usual Tuesday stuff. By bedtime I walked past my home office and had the sudden recollection that I had something waiting in the in-tray. Then I remembered what it was, and almost reluctantly decided to go ahead with wearing the damn thing. I was still convinced it was a scam, but was immensely curious to exactly how it would work. If nothing else I would get to feel what wearing a jockstrap feels like. I drank a glass of water, put on the jockstrap, and went to bed. The jockstrap was as comfortable as anything and I quickly went to sleep.

Apparently I slept through the first alarm, and jolted awake on hearing the more incessant buzz from the phone. I jumped out of bed and it wasn’t until halfway to the bathroom I realized I was naked. I wouldn’t say massive, as in cartoonish in any way, but my dick and balls were noticeably bigger than before. It took a few seconds for my still startled brain to put the pieces together. The jockstrap had disappeared and somehow affected the body. It hadn’t replaced any body parts, I could still recognize my dick, but it was for sure altered. Suddenly $100 felt like way too little money. I didn’t even put any pants on as I typed in the URL from the letter. Jock Express step #2  for $100 and express delivery for another $25. Annoyingly no option to order all four remaining steps as a package. I just wanted to have them all in my house as soon as possible.

By the time I had entered all my details, checked all the boxes, and clicked the final webshop button I was rocking a massive hard-on. The biggest one in my life so far, by far. I didn’t care right then if I would come late or call in sick, I just knew that I had to take my pre-cum leaking enhancement for a test drive, and slowly started to move my hand up and down the shaft. It felt better than ever, and lasted longer than I have ever before. I’m not really sure how long, because I zoned out a bit while wanking, and then exploded with an epic load of cum. I managed to tilt the chair back and catch it all on my body, but then I felt really spent and dozed off, only to be brought back with a text message from my boss. Sick day it is, I decided.

A more apt description would be a lewd day. I just cycled between laptop porn, wanking and showers, and combinations thereof. I loved the difference it made when wearing underwear. Even when flaccid you could tell here was action waiting, not just only wearing underwear, but while wearing jeans too. I took photos so I had progress photos to compare with.

The next day was a strange one. I worked all day in the glow of someone with confidence, as if somehow I had done some achievement. I kind of surprised myself with how much of a difference it made when dealing with the pileup of emails from yesterday. Big dick energy. I could make decisions so much faster than I was used to. I don’t know if I really had more confidence, or just didn’t care as much. I was for sure giddy with anticipation of what was yet to come by overnight delivery. I forced myself to stay until official end of office hours and then bolted and drove straight home.

Thank God there was a DHL box in my mailbox, or I don’t know what I would have done. I opened it on my way in, and it’s contents were similar to the first one. A folded letter and some folded cloth. Without opening the letter I unfolded the cloth, which turned out to be a plain, sleeveless, white cotton T-shirt. Had there been someone to high five, I would have done so. I’m not fat, but there is a bit of flabbiness I would love to get rid of, so I couldn’t wait for this part. I felt anticipation in my stomach and something else in my pants. I hadn’t had a wank since this morning.

Evening couldn’t come soon enough. The letter said basically the same as the last one. A new URL for the $400 Jock Express #3, which I immediately ordered, again with overnight shipping. Not really sure what to kill time with, I figured a jock would watch sport, so I just randomly put some football on. I hadn’t really paid any attention to sports before, so I wasn’t sure about who was who, what the series looked like, or really what happened on the field besides the obvious. I ended up masturbating to the football, which in my opinion made it better. By 9:30 I decided to drink a few glasses of water, strip, put on the sleeveless T-shirt, and go to bed. I tossed and turned in anticipation for quite a while. The T-shirt had a very loose fit, and the big holes for the arms made it even more mobile, though it was anchored by the crew neck. Finally at some point I managed to fall asleep.

I woke up before the alarm. It was dark enough that I knew I hadn’t slept through them all. Instead of getting up or turning on the light, I just slowly moved my hand to my chest under the sheet. My chest was about the same size, but felt firmer, I imagined. But more importantly I was naked and the shirt was gone. I moved my hand down and couldn’t contain my joy when I started to feel the faint square of abs. I jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom to have a look in the mirror. The effect was better than I thought from just touch. My torso not only looked fit as a model, with abs and V and all, but younger and with better skin. Perhaps an illusion, but it almost looked like my dick was bigger as well.

Having woken up early, after a wank and a shower, I was one of the first in at the office and quickly got ahead on my tasks for the day. I still had the anticipation I felt yesterday, but today it was more like I knew what to expect. It wasn’t just a one-off or a fluke, this was legit and it was happening. As I started early I decided to flex out early and rush back home. I spent the drive home fantasizing about different types of clothing. I was kind of wishing for those sleeves they use in basket, to amp up my arms, but there might be some scientific reason why they changed the body parts in a specific order. Who was I kidding? This wasn’t science. This was magic.

I ripped open the familiar package as soon as I was inside the front door. This time it was white under armour legging of some sort, ending just below the knees. I was considering strip down fully naked and put on the leggings right then and there, and wear them until it was time to go to bed, but decided against it. Even though the descriptions were vague and didn’t really say you couldn’t do that, I didn’t want to risk fucking up the process. Instead I found some underwear in the same color as the jockstrap and took a pair of scissors to an old white T-shirt to make it look like the one I put on yesterday. Then I put on those, and nothing but, and sat myself in front of the TV, determined to actually try to follow the game this time, whichever game I happened to see.

It might be I imagined it, perhaps because I’ve never really seen myself in a sleeveless T-shirt before, but it looked to me like my arms were a bit more defined than yesterday. I realized that I had just assumed only the parts under the clothes are affected, but that’s just something I made up. It could be that it just primarily acts under the clothes, or perhaps it was just a coincidence and the clothes really could change anything. In the end I let it go. It didn’t matter, I couldn’t prove it either way, and I couldn’t watch a game, have deep thoughts and masturbate all at the same time anyway. I was so into it I almost forgot to order the next package. A steep $1000 for whatever the next item was, but so far it was fucking worth it.

I really liked how I looked in the 3/4 leggings or whatever the fuck they are called. Just imagining how much better I would look the morning after made me go to bed with a big boner, despite being thoroughly wanked. I tried to calm myself by thinking of the last game I watched, and not give Jock Express a thought, and it kind of worked. I know I fell asleep pretty quickly and dreamt of football until the alarm woke me up.

“Fuck yeah!” was the first I could think when I saw myself. The thighs were about as large as before, but the line going down them made it obvious they were muscles and not jiggle matter. It even felt different just standing. I’m almost positive my dick had grown even more. Who the hell wouldn’t dish out $400 or whatever for this shit?

While the day started great it quickly became frustrating with all the corporate bullshit. I knew how to do my job. There were just so many fucking rules in the way of doing it in the best way. Perhaps the anticipation of the second to last package made me be in a bad mood. Whatever. I bolted as soon as I could, cranked up the volume in the car, trying to not think of anything until I got home. I almost punched something when I opened the mailbox and didn’t find an envelope. Instead it was just a note about DHL attempted to deliver while I wasn’t home. I could either call them to deliver tomorrow or drive to a pickup point. Like fuck I would wait another full fucking day.

I was furious when I got back into the car, blasting music as loud as I could, but I quickly calmed down. Perhaps this was a good thing? It might be a box with shoulder pads from football or hockey or lacrosse or whatever the fuck else looks hot. You know what else is hot? Michael at the DHL pickup point. I mean, I’m not homo or anything, I’m just saying he was a good looking dude.

The packet he gave me was a bit disappointing though. No way it could contain anything as large as shoulder pads. I didn’t want to fuck with my mojo, so I kept the same routine as before and didn’t open it until back home. Fucking cleats and socks. Another fucking leg day. And they smelled bad too, like distilled vinegar or some shit. As I entered the URL from the letter on my phone I got two more shocks. The price of the last package was ten thousand fucking dollars! And even worse, the delivery wouldn’t arrive until Monday. Two fucking days away. “This is bullshit” I shouted at nobody and threw the empty cardboard box into the wall to no damage to either.

I was still furious and went straight to the fridge, pulled out a cold can of beer, opened it, and downed half of it. It felt better, but I was still upset on the world in general. I looked at the phone screen again. $10k is a fuckton of money. There wasn’t a rush to buy it right now either, if they didn’t do overnight delivery during weekends. I emptied the can and crushed it against the countertop. It hurt my hand, which just added to my anger for being such a weakling. I pulled the rest of the six-pack out of the fridge and threw it in the living room couch on my way to the bedroom. I needed to get out of these stuffy office clothes and cool down with a cold one, or four.

I ripped off the tie and started to unbutton the shirt on my way into the bedroom, and once there opened the door to my wardrobe. I felt like a girl, not knowing what to wear. I hated everything my eyes fell on, and I hated feeling like that. I bunched the shirt into a ball and threw it into a corner, together with the tie. I climbed out of the pants as quickly as I could and threw them there as well. Then I stopped myself.

Everything I saw I really liked, I realized. The pecs, the abs, the thighs, and the generous bulge in the boxer briefs.I yanked off my socks and more deliberately lowered my boxers to let the dick and balls loose. I knew what I wanted from this junk selection of clothes, and opened a drawer with my athletic clothes and pulled out a pair of grey sweatpants. It was Friday and my dick and balls deserved some freedom, I thought, as I put on the sweats without any underwear. I picked up the sleeveless T-shirt from the floor by the bed and put that on as well. I felt so much better. A few beers, whatever game was on, and some more wanking, and perhaps this could turn into a good evening after all.

After two more beers, cum stains on sweatpants, T-shirt and the couch, and fuck knows how many games I zapped through I couldn’t wait any longer. Whatever bullshit the cleats and sock did, the sooner it was over with, the sooner I could move on with the final package. $10k was still a lot, but if I sold all shares I could buy it, keeping both house and car.

The socks went almost up to the knees, but weren’t any real soccer socks or anything like that. The looked more like something someone might have to the gym, or something a skater would wear. Skater was perhaps right, because they smelled like that vinegary acidic smell of really sweaty skater shoes. The socks were white with a wide black band around it near the top, and were a bit off-white on contact surfaces around the foot, as if they had been used in black shoes by someone. As if I would fucking care. I pulled up both legs of the sweats over the knees and put on both socks, pulling them as high as possible. The cleats were black and a bit banged up, but fit perfectly on my feet. I didn’t even remember having given out my shoe size. I was unsure how tight to tie them, so I went with comfortable without being loose.

It felt weird walking with them, like the shoes were pushing your forward. Not at all like my much flatter leather shoes. Somehow my test walking ended up by the fridge, so I grabbed another six-pack and returned to the couch for some more ESPN or whatever.

I had no idea what sport it was on the screen, but glancing out the window I could see that it wasn’t evening anymore. I must have fallen asleep, I realized, but I felt way better than I ought to, given the pile of crushed beer cans around me. I walked to the toilet to have a piss, and it wasn’t until I lowered the front of my sweatpants to grab my morning semi-stiff snake I realized I was barefoot. I was pissing for probably a good minute, aiming down with one hand. Holy fuck so much I’ve kept in while sleeping. I was pretty sure I had cleats and socks on when I fell asleep. I did a few bounces on the balls of the feet. It felt fucking great, and shook loose the last drops of piss from my dick. I dropped it back into the sweatpants, and broke into a smile from how fucking huge of a tent it made, despite being just a semi. I did a few more jumps, looking at how the flagpole in my front swung up and down. I really didn’t deserve to feel this great after yesterday, but I’d fucking take it. I felt so full of energy I felt I could do anything. I wanted to run just to see how it would feel.

I dashed into my bedroom and emptied the rest of the athletic clothes drawer on the floor. Some T-shirts, a pair of basket shorts, white socks and wiped down indoor and outdoor shoes. All of it was underwhelming, outright disappointing. And why the fuck did I keep the shoes here and not by the door? I grabbed the outdoor shoes and without bothering with socks started to mash my foot into it. It was clearly at least one size too small, perhaps several. Who the fucks know how shoe sizes work. I threw both shoes into the wall above my pile of office clothes. Fucking hell. Why do all days start out great and then go downhill so fast, I wondered.

I grabbed a pair of flip flops, the car keys, and pulled the credit card out of the wallet and walked out to the car. The car stereo startled me when I turned the ignition key, as it blared out some hip hop at max volume. I reached to turn it down, but changed my mind. It felt like my mood, as I was driving to my closest mall almost below speed limit. There wasn’t much traffic out anyway on a Saturday morning. As I turned into the almost empty parking lot in front of the mall I realized the fucking God damn shit mall would open for another 40-something fucking minutes. I wished I could turn up the music louder.

As I looked down on the cum stains on my shirt and tenting sweats I decided why the fuck not, and started to beat off in sync with the music.

40-something fucking minutes later I entered the sporting goods store in the mall. Johnson’s or Dick’s or Willy’s or whatever, I don’t care. I picked up some proper compression clothes, like the leggings I had earlier with a matching top. I got myself some outdoor Nike’s, a few proper tanks, some jocks, boxer shorts and socks, new flip flops, and a snapback cap. On the way to the cashier I decided to pick up a wooden baseball bat and a regulation size football as well. Back in the car I ripped off all the stickers and shit and put on something I could run in. The sneakers, jockstrap and shorts, a tank top, and the snapback. I left the car and just ran.

It was a revelation. The first time I tasted ice cream or coca cola, or the first time I discovered I could do something else with my dick besides peeing and hitting it too hard. I felt like a good damn terminator. Like as long as I kept the pace below sprinting I could run for hours. Trickles of sweat running down my face, my arms, my back, wetting the fabric of my clothes where it could, cooling the skin with the breeze my motion generated where it couldn’t. I have no fucking idea how long I actually run. When I finally ended up back in the car I was steaming and real fucking hungry.

I felt like a shower was in order, but I was too hungry to do that first. I went by Five Guys and had a bacon cheeseburger with fries and a peanut butter milkshake. As I started eating I realized I wasn’t anywhere near tired. It was probably enough running for today, but I wanted to do more. Halfway through the meal I decided I would visit the gym we had a company membership at. I had only been there a few times since the introduction walkthrough. I wasn’t even sure I had the card in my wallet anymore, or if it was in the bowl of stuff in the kitchen.

I made a quick stop at home, unloaded my car, found the card, and set off to the Pacific Wellness Center. The dude in the lobby had a pissy attitude and asked me if I was wearing indoor shoes. I asked him what they looked like, and he let me in. Such a shame, because he was kind of good looking.

Inside the gym the results were mixed. Squats, lunges, planking, and abductor machine all went excellent. It was fun, even. But everything involving arms went miserably. I could only lift a pathetic load, and after a few reps I would be tired. I even embarrassed myself in front of two massive gym buddies. One of them had amazing arms. You could see how strong they were even when he wasn’t lifting, but fuck me what beautiful ‘ceps when loaded. And tanned too. It was lucky I had the jockstrap on, because that body was smoking hot.

I could only stand a few more failures after that and then sped back home, still with hip hop at max, in a mix of emotions. I got naked on the way to the bathroom, and there I spent perhaps an hour in the shower, getting the grime and sweat off me, and wanking twice, thinking of the arms of the hot dude. As I dried myself on a towel I knew I had to buy the last package. Ten fucking thousand fucking dollars. I had to use the laptop to access my bank, and once I had put in the sell order for my stock portfolio I saw the pornhub tabs I hadn’t looked at since Wednesday.

The big-busted bimbos I had wanked my way through the Wednesday suddenly didn’t seem as interesting. I clicked around a bit until I found a muscle stud fucking a Latino girl. How quickly the taste can change, but except for pathetic arms, I’m was now the muscle stud. I quickly entered the URL from the Jock Express #4 box and ordered the last package. The delivery date was still Monday, so come Tuesday the muscle stud would be me. Only one fucking week.

Since I was out of beer I threw on my old shorts and a T-shirt, and had a walk to my nearest convenience store and bought one six-pack for each hand. I was feeling a bit stiff from the training, but it was much better than it ought to be.

As I opened the door back at home the warm smell of gym clothes, sweat, and feet hit me. I did the responsible thing and threw everything in the washing machine, opened a beer, and started to watch whatever was on.

Sunday was just a boring-ass filler day. I woke up at a decent time, had a long run. I passed through the park, but didn’t engage with any of the groups playing football or beach volley there. I could wait two more days to get my arms sorted. I did some cleaning up and domestic shit back home. Then I went to the gym again, but this time I pretended it was leg day, so I didn’t have to embarrass myself. After dinner I had an evening jog as well, and only had a few beers before bedtime.

Same thing on Monday. Woke up pretty early and went for a long run. When I was almost back home I got a text message from my boss, saying we needed to talk about my performance over the last few days. My answer “Suck my balls” probably summed up the conversation much better than any in-person meeting. I found that the best way to find porn with muscle studs in them was to search in the gay section. Just because you like to watch big arms and strong backs doesn’t make you homo. I jacked off to the videos until it was time to eat lunch. By 2 pm I was climbing on the fucking walls in anticipation, and every minute felt like too long. Perhaps it wouldn’t arrive today at all? I heard the mailman at 2:18 and rushed out wearing only shorts and snapback.

The mailbox was stuffed full with a big, soft envelope. I tore it open on my way back inside, kicked the door shut, and emptied the contents on my kitchen table. A big black something fell out, as well as something small that rattled across the table. Ignoring the letters, as usual, I unfolded the cloth. It was a big, black hoodie in sweatshirt material, with the print “STRONG” on the front. Finally arms! I picked up the small plastic box that almost fell off the table and opened it. It contained some sort of advanced mouthguard mad in blue, white, and transparent plastic of different hardness and flex. The kind that football players use.

Not knowing what to do next, I went to the gym and spent a few hours just randomly doing low weight, high rep stuff. I was trying to catch a glimpse of everyone else who worked out to see what their arms and legs looked like. Once I felt it was too obvious I wasn’t doing anything serious I drove home, but instead of going inside I started to walk and walked for hours just looking. It felt good just to be in motion. I didn’t return back until the sun started to set, and it was almost fully dark when I walked through the door.

I decided to just go ahead with the last piece of transformation. I stepped out of my sneakers and pulled off my damp socks. It didn’t smell of strawberries. I pulled off the T-shirt and stepped out of the basket shorts, but kept the compression shorts on. I grabbed the hoodie from the table and put it over my head. Perhaps it was me, but it smelled of musky sweat inside while I put it on. I poured myself a big glass of water and downed it.

I walked with the small plastic box to the bathroom and had a look in the mirror. I didn’t really look that different. The big hoodie hid my newly athletic front. The legs and feet looked strong, but who ever notices that? My big bulge in the compression pants was however a change from the past week that couldn’t easily be hidden. I opened the box and put the mouthguard into my mouth. It fit snugly and didn’t change my appearance much either. Not knowing what to do with the hoodie I put it up over my head and pulled it tighter with the drawstrings so all but my face was gone. Then I turned off all the lights and went to bed.

It was still dark when I woke up. Instantly I knew it had worked, because I couldn’t feel the mouthguard in my mouth, though it felt different. As if the ghost of the mouthguard was still there, prying my mouth open. I felt some sort of pressure on my head, as if I was wearing a hat or a beanie or something. I was about to feel my head when I realized moving my arm felt different. Not wanting to fuck around any longer I went straight to the bathroom again to have a look in the mirror. I stared at my reflection with open mouth. The difference was breathtaking.

First of all I wasn’t wearing any top, so my abs and pecs were on full display, but they were also bigger than before. Everything was bigger. My shoulders were much bigger, my entire upper body looked wider than before, and everything about the arms were huge. My face was still my face, but there were lots of small changes. “Fucking dope” I said with a much deeper voice than what I had before. I smiled a smirk and flexed the arms in different poses. I couldn't wait to show up at the gym doing an arm day. I just needed to have another shower. My dick needed service, and I felt sluggish, as if I hadn't really wakened up yet.

[dawnwave16]

dad Bruce Wayne only Marinette doesn't know till she has been shipped off to him thanks to lila's lies. So she has to hide the fact she us ladybug and the new guardion while the bat family have to find the fact they are the bat family Mean while Jason has started a betting pool on when the newest member of the family joins the bat family

Sorry, this has taken so long! While I read a lot of Maribat I’m not very familiar with how they are in canon so I’m not 100% sure if I got this right! I also kinda ran out of insperation near the end so if it feels rushed that’s why. :)

Story:

A bug amoung the bats.

To the staff of the plane, the girl sitting in the window seat just in front of the right wing was quiet and withdrawn.  To her family, she was untrustworthy and a risk to their livelihood.  To those who she used to think of as friends, she was a backstabber and a liar who hid her bullying tendencies behind an innocent face.

The truth was she was none of those things.  Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng and what she was, was beyond angry.  

She had arrived home after the battle with Miracle Queen only to find her bags sitting for her by the door. Her parents had given her two hours to box up everything she deemed worthy of being sent to her new home as well as any trinkets she might want to take with her in her hand luggage before they had handed her a bus pass, a one-way plane ticket, a letter to her new guardians and told her they could no longer risk having her under their roof so they were sending her to Gotham to be with a family there that could hopefully get her back onto the ‘right path’.

A soft sigh escaped Marinette as she stared unseeingly out the small window.  Slowly a tear rolled down her cheek before she angrily swiped it away.  As if she didn’t have enough to deal with, she thought angrily.  Now she would have to hide the fact that she was Ladybug as well as the newly christened High Guardian of the Miraculous from people she didn’t know.  Who knew how well that would go.  

Another tear escaped her eyes as she thought about how she had been betrayed.  Looking back, she wished she had told Adrien that Lila had threatened her in the bathroom that day.  Or that she hadn’t blindly believed him when he’d said that she would out herself if they took the high road.  She wished she hadn’t tried to deal with everything by herself instead of telling her parents before Lila had gotten to them.  But most of all she wished that her trust in adults hadn’t been completely destroyed by it all.

Now she was alone and heading to a country she had limited knowledge of, where they spoke a language she wasn’t confident in speaking (although she understood more than she could say) and to a city that had more villains than Paris.

By the time her plane landed in Gotham airport, Marinette had a new mask in place.  She refused to let herself be hurt again and if that meant that she had to hide her true nature, so be it.  From now on, the world would see the ice queen she needed to be even if she wasn’t sure how to be one yet. The seatbelt sign flickered off as the captain announced the time and weather conditions before wishing them well as they disembarked.  Marinette took her time gathering all her things and making sure she had everything she might need, to hand.  

The letter from her parents sat in the front pocket of her bag like lead.  The miracle box was in the main compartment of said bag next to a blank sketchbook and a few odds and ends.  She had been too upset to design during the flight. 

Reluctantly, Marinette disembarked the plane and retrieved her bags from baggage claim.  Once she had everything she scanned the waiting crowd for whoever was meant to be fetching her.  Spotting her name on a card being held by a distinguished older gentleman she slowly made her way over to him, trying not to drag her feet despite waiting to.

“Sorry to keep you waiting sir.  I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Marinette introduced herself in stilted high-school english, emotions locked behind a blank mask that would make an assassin proud.

“Oh God, it’s another Demon Spawn,” the man’s companion muttered.  She flicked her eyes over him.  Where the man holding the card was wearing a formal suit and looked neat and representable, the one who had just spoken looked like a biker.  A scuffed brown leather jacket hung open over a black muscle t-shirt.  Ratty jeans held up by an equally scuffed belt covered his legs.  The bottom of said jeans were tucked into well worn combat boots while a white steak in his hair added to the ‘dangerous’ vibe rolling off of him.

Marinette returned her attention to the older gentleman.

“My name is Alfred Pennyworth, Miss Dupain-Cheng.  Welcome to Gotham.  Please ignore Jason, he tends to act before he thinks.” His voice was cultured, Marinette noticed even as she nodded.  When he indicated that she was to follow him, she tightened her grip on her bag  and the luggage trolley and did so silently. 

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Jason watched his new sibling closely.  Her face was guarded but her body language screamed that she had been hurt and badly so.  Her stiff posture reminded him of Damian despite her being closer to Tim’s age.  The strange thing was that as far as Jason could see the stiffness seemed to be more of a defence mechanism rather than her true personality.  He sighed, what was it with his family always attracting those that were damaged to the point where they hid?  And why was it that both of Bruce’s biological children were the worst damaged?  Did the universe hate Bruce that much?

Although Jason didn’t know it, Alfred was thinking along the same lines.  

The trip to the mansion passed in relative silence as Marinette pulled out a cell phone and quickly started messaging all of the people that had requested commissions to explain that their orders would be delayed.  Her parents didn’t know about this phone, nor did they know about the fact that Marinette was a very successful designer with an exclusive customer base. They didn’t even know about Edna Mode mentoring her whenever the designer for the heroes had time. They thought she was still trying to get a foot in the door of the industry.  It didn’t help Lila had claimed Marinette was trying to use Adrien as a way to get to his father either.

By the time the trio reached Wayne Manor she had caught up completely.  She had also managed to further freak Jason out with how quiet she was.  As far as he knew teenaged girls were ever this quiet even when they were on their phones.  From what he remembered, girls talked non-stop no matter what.  Well most girls, Cass seemed to be the exception and now, so did Marinette.

The meeting with the rest of the family was just as icily polite as the one she had given at the airport.  All she did was hand an envelope to Bruce before saying she was tired and retreating to the room Alfred obligingly led her to.  Jason turned his attention to Bruce, who had made a strangled sound.

“B?”

“She doesn’t know…” was the choked reply.

“What?” Dick queried in confusion.

“Marinette.  She doesn’t know she’s my daughter.  Sabine never told her.”

“Holy…” Jason breathed while Damian froze.  

Damian had been willing to hate her just because Marinette had a better claim on Bruce due to being older than him but how could he hate her now?  She didn’t know she was Bruce’s daughter at all!

* * * * * * * * 

Over the next three months the bat family discovered very little about Marinette.  She hadn’t reacted as they had expected to the news that she was Bruce’s daughter at all.  Instead of bouncing off the ceiling in excitement she had become even more withdrawn, appearing only for meals and to attend school as was required. 

All of the boys had tried to get closer to her but had been rebuffed which had just added to their frustration too.  Eventually Tim had turned to his hacking skills and what he had found had left him in a cold fury.

“Tim?” Dick asked cautiously.

“Is everyone here?” Tim’s voice was noticeably trembling as he spoke.

“Yes,” Bruce grunted.  He was just as frustrated as his sons.

“Spill already, Replacement,” Jason snorted.

“Right, well apparently our sister wasn’t always this cold.  Judging from the records I’ve  been able to get my hands on she used to be a virtual ball of sunshine.  She was class president, she helped at the bakery, did charity work and bent over backwards from all those she considered to be her friends.  I’m not sure what changed though.  It looks like it was almost overnight that all her ‘friends’ started targeting her over social media, she was expelled but that got repealed fairly quickly, and suddenly she was the class parier.  It doesn’t make sense.”  Tim sighed as he ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

There was silence for a while before Damian growled and stalked out of the room.  Dick shared a look with the others before running after him.

“What are you planning?”

“Just to get some answers, Greyson.”

The two soon found themselves at the door that led to Marinette’s room and Damian raised his hand to knock.  A sound made him pause, it was almost like a…

“No way, did she just laugh?” Dick breathed.  Soon both boys had their ears pressed against the door.

“Look, Uncle J, I get you want to send Fang after the little bitch but that would just give him indigestion.” Marinette was saying which made the two eve’s droppers eyes widen.  Uncle J? Fang? And did she really just swear?

“Yeah, I know you are angry but really what more could be done?  I tried exposing her lies.  I tried warning the class.  Heck I even tried taking the high road but in the end she won.  I’m now in Gotham and none of those that I trusted to support me are here.  I never thought Tom and Sabine would fall for her lies!  They know I have multiple sketch books and that one of them is inspiration only.  They know the books are colour coded.  So why would they even think I’d copy someone else’s ideas!”  Marinette’s voice was raw with pain and defeat as she spoke which stunned the boys. 

There was a pause as Marinette listened to whoever was on the other end of the call then they heard a loud sigh.

“Do what you feel is best Uncle J.  I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive them.  Tom and Sabine raised me yet they still turned on me and sent me away.  I grew up with most of the people in my class yet they still believed that I could bully someone. They turned on me so quickly I almost got whiplash from it.  If that’s the thanks I get for trying to protect them, for trying to make sure they don’t fail to reach their dreams, then I wash my hands of them.  Doesn’t stop it from hurting though.”

Dick and Damian shared a look.  Marinette was chatting away in French but thanks to them learning it they were still able to understand everything.  Slowly they straightened up and made their way back to the batcave to report what they had heard.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  

Marinette closed her eyes as she thought about the last three months.  Bruce had enrolled her in Gotham Academy and she was working as hard as she always did to make sure her grades were as high as possible.  She was pretty sure the whole school thought she was a total snob what with her ice cold attitude to most things but she didn’t care.  The only ones she showed her true self to these days were Edna, Jagged and the clients she had amassed before leaving France, the Kwami’s and her online Boyfriend Roy. 

She had met Roy by chance after attending a masked ball with Edna almost a year after she had started being mentored by the pint sized designer. Roy had tried to wriggle out of having to attend any future balls by behaving badly but Marinette had derailed his plan when she had simply grabbed his ear and told him to either quit his behaviour or she’d deal with him. He had tried to fight back but had found himself hogtied in a measuring tape. Once he had calmed down and Marinette had repaired the rips in his blazer the two had discovered they had a fair bit in common and they hadn’t stopped talking since.

When Jagged had called her to check on her she had decided to give him the full, unedited story. While he hadn’t been impressed he understood where she was coming from. Why should she have to keep fighting to help others when they wouldn’t do the same for her? Marinette flopped backwards on her bed as she thought about everything she’d learned. Bruce being her father had been a shock but it did explain why she had blue eyes. She didn’t care though. The family the man had built showed her he cared about family more than wealth so why hadn’t she known about him beforehand? Why had her mother sent her to him as a punishment? 

A knock at the door had her sitting up and making herself look presentable in a hurry.

“Come in.”

“Marinette? Can we talk for a bit?” Bruce asked her cautiously.

“Sure.” Marinette kept her mask of cold, indifference in place as she replied. “What can I help you with?”

“I know coming here and finding out I am your father was a shock but I was wondering if you could tell me about what happened for you to be sent here in the first place? I will understand if you don’t want to but I want you to know I’m here for you if you do.” Bruce said carefully. Marinette looked over Bruce’s shoulder and saw Tikki and Wayzz nodding incouringly at her. The kwami’s didn’t like how closed off Marinette had forced herself to be but had understood.

“Will I have to change again if I do tell you?” 

“Not change per say, maybe just drop the mask around the family a bit. As much as you are comfortable with anyway.”

Marinette studied Bruce for a moment before making up her mind. She’d tell him about the school issues but there was no way he’d be finding out she was Ladybug anytime soon. Secret identities and all that cam first. 

[businessplanningsolutions]

The Authority of Money



During my recent trip to the U.S., I decided to play tourist and visit a few places that I had never been. One of the more interesting destinations was the Money Museum at the Federal Reserve Bank in Chicago, Illinois.

    No matter how much it’s talked about in the news and politics, I really had no idea exactly what the Federal Reserve Bank does. I know its name is printed at the top of all of my Benjamin, but that was about the extent of my knowledge. With the help of a friend I’ve had for 40 years, I signed up to take the tour and get a glimpse behind the scenes of the place that money calls home. Knowing the amount of money that passes through the place and seeing the turn of the century style conjured up images of caper stories the whole time I was there. I couldn’t help but think  

“okay, if I was going to rob this place, how would I do it?”

 

The Guided Tour

While it was interesting to learn what the Federal Reserve Bank does, the real beauty of the visit was a special tour through some of the innards with a guide who knows trivia that spans centuries and literally trillions of dollars. Jerry, our tour guide, was a fascinating man who returned from the boredom of retirement to be a tour guide, talking guests through the museum.

    He wore a light green and white suit, looking like he too had been minted by the U.S. government decades ago. Over the course of the next hour or so, he shared background on the Fed, stories and more numbers than anyone should be able to recall.

In the main museum, we got to see a number of displays about the history of currency in the United States, including a couple of displays of One Million Dollars:

We also got to learn a bit about what the Federal Reserve Bank does in a video that was put together in-house – nice, but a bit dry. I’m sharing what I took away from it, which may be entirely inaccurate, due to my failing memory.

The Fed’s charter is to “oversee how monetary policy is implemented.” It comes down to three primary functions:

they oversee how payment systems work, so the way checks are cashed, the way credit card and online transactions take place;

 they are the regulators of banks in the U.S., so they’re the ones who go in and audit banks to make sure they’re not breaking any laws and

The most visible function is that they’re responsible for moving cash around.

    For most of us, that’s the fascinating part of what they do. Every day of the week, shipments of currency come from the United States mints to the Federal Reserve Bank. The Fed then ships that currency out to the banks that need it. While the larger bills are transported by armored car every day, the $1 bills are packed into unmarked semi-trailers and driven to the building to prepare them for distribution.

I guess it’s not much different from shipping a truckload of iPhones to a warehouse, but somehow it SEEMS riskier that they do that.

On the flip side of things, the Fed gets deliveries of cash from the banks, which is counted and bundled for re-distribution. This is also the step that includes pulling old and worn bills out of circulation. One of the most surprising things I saw was how little wear a bill needs for it to be taken out of circulation. Most of the bills in your wallet are probably not going to pass.

About $17 Million in currency is destroyed every day at the Chicago Fed, which is one of 12 Federal Reserve Banks. The Money Museum even gives you a small bag of shredded money as a souvenir, which contains the remnants of currency equal to about $370. One of the more interesting facts about this shredded currency is that until the mid 20th century, the shredded bills were burned, but because of the toxic chemicals used in the ink, they had to stop doing that.

 It’s now shipped off to special landfills for toxic materials. Kind of makes you worry about handling it every day, doesn’t it?

A Personal Tour

I had the pleasure of getting a more personal tour, including a trip to see the money sorting and counting machines (through a thick glass window, of course), but sadly the machines weren’t operating that day.

    Those functions are visible from an additional section of the Museum that was closed off in 2001, so not many people get to visit it.

    My other favorite part was looking at the high denomination currency that’s no longer in circulation. One display has a $10,000 bill in it, along with several other bills from the 200-ish years of American money printing. The 10k bills were printed until the 1940s and discontinued when it became apparent that virtually all bills above $1000 in denomination were being used for criminal purposes.

 Just over 300 of the bills survive, most of which are in the hands of collectors. About 9 years ago, one of them actually arrived at the Fed through normal banking channels! Someone had gotten hold of it (perhaps stored in a box in an attic somewhere), taken it to their local bank and deposited it. With a quick bit of research, they’d have discovered it was worth close to 10 times that to a collector.

    

I’d love to make a few suggestions to the guys at the Money Museum as improvements, but since this is solely for PR (admission is free), I’m sure they are limited in how much they invest in the tour. Although considering the constant saber-rattling in Congress about the Fed, maybe they could use a bit stronger PR push.

One of my biggest pet peeves with 90% of museums is that no one really thinks about photos. Placement of light fixtures to minimize glare, setting up obstruction free angles and allowing guests the chance to pose without impeding traffic are critical factors for any museum and most of them don’t think that through.

Re-open the closed section of the tour. Money counting and shredding is one of the more fascinating things that happens at the Fed and no one gets to see it. I get it. 9/11 happened. But the security checks and procedures keep out bank robbers, so I’m sure they can be effective for other people, too.

Tell some stories. Interactive displays are all well and good, but you’ve got an asset like Jerry who has hundreds of stories in his arsenal. I’m the only one who heard any of them. Everyone else just heard him introduce the video and rattle off a lot of facts and figures.

    

Stories = excitement. Spend a little money and create a new video to share some of these stories in the context of explaining what the Fed does.

All unsolicited advice, of course, but I found the place fascinating and woefully under-utilized. As an average tourist, there just wouldn’t be a lot to hold my interest without some upgrades.

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[shireness-says]

coming ashore (to my lover’s arms)

Summary: For three years, Captain Killian Jones has been seeing Princess Emma of Misthaven in secret. When the Evil Queen kidnaps Emma's father, however, secrecy is set aside. Can they save the king and find their own happily ever after? ~10.5k. Rated T for language and fighting. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: Back in March, I ran a giveaway after I published my 50th fic on Ao3, which was won by the lovely @ouatxxxxx. She requested Princess Emma and Pirate Killian, and an established relationship. Being me, I threw a little adventure in and some cute Captain Cobra moments. I don't think anyone is complaining. Sorry this took so long to finish - thanks for your patience!

Big thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta-ing, as well as the whole host of people who listened to me spitball ideas. 

Tagging: @ohmightydevviepuu, @profdanglaisstuff, @welllpthisishappening, @optomisticgirl, @scientificapricot, @let-it-raines, @thejollyroger-writer, @kmomof4, @teamhook, @winterbaby89, @spartanguard, @searchingwardrobes

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

He used to love the sight of the open sea, stretching as far as the eye can see in every direction like a vast unknown full of every possibility. The sea used to be home - the place in this world where he felt most like himself.

But times change, and people do too - even stubborn, 300 year old pirate captains. And these days, Killian finds himself much more drawn to land and one particular port.

Or rather, one particular lady in one particular port.

He hadn’t gone looking for love, of course; quite the opposite. He’d come looking for treasure, and met a different jewel altogether along the way. 

Killian smiles at the memory. He’d had half a plan, a bit too much confidence, and rather more drink than anyone about to try and rob the royal palace ought to consume. The trail of ivy winding up to a non-descript third floor window had seemed like a stroke of luck; the real stroke of luck, he’d realize later, was reaching the top only to find himself face to face with a princess and her sword.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she’d demanded - in a tone rather less regal than he expected, he might add - and he’d had no choice but to surrender as her blade trained with deadly precision on his throat. 

(He’d surrendered his heart at the same time, but that was yet another realization for later.)

“Well, I had planned on a bit of casual larceny, lass,” he’d said as nonchalantly as he could muster, “but I rather think that may not be in the cards tonight after all.”

“You think?”

“I’m smarter than I look, love,” he’d assured her with a smirk. “Now, the way I see it, we’ve got three options. First, you let me make my way back down the vine. Second, you lower your sword and we continue this lovely banter in a more civilized fashion - perhaps in those chairs — ” he’d nodded towards a pair of armchairs facing a cozy fire to demonstrate — “and with a bit of rum.”

“And the third option?” She’d sounded amused, at least, which Killian had thought at the time was a good sign. 

“Ah. You run me through with this sword you apparently and inexplicably keep in your chambers, and that’s that. I’m admittedly rather less fond of the third option, I will say, but it seemed foolish not to point out the obvious.”

The lady had held her stance for a moment longer, staring down her steady blade with a confidence he wouldn’t have expected from a princess. Then again, nothing about this little excursion had gone the way he’d expected. Somehow, he’d felt as if she was evaluating him; holding a man at swordpoint certainly had given her one hell of an opportunity to do so. Finally, her blade had lowered, leaving Killian to breathe easy once again.

“You mentioned something about rum?” she’d asked, nodding towards the armchairs in invitation.

“What kind of pirate would I be otherwise?” Killian had smirked in return, sauntering over to drape himself over the flimsy seating. These chairs were clearly meant for little more than decoration.

“Can’t say I’ve met any pirates, so I couldn’t possibly say. A poor one, I take it.”

“You said it, not I.” After taking a hearty swig, Killian had passed the flask across to his unexpected companion. She’d taken to the liquor like a champ, just another unexpected thing about her. He’d started to realize that the lovely blonde in front of him was no ordinary princess. “As an aside, have you considered trimming the ivy outside your window? All manner of unsavory creatures might climb up - less chivalrous ones than I, who might wish to do harm to your lovely self.”

“Ah, but then I wouldn’t be able to climb down,” she’d retorted with a sly smile. “I’ll take my chances.”

Not an ordinary princess at all. 

They had only talked that night - two strangers, who never should have met, in an odd situation and bonding over the flask of rum. He’d learned about her parents who want to keep her safe at all costs, practically trapping her inside the walls of the castle except when she manages to sneak out down to the town and whatever darkened tavern she can pass unnoticed in, and about the magic she’s still learning how to use. She’d told him about her dead husband and the young son she loves more than anything in the world, and in turn he’d told her about his dearly departed brother and the way that he can’t help but feel these days that he’s on the wrong path, that Liam would be disappointed in him.

And it should just  have been a one time thing - two ships passing in the night who were never meant to meet. She’s a princess, after all, and he’s nothing but a pirate. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind, and the next time he’d found himself in that port again, he’d dropped by the tavern she’d mentioned as her usual haunt on the off chance he might see her.

He had thanked every god that had long since abandoned him when he did.

“I’ve heard a rumor,” he had said in lieu of greeting, reveling in the smile that had inched its way across Emma’s lovely face, “about a princess in these parts sneaking down the vine outside her window. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

“Maybe,” she had smirked back. “Buy me a drink, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

One drink became two; one night became many; and three years later, Killian finds himself the only captain in the seven seas who longs for land. 

(For Emma; for home.)

This is the way things have to be, he knows - she’s a princess, after all, and he’s a pirate, and there’s no reality he can imagine where her parents readily accept him as a suitor for her hand. Hell, they’re more likely to throw him in the dungeon, maybe hang him, maybe give him to another country who will do the same. Still, Killian can’t help but want - want to wake up by Emma’s side every morning, want to meet and come to know her brilliant son, want to be her partner in a permanent way. Want to be the kind of man who would deserve that. 

For now, though, that’s all a dream - just hopes and wishes that float away like a feather on the wind, perpetually out of grasp. This whole romance has been the stuff of fairy tales, Killian thinks sometimes, and not in the good way - rather, it’s been two lovers always separated by circumstance. Their current situation isn’t perfect, by any means, but it just might be the most they can hope for when they both are who they are. 

(The fact of the matter, Killian has long since learned, is that he’ll do anything to be with Emma, anything to make her happy.)

This port is familiar now, Killian docking here every other month now in order to spend a few days with his princess. They have a routine; he docks the Jolly and makes sure to raise a flag up the mast for Emma to see from her balcony, then meet that night in the same tavern by the docks. It’s well practiced, reliable. Most importantly, it allows them to see each other without fear of her parents finding out. He’s still a pirate, after all, even if he limits his attacks to ships of other countries, even if he loves Emma more than he ever believed possible. He’s still not a suitable beau for the woman who will one day be queen.

That’s why it shocks him to finally dock only to find Emma already pacing along the boards. He can only imagine how she knew they were coming; she must have been watching for him. That doesn’t solve the mystery of why she’s here in the first place.

The gangplank barely hits the worn wood of the docks before Emma rushes to meet him. “Oh thank the gods you’re here,” she exhales as she throws her arms around his neck. Killian clasps her to him in turn, revelling in the feeling of her body close to his even as concern courses through his veins.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, resisting the urge to brush a stray hair behind her ear. It’s obvious the comfort of his embrace is more important right now.

“Something terrible has happened,” she tells him with tears starting to glisten in her eyes. “My father has been kidnapped.”

———

He can’t say he expected the day to end like this - with Emma and her mother and son all on his ship, sailing into almost certain danger. It’s not how he pictured meeting her parents, either, but he supposes that it’s better than the alternative, where he assumed he would be thrown straight into the dungeons for besmirching their beloved daughter and heir. It’s probably something to do with the fact that he’d immediately offered Emma his ship and crew to help get her father back. It doesn’t hurt either that the Queen clearly has other matters on her mind. 

Emma’s mother is a petite woman whose hair is still dark, if streaked with silver in places all the way through its neat coil at the back of her head. Killian sees a lot of Emma in her mother, actually; something about the set of their identical chins and their effortlessly graceful way of moving. The bow and arrows strapped to her back are certainly reminiscent of his and Emma’s first meeting, at least. Where Emma has proved to be all fiery determination after her little momentary breakdown at the docks, laying out a plan like a seasoned general with a spine of steel, her mother seems a little at odds - distracted, almost unable to truly focus on anything. Killian can understand that; after all, it’s the love of her life that’s missing, her true love, the man she’s spent every day with for decades. His absence must be jarring. Killian can’t even begin to imagine what he’d do if Emma were the one taken. 

(That’s probably another reason Emma’s mother doesn’t put up a big fuss about the fact that she’s been seeing a pirate in secret - she just doesn’t have the energy or the attention for it.)

Emma’s lad, on the other hand, seems blissfully oblivious to the circumstances at hand, gleefully running up and down the Jolly’s deck with all the energy a five-year-old can muster. Killian would say this isn’t how he anticipated meeting Henry either, but truthfully, he’d never anticipated being allowed to meet the lad. Pirates don’t exactly make for the best role models, after all, the same way that small children don’t make the best secret-keepers. As much as Killian has secretly yearned for some kind of committed family life with Emma and her boy, he’s long since resigned himself to the fact that it’s unlikely due to his past and her future. Getting to meet the boy, see him and his mother on the Jolly, feels like a dream Killian never dared entertain.

“I’m going to have a ship like this one day,” Henry tells him very seriously. 

The lad is a prince, one day heir to his mother’s throne; his words aren’t necessarily just youthful fancy, if he keeps that desire as he grows older. “I think that’s a fine idea, mate,” he smiles down. “A pretty navy clipper, maybe, or even the flagship?”

“Not a navy ship,” Henry tells him with a tone that communicates that Killian is clearly being ridiculous, even obtuse. “I’m going to have a pirate ship one day.”

“Oh. Well, that’s…”

“How do you get a pirate ship?”

Killian flounders - that’s the only word for it. He can’t exactly tell a child who seems determined to acquire a pirate ship about how he stole his, betraying king and country. Emma watches nearby, but she clearly doesn’t intend to help him out of this mess; indeed, she looks rather closer to laughter. Then again, she knows the whole story, knows exactly what he doesn’t want to explain. “They, uh… well, they… save up for a long while,” he finally finishes in the lamest fashion imaginable. What an impression he’s likely made. 

Emma finally swoops in to save him - though he rather thinks it’s too little, too late. “Did you get a chance to look below the decks, baby?” she asks Henry, brushing his hair back out of his face as she speaks. “I hear that Killian set aside a cabin, just for us.”

That bit is true; in fact, the royals have rather sent his crew’s usual bunking arrangements into upheaval. Queen Snow has been moved into the former first lieutenant’s cabin - once his own, now usually occupied by his first mate Smee and hastily scrubbed down - and Emma and Henry have been moved into one of the former officers’ cabins, those rooms’ usual occupants being assigned hammock space in the hold for the time being. Killian feels some residual guilt about not offering his own quarters for Emma or the Queen’s use, but his maps and weapons are all in there, and he’s a mite too selfish to willingly give up his own space, even if the former lieutenant within him knows that he should. But he is a pirate, after all. 

(If he has secret, unspoken hopes that maybe Emma will sneak into his cabin the same way he’s snuck into her rooms so many times, well, a man can’t be blamed for dreaming.)

“I have indeed,” Killian finally replies with a smile for the boy.

Henry gasps in response, with all the dramatics of a child his age. “Is there a hammock?”

“No, there isn’t, lad,” Killian chuckles. “But there are bunks - one each for you and your mother. I know it’s not the same, but is it an acceptable substitute?”

Henry nods decisively in response. “That’s okay too. Bunks can be fun. Pirates sleep in bunks too.”

“That they do, lad.”

(Just as he’d hoped, Emma sneaks into his cabin that night, climbing into his own narrow bunk to press herself against his side. He doesn’t dare take this any further, not when Emma’s so emotionally compromised and her mother and son sleep just a few thin walls away; it would feel wrong, anyways, when Emma’s only here because her father has been kidnapped. Besides, he’s more than content just to exist like this, holding his love within his arms.

“Thank you for this,” she whispers into the dark. “I know this is asking a lot, and you didn’t have to do this —”

“Your heart’s desire, love,” he interrupts, unwilling to hear one more unnecessary apology. “I swear, that’s all I want for you.” 

He’d do anything to make her happy, and when he knows that, this is the smallest ask.)

(His dreams that night are filled with visions of Emma in his arms every night, just like this.)

———

The situation as Emma and her mother describe it is this: the former “Evil Queen”, Snow’s stepmother Regina, had appeared in a dramatic cloud of purple smoke as the family had sat down to dinner, immobilizing everyone and snatching King David before dematerializing in the same fashion. Killian knows the story, at least to a certain extent; Regina had been banished to a far-off land nearly twenty years before after a decade of turmoil when Emma had been but a child, her magic bound by the fairies to protect them all. Regina had seized the throne after the death of Snow’s father and the young princess had been forced into hiding, the older woman swearing vengeance on the younger for the loss of a love she would never name. Even after Snow and David had regained the throne of Misthaven, driving Regina out, the sorceress had persisted, leaving the country to hover at the edge as an unseen danger for years until she was finally captured, her magic bound and her self banished to another realm. They’d foolishly assumed that would be the end of the matter.

They’d been wrong.

For Regina, as it turned out, had a long memory and a dangerous list of allies, and as soon as a corrupted fairy managed to lift the binding, she had resumed her plotting. Kidnapping the King was her revenge on Snow White, for condemning Regina’s own love so many years ago. The trade, Regina had cackled, was simple: if Snow relinquished the kingdom once again, then Regina would release David and maybe - just maybe - the Good Queen would be allowed to keep her own life in return. She’d given them ten days’ time to make the arrangements; it was obvious to all that she expected Snow to willingly sacrifice her kingdom for her true love.

The one thing Regina hadn’t anticipated, as Emma pointed out, was that the Royal Family of Misthaven - or at least the Crown Princess of Misthaven - had connections capable of getting things done through much less legal or expected means - namely, himself. And that just might include the ability to pull off a rescue mission, if they play their cards right. 

Their advantages are limited - a pouch of fairy dust capable of transporting them between realms, a vial of squid ink, a singular magic bean, and Emma’s magic (“Whatever good that will do.”). Killian’s crew can fight, with the benefit of mostly acting unpredictably, unlike the disciplined armies Regina is doubtless used to facing, but their numbers are pitifully small. If Regina has amassed a force of Black Knights again - something Killian wouldn’t put past her, if she’s regained her magic and retained her taste for ripping out hearts - then they may be horribly outnumbered. 

Still, Killian, Emma, and the Queen concoct a plan as best as they can. It’s far from perfect - Killian in particular doesn’t like that they’ve essentially got one chance to get this right - but it’s the best they’ve got. Emma’s mother is able to muster more energy and focus when she has something to direct it towards. Finally, he’s getting to see a little bit of the strong, determined woman Emma has told him about. That’s dangerous in its own way, though - after all, Emma still spends her nights in his bunk. They’ve made no secret of what they are to each other in daylight hours, either; Killian’s eyes and hands gravitate towards Emma at every opportunity, revelling in just the tamest affectionate touches, and Emma has absentmindedly kissed him - on the cheek, even the lips - when he knows they were in sight of the Queen. If they ever intended to continue keeping this under wraps, that proverbial ship has long since sailed, and Killian couldn’t be happier. Still, he doesn’t relish facing a mother that finally has the presence of mind to object. 

It was inevitable, though. He and Emma stand at the ships’ wheel that night, watching the sun set over the waves. This will be the last time they do so, possibly ever if things go poorly; now that they’ve got a plan, they’ll be using the magic bean tomorrow morning to transport themselves to the realm where they hope Regina is still holed up, moving as fast as they safely can in order to rescue King David. Killian tries to savor the simple comfort of this moment; Emma’s head rests on his shoulder, and his arm rests gently around her waist, his fingers stroking along her hipbone almost without conscious thought. Emma had abandoned her skirts for breeches just as soon as they had gotten underway, and Killian must say, this new look suits her. With her blue vest and her hair pulled back, she looks like some kind of lady knight, or a fierce pirate queen - perfect for the helpless pirate captain she holds within her thrall. 

(The breeches also afford him an excellent view of her perfectly formed arse and legs, but that’s a whole different story that he can’t admit to in public.)

“You’ll come to bed soon?” she murmurs into his neck once the sun finally slips below the waves. 

“Aye, love,” he replies with a kiss to the crown of her hair, just where the golden strands are trying to pull loose from their leather strap. Emma likes to try and run her hand through her hair when she’s stressed, and there’s certainly been plenty of that lately. 

As one lady walks away, however, Emma retreating below decks to his cabin, another one approaches - her mother. Maybe he won’t be coming to bed so soon after all. 

“Your Majesty,” he acknowledges with a deferential nod of his head. It’s been a while, but Killian does still remember the little courtesy gestures, and is willing to use them to deflect whatever is about to befall him. 

“Captain.” Snow White joins him beside the ship’s wheels with a grace that even Emma can’t imitate, the illusion that she perfectly belongs in any situation. He envies her that. 

“What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“It’s less about what you can do, and more about what you’ve already done,” she tells him with a wry smile that almost looks out of place on her face.

This conversation, then. Killian lets his head bob downwards again, this time in resignation. “Ah.”

“Yes. Ah.” The silence sits heavy between them, both waiting for the other to speak. Surprisingly, it’s the Queen who caves first - though that’s likely only because Killian finds himself too nervous to speak. Not a position he ever expected to find himself in again as a pirate captain. “So how long have you and my daughter been…” The Queen trails off, clearly at a loss for the appropriate words. Their secret assignations certainly don’t qualify as courting, but they certainly go beyond friendship or fucking. He can’t imagine this woman saying the latter word in any case.

He ultimately takes pity on the queen. “Been me and your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“About three years.” Even if this conversation scares him half to death, Killian still can’t help but smile at the words. That’s the first time he’s had cause to say such a thing; it feels lovely, in a way, each one of those three words imbued with countless memories.

“Three years…” the Queen echoes on a murmur. It’s impossible to miss the guilt and mild melancholy in her tone. “I had no idea. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

Killian glances around his ship in confusion. They’ve made no secret of the fact that he’s a pirate; it should be pretty obvious why he and Emma had kept their relationship a secret. “I’m not exactly a proper suitor, so to speak,” he tells her. “At first, we didn’t know where this was going, or if it’d be more than a fleeting thing, but then once it became more serious… we hadn’t figured out how to broach it.” Without me being thrown into the dungeon and executed, he doesn’t add, but that should be obvious.

“And now?”

“Pardon?” The question feels like it comes out of nowhere, leaving Killian unprepared to answer.

“We’re here talking,” the Queen points out. “I’m all too aware that my daughter spends her nights in your cabin instead of her own. What’s changed, that you’re willing to be open about your relationship after three years of hiding?”

“Some things are more important,” he explains. “The life of your husband - Emma’s father - is more important. Supporting Emma when the rest of the world is falling down around her ears is more important. I hope that after all this, you won’t order my head on a pike,” Killian concedes, “but Emma needs me right now. That’s more important than… anything else.”

“You love her.” It’s not a question, or a realization - just a statement of fact, of the one truth that’s settled deep into Killian’s bones. 

“I do. More than anything else in this realm, or any other.”

“Good.” After years of worry, the simple word is shocking to hear. This whole episode has cast things in a different light, though. “That’s all we’ve ever wanted for her, you know. Someone to love her the way she deserves. Do you think you can be that someone?”

“I hope so. I want to be. Emma is… more than I’ll ever deserve. I just want to make her happy, in whatever way I can.”

“Good. Make sure you do.” And then, wonder of all wonders, Her Majesty actually smiles at him, a soft and maternal thing he never expected to see directed at him. “I think you ought to call me Snow, once all this is over.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Get some rest, Captain,” she tells him - a clear dismissal, her tone imbued with something regal he doesn’t dare question. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

(“What took you so long?” Emma mumbles as he crawls into the bunk behind her, already half asleep.

“Just a little chat with your mother,” he tells her before pressing a kiss to her shoulder where her shift is just starting to slip down. “Nothing to worry about.”

Emma hums in response - about all the response he expected from her in this state. “Love you.”

“I love you too, darling. Sleep well.”)

———

Morning inevitably dawns, bright and clear, perfect for their purposes. Maybe that’s why the dread in Killian’s stomach only deepens.

Traveling by portal is a dangerous business; Killian only had occasion to experience it a handful of times, back when he was still back in Glowerhaven’s navy, but he enjoyed exactly none of it. There’s something particularly unsettling about purposefully steering your vessel into a swirling void into the sea, whipped around in every direction before being spat back out again in another land, another realm. Time is of the essence here, though, and they don’t know exactly where Emma’s father is being kept. Travelling by portal is the fastest, best way to rescue him - unsettling as the journey may be. 

He tries to enjoy these little moments while he can, watching Emma still in his bunk as he slips on a linen shirt and laces his pants up. His love is less delicate in sleep, those porcelain limbs sprawled across every inch of his mattress like she has a right to it all with her hair all in tangles. She’s just as lovely like this, in some kind of everyday, domestic way - unpolished, unpracticed. No trace of the princess here - just the amazing woman she is. They’re all about to dash into danger within the next hour or two, but this is worth remembering in the moment, a little vision to remember later when the going gets rough. 

On the bed, Emma peels an eye open as Killian shrugs his leather vest back on. “That time already?” she mumbles in a voice still muddled with sleep.

“Aye, love, time to turn the plan into action.” He leans down to press a kiss to her forehead practically without thought, the most comforting kind of instinct. Emma hums, whether in appreciation or acknowledgement or expression of her own half asleep state. “Sleep a few minutes longer. I’m just going to check everything over again.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, though it’s obvious she doesn’t need to be told twice. Killian can see the muscles of her face relax as she falls back into a doze. 

(Maybe, after all this is over, he’ll be treated to a lifetime of moments like this. That’s his dream, after all - and maybe, just maybe, helping rescue a captured King will earn him something close to redemption.)

With a last look at the lovely tableau Emma makes, Killian turns towards his safe. With a few flicks of his wrist, the lockbox opens, allowing him to pluck the little bag containing the single magic bean from within. No use beating around the bush, now. 

When Killian ascends the ladder to the deck, he’s surprised to find the Queen - Snow already waiting on the sun-bleached planks. 

“Couldn’t sleep, milady?” he calls gently as he gets closer, causing Snow to spin around to face him. 

“Anxious,” she explains. “I caught a few hours, not to worry. But I’m ready to go find Charming.”

The nickname strikes a particular chord in his heart; as much as Killian may have heard about it from Emma, heard the whole story of her parents’ famous romance a million times over as a favorite local legend, it’s something else to hear it from Snow’s lips. It’s never been just a fanciful tale, even if that’s the way he’s always heard it told; it’s their life, for better or worse. “We’ll get him back, ma’am,” Killian assures her - a promise he can’t actually make, not that it’s stopped him. 

She knows it, too, if that particular smile is anything to go off of - a little sad, a little knowing, a little pitying. “I hope so, Captain. Now, is there anything I can do before we travel?”

“You can check that everything is secured in your cabin and Henry’s,” Killian offers. It’s obvious that Snow needs something to do in this in-between time; he’s seen that already. He’s more than happy to pawn off one of his own checks to Emma’s mother. “You can check the hold too, for that matter, make sure everything’s tied down and stowed away.”

It’s crucial that everything be secured before they open the portal; in Kililan’s experience, realm travel tends to jostle things around. He’s just finishing his own checks up on deck, directing the crew and securing various lines and sails, when Emma makes her appearance at his side. 

“You should be below decks with the lad, love,” he tells her gently. “It might be a rough ride.”

“I know,” she shrugs. “But maybe I want to be up here with you. Mom can more than handle Henry. Is that so wrong?”

“Not in the least, darling,” he smiles back. “But can you blame a man for wanting to make sure his lady love is safe?”

“Not when you phrase it like that.” He even gets a little laugh out of her; that’s good, at least. “But I want to be here, you know. With you. It’s… into the great unknown, right?” Killian nods. “Then I want to do that with you.”

He’s always been a sucker for that kind of sentiment.

That’s how Emma ends up the one to toss the magic bean into the calm sea an hour later, her mother and son and as much crew as they can spare stashed below decks to protect them all. As the waters open to a swirling vortex, Killian wraps his arm securely around her waist, the other on the ship’s wheel to steer them straight into danger. Ropes are tied around both their waists for an extra level of security - something Killian had insisted on - but Emma’s face is curiously unafraid. 

(That’s the faith she has in you, a little voice in his head whispers. Gods, he hopes what they’re about to do doesn’t betray that.)

“Hold tight to me, love,” he murmurs, before turning his attention back to the few crew members left on deck. “Buckle down, lads,” he yells, just as the bow of the Jolly catches the swirling waters of the portal. “It’s rough seas ahead!”

Rough seas is rather an understatement. Once the ship fully enters the expanding mouth of the portal, control is wrenched from his hands, the waters spiralling them down and down and down. There’s no telling which way is up and which way is down, magic ruling over physics, with water seemingly all around them but never swallowing them. The wheel of the Jolly spins wild, forcing Killian to let go before the rudder snaps and cripples the vessel. He’s left with nothing else to do but clutch Emma close with both his arms, curl his body around hers, shut his eyes and try to block out the roar all around them and hope and hope and hope —

— and just as suddenly as this all commenced, the world rights itself again, the hull of the Jolly gliding through calm seas under a pink-tinted sky. They’re just offshore of their destination, where Killian can barely make out fantastically twisting trees and grotesque shrubberies and enormous mushrooms. Wonderland - a realm steeped in magic itself, where Regina’s mother had once seized power and she must have now have done the same. Arguably, one of the worst places they could face her. There’s no other option, however - not when King David’s life is on the line.

“We’re not doing that again, are we?” Emma mumbles against his neck, barely peeking out to see this realm they’ve found themselves in. “Because let me tell you, I’ve had smoother rides.”

With a final squeeze and a chuckle, Killian unwraps his arms from around her body where they’d been sheltering Emma from the worst of the journey. “Aye, I can promise that, love. Only one bean. We’ll have to resort to more mundane methods on our way back.”

“Good.” Emma brushes down her vest, as if any bit of it would dare be out of place. “Now, let’s go catch ourselves a witch.”

Most preparations had been made last night, anticipating the need for immediate action today. Basic supplies have been packed, blades sharpened, and the Queen’s arrows neatly aligned in their quiver with their tips dipped in squid ink. All Snow has to do is graze Regina with an arrow and it’s over; she’ll be frozen, absolutely immobile. The hardest thing left to do, now that the hour is nigh, is explain to little Henry why he can’t come with them. Emma had insisted; Queen Snow had insisted; Killian had concurred; there’s quite a difference between taking him this far for his own safety when there’s an evil witch on the loose, and taking him right into the heart of danger.

“But I want to come with you!” Henry whines with tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want to stay behind!”

“Henry, it’s for your own good.” Killian can tell Emma is trying to explain this as best as she can to her son, but her voice has started to betray a hint of begging. “We’ll be back before you know it. We just have to go save Grampa.”

“You don’t know that though!” Henry wails. “Something could happen and I don’t want to be by myself and—” Emma gathers the little boy into her arms as he dissolves into tears, the display cutting right into Killian’s heart.

Once Henry’s tears start to abate a few minutes later, Killian strokes a bit of his hair back to catch the lad’s attention. “You’re right,” he tells Henry. “This is really scary for your mother and I too. But I promise - I promise - that I’m going to do everything in my power to protect your mum, alright? I’ll make sure that she comes back to you. And in the meantime, Mr. Smee is going to be here to look after you. You won’t be alone.”

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart,” Killian swears solemnly. “I’ll have your mum and your grandpa and your grandma back to you before you know it.”

He would have made sure, anyways - Emma is the most important thing in his life, and he’d do anything to keep her and her family safe - but his promise to Henry only strengthens that. He’ll lay down his life, if he has to, if only to keep that promise to the little lad. After all, he knows all too well the pain of losing his family. 

When they finally set out for the shore in rowboats, Henry bravely waves them off from the railing of the Jolly, though Killian can see tears glistening at the corners of the boy’s eyes. For that matter, Emma’s eyes are moist too. 

“We’ll be back before you know it, love,” he assures her, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “I promise.”

“I know.” Emma’s smile may be watery, but it’s there. “I trust you to make that happen.”

(And imagine that - a princess trusting an old pirate like him.)

Killian expects they’ll be dodging obstacles from Regina the whole time as they cautiously pick their way towards the ostentatious palace they spot from the beach; after all, it’s well known that Regina’s mother, in her time ruling Wonderland, had amassed an enormous army from those whose hearts she’d ripped out and held captive in her vaults. Her daughter doubtlessly controls the same. However, they meet no one more than Wonderland’s absurd wildlife - a fact that somehow feels even more concerning, under the circumstances. It likely means that Regina knows they’re coming, and has already centralized her forces to create a stronghold of that pretty palace estate. And that means they’re walking right into a death trap, fully aware of that very fact.

They’re all a bit jittery at this turn of events; Killian can tell that his crew is on edge, and he can’t keep his own fingers from drumming impatiently on the hilt of his sword, anxious for some kind of action, expecting danger around every corner all while knowing that the true danger is still ahead of them. Emma works out her own impatience by practicing her magic, blasting the enormous insects indigenous to this realm in some kind of bizarre target practice. It’s as good an outlet as any, and she’ll need every ounce of practice to take on the Evil Queen. Even after twenty years of having her magic suppressed, Killian knows Regina will be a formidable foe; she’d terrorized Misthaven for years under her tyranny and dark magic, and he somehow doubts 20 years wiped those skills from her memory. 

“Bravo,” Killian tells Emma with a smile and a little nudge after she blasts a particularly large rendition of a hornet. To their left, a hookah-smoking caterpillar nods approvingly from an enormous mushroom at the side of this forgotten, multi-colored cobblestone path. Truly, this land seems crafted straight out of a fever dream. 

“Thanks.” Emma twines her arm through his own, grounding them both in the process. It’s a lot harder to fidget with his love on his arm, and a great comfort at that. “I kind of need all the practice I can get.”

“It can’t hurt,” Killian agrees mildly. “Though I must say, darling, I’m certainly impressed.”

Emma’s sigh sounds like it carries the weight of all their worries; Killian isn’t entirely sure she isn’t trying to do exactly that. “Is it enough, though? Sure, you’re impressed, but… this is Regina. An ultra-powerful sorceress. And here I am, just taking pot-shots at bugs.”

“Big bugs.”

“Bugs,” she repeats with disgust. “All I’m saying is… is that enough? When it comes down to it, can we really go toe-to-toe with the Evil Queen?”

“Hey,” Killian draws them up short, grasping Emma by both arms to face him. “I have to believe we can, that you can. I believe that this is going to work. And you know why?” Emma just stares at him with wide eyes. “Because I believe in you, love. I think you can do anything you want to. And we’ll be here to back you up, to help you, every step of the way.”

“You really believe that?”

“I really do.” Gently, with the greatest comfort and reassurance he can muster, Killian presses a brief kiss to her lips. “Now, let’s go catch an Evil Queen, love. Together, you and I.”

As is the way of such things, just when Killian begins to relax into the comfort of Emma’s arm entwined through his own, their party reaches the outskirts of the Queen’s estate. The palace is an ornate affair, in marble and gilt with elaborate gardens and hedge mazes. It’s more than just a building or a dwelling - it’s a centerpiece, an architectural representation of Cora, and now Regina’s power. It’s perfect and picturesque and somehow all the more intimidating and imposing for it. 

Killian does his best to nod reassuringly when Emma turns to meet his eyes, standing here at the gilded gates and about to walk into the heart of danger. It must work, thankfully; Emma smiles in response before turning to face her mother instead. 

“You ready for this?” Emma asks, drawing her sword. 

Snow takes a deep, steadying breath, but eventually nods, simultaneously reaching for an arrow from her quiver. “I’m ready. Let’s go save your father.”

They don’t have to search hard to find Regina; it seems like now that she’s lured them into her web, the Evil Queen is ready to set the proverbial ball rolling. As they approach the enormous iron-wrought doors to the palace proper, they swing open without any obvious human intervention to reveal a grand entrance hall paved in black and white marble tiles. Killian directs a weighted look and nod to his crew to be on their guard. Most of his men have long since unsheathed their swords and knives, but those few who haven’t take out their weapons now. Emma and her mother wear identical hard, determined looks on their face as their party creeps down the hall. What feels like an eternity later, another set of doors swings open at their approach, all to reveal the Evil Queen herself, perched on a gilded throne upon a dais with apparently every bit of drama she could muster. 

“I was wondering when you’d bother to show up,” she comments with a devious little smirk. “I guess heroes just aren’t what they used to be.”

“Regina.” Snow practically growls the word - a tone of voice Killian hadn’t been aware the famously mild-mannered queen was capable of. 

“I suppose you lot are rather out of practice, though,” Regina continues as if her rival never spoke, languidly pushing herself up out of the throne to slither and stalk in their direction. She looks good for a woman doubtless approaching sixty, regal with her straight back and raised chin and silver liberally streaked through her dark hair. Killian wonders how much of the display is natural, and how much is thanks to magic. “There never was anyone else who posed anything resembling a real threat.”

“Weird thing to brag about,” Emma comments dryly, catching Regina’s attention. In a dramatic swish of skirts, their foe turns to face her with a feral smile stretching slowly across her face. 

��I don’t expect you to understand power, Princess, and how far it can take you,” she replies - smoothly, dangerously - “but I do expect you to recognize it when it stands in front of you. Even your naive parents aren’t that foolish.”

“Enough of the fronting,” Killian cuts in. “Where’s the king?”

“And they brought a little eye candy, too,” Regina smirks. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that. Goody-two-shoes Snow White and her precious, perfect daughter consorting with pirates.”

“Well, desperate times call for unusual measures,” Killian replies with a casual wave of his hand. “Never let it be said I’m not willing to help a lovely lady or a worthy cause.”

“Is that all it is?” Regina’s head cocks in a way that makes Killian think she’s analyzing the situation, trying to pick up on any weaknesses. “Because I must say, Captain —”

“Stop stalling!” Snow barks out. “Where is Charming? What have you done with him?”

“Interrupting - tsk tsk, such impropriety. Whatever would your dearly departed father say?” Snow flushes red with rage - obviously exactly what Regina hoped for, if that smirk is anything to go off of. “If you must know, your precious prince is a little… shall we say, indisposed for the moment.”

“If you’ve hurt him —”

“Now what fun would that be?” Regina laughs. “No, I’ve arranged something much more entertaining - I’ve cursed him.” 

And with a dramatic wave of her hand, the Evil Queen reveals her handiwork. Before them suddenly stands an enormous mirror - and just behind the glass, Emma’s father, pounding frantically at the surface. 

Emma jolts beside him, clearly pulled towards her father. It’s undoubtedly exactly what Regina wants - perhaps their strongest weapon, distracted and out of commission. “Steady on, love,” Killian murmurs, just loud enough for Emma to hear. “Don’t give in to her, that’s what she wants.”

Emma nods imperceptibly, her sword arm strengthening as her other hand starts to twist and turn by her side - summoning her magic from deep within, he knows. “Let him go,” she commands.

The Evil Queen just laughs in response. “No, I don’t think I will. What are you going to do about it, princess?” As she speaks, Regina summons her own powers, lighting a ball of flame in her hand, primed and ready to attack. Simultaneously, the doors on each wall of the throne room open for a crush of Black Knights to pour through, surrounding their own party.

They’re outnumbered - but they’ve got the benefit of passion, of rage, of the willingness to do anything. And Killian has always liked those particular odds.

It seems Emma is much of the same mind as she throws herself into action, lunging at Regina with her sword arm while the other crackles with magic. A good thing, too - Regina easily bats the sword out of her way with a quick flick of her wrist and hurls her fireball for Emma to bat away in turn. There’s a savage beauty to their dueling, both women lobbing magical weapons at one another with deadly intent. If it was just the two of them, Killian might take another minute to marvel; unfortunately, there is still a force of Black Knights and red-festooned guards to deal with. Emma is the only one who can fight on equal footing with Regina; it’s up to Killian, Snow, and his crew to keep the rest of the combatants away from Emma for long enough for her to defeat the Evil Queen.

Killian falls into a dance of his own, aiming to knock the Knights out where he can instead of killing them outright; it’s well known that Regina, and her mother before her, is an expert at controlling people, ripping out their hearts and whispering commands like a demonic puppetmaster. It’s not always possible, though, and Emma’s safety is more important than anything when she has to channel all her focus into battling Regina; his blade has tasted blood several times over, now, more than he wants to think about. The dance of combat is complicated by curses flying all over the place, doubtless intended for Emma or their little party even if they occasionally strike one of Regina’s own forces.

It finally seems like they’re starting to have things in hand. For all their numbers, the Black Knights and Red Guards are poorly trained, a collection of poor souls used to doing Regina’s bidding by intimidation and by superior numbers. Snow, instead, is a deadly aim - presumably from her outlaw days - and Killian and his crew are used to fighting for their dinner and their salary and their lives, playing dirty if they need to in order to get the upper hand. King David doesn’t look particularly pleased with the way Killian keeps using the mirror as a shield or an obstacle or a hard surface to knock heads against, but that’s his problem; Killian is doing his best to save his holier-than-thou arse, after all. Foes still remain, but it feels like a manageable low tide now instead of breaking wave after breaking wave.

And maybe that’s what hurts them. Maybe, Killian lets his guard down more than he should have, surveying the room after dispatching another Red Guard. He doesn’t see Regina cast the curse, doesn’t see it head directly at him, doesn’t know what’s happening at all until he hears Emma shout. Killian whirls around, but it’s too late - only just in time to see Regina’s curse hit her squarely in the chest.

“Emma!” he yells, dashing to catch his love as she crumples towards the ground. Somewhere, he hears Regina cackle in triumph, but he can’t worry about that now, not when Emma —

But he doesn’t need to worry about it, as Snow takes advantage of Regina’s distraction to let loose an arrow, deadly and true, to pierce her long-time enemy’s heart.

Somewhere, Killian hears the clatter of metal as the Queen’s soldiers are released from her power. Somewhere, he hears glass shatter as David is finally freed from the mirror. Those things don’t matter, though, when Emma lies in his arms, eyes closed, pulse barely detectable.

“C’mon, love, open those pretty eyes,” he murmurs, but to no avail. His words fall only on deaf ears. He can feel her parents on either side, reaching for Emma, and he should give her to them. Snow strokes along her hair and face, trying to rouse her daughter, and David just behind at his wife’s shoulder, anxiously peering down with tears starting to glisten in his eyes. Killian should let go of Emma, give her to her parents. A less selfish man might. But he can’t, not when he’s only just started to dream of a happy ending, only to see it - her fall in front of him. 

And it’s a long shot. There’s no promises here, but Emma is his joy, is every dream he never dared to dream, and it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? After growing up hearing about true love, maybe they share that too.

(If nothing else, it’s less heartbreaking to think of this as an attempt at true love’s kiss than as a kiss goodbye.)

“Come back to me, Emma,” he whispers, leaning down as he does so to press his lips to hers in a gentle, lingering kiss.

There’s a split second where nothing happens, where Killian is sure it didn’t work. But then what feels like a wave of energy bursts from where their lips are joined, spreading through the room and causing even her parents to gasp.

Emma’s eyes flutter open slowly, but she smiles to see Killian still bending over her. “Did we win?” she mumbles, a tired sort of slur to her words.

Killian can’t help but laugh, even as happy and relieved tears start to gather at the corner of his eyes; it’s so like his Emma, so fierce, so determined. “Aye, love, we did. You did. Regina’s dead, and your father’s right here.”

Emma cranes her head with a wince to meet her father’s gaze. “I’m ok, sweetheart,” he assures her. “I’m proud of you.”

She nods tiredly before turning her attention back to Killian. “Can we go home now?”

“Anything you want, darling,” he chuckles. “Anything you want.”

——— 

Henry, as expected, is thrilled when they return with his grandfather now amongst their number. “I knew they’d save you,” he grins, arms wrapped tightly around David’s waist. “That’s what heroes do.”

“Hey now, lad, I’m a pirate, not some hero,” Killian can’t help but cut in with a smile and a teasing note in his voice.

“I don’t know, I think you could be both,” Emma adds with a smug little smile. As if it’s thanks to her that he’s anything resembling a hero.

(That might be a little true, actually. After all, she’s the reason he’s wanted to try.)

“Yeah!” Henry agrees readily. “You helped bring Gramps back! And you made sure Mom was safe, just like you promised!”

“Well, I couldn’t disappoint my best mate, could I? A promise is a promise.”

“I see you’ve swayed my grandson, too,” David interjects drolly. Killian isn’t sure the man will ever fully be a fan of his - Killian supposes he’d be the same way with a daughter of his own - but they’re mostly civil, at least. It’s more than he could have expected a week ago, at least. 

“More like he swayed me.”

“I like Killian,” Henry proclaims, and, well, that’s that.

(“Killian says if I save up a lot, I can have my own pirate ship,” Killian hears Henry tell Charming later. “Do you know how much I have to save?”

Killian will probably be paying for that in other ways later.)

Suspicious fathers aside, the return trip is much less eventful. Applying fairy dust to his sails so they can fly between realms may make for a slower journey, but a calmer one; the necessary rush of their original travel to find David is no longer in play, anyways, and they can spare the time. It’s a good time for Emma’s family to get used to his presence in her life under more normal circumstances. There’s no putting the cat that is their relationship back in the metaphorical bag after this, not that Killian would ever want to. He’s loved Emma for a long, long time, and he’s just glad to finally now admit it in public.

By the time they dock back in Misthaven’s port, there’s something of an understanding. Snow openly likes him, as does Henry, and even David has reached a grudging acceptance after much discussion with his wife and daughter. It probably doesn’t hurt that Killian played an instrumental role in his rescue. There’s still the matter of public perception, however. There’s no hiding the fact that he was - is? - a pirate. What will the populace think of their beloved princess consorting with someone like him? How are they supposed to prove that he’s one of their fold, now, no longer a threat in the eyes of the royal family?

The answer, as it turns out, is a grand ball. It’s the Misthaven way, after all. 

Killian can’t say that it’s his idea of a good time by any stretch of the imagination - a little too stifling for his taste - but there’s no real way to weasel out of it, not when he’s the guest of honor. Especially not when it means that the Queen and King see in him a man of honor, maybe even a man worthy of their daughter. He’d be a fool to spit in the face of such gestures. 

Still, he doesn’t have to be entirely thrilled about it. There’s far too many diplomats to play nice with and not nearly enough time with Emma and the collar of his coat itches, dammit. The quilted bronze fabric is certainly striking, drawing more than his fair share of appreciative looks, but the folded black collar whacks at the bottom of his chin with every move, driving him mad. If these soirees are going to become a regular thing in his life - and by all appearances, they will be - he’ll have to speak with the palace seamstresses about making something less prominent.

(What an idea, that is - getting the chance to be around openly enough and long enough to need to speak with palace staff about his preferences.)

Emma, on the other hand, looks absolutely stunning. Beautiful. Ravishing. A whole host of other descriptors that never fully encompass the way she looks tonight, never quite do her justice. Her dress is red, with long sleeves and a full skirt and beading along her scooped neckline that highlights the peeking swells of her lovely breasts, all topped with a floral tiara. It’s by far the most traditionally princess-y that Killian has ever seen her look; it feels like his heart skips several beats as she makes her way into the crowded ballroom, skirt swishing about her just a split second after every move she makes. 

(He may be the guest of honor, but she’s the star of this particular show, every eye drawn towards her grace and beauty like moths to a flame. Truthfully, he can’t blame them one bit.)

As much as Killian has enjoyed watching his princess in her element - something he never thought he’d be fortunate enough to see - he’s been sadly limited to only looking, not touching. Emma is a dance partner in much demand, between visiting royalty and Misthaven’s own nobility and what he’s been told are friends of her parents and their children, and somehow, Killian can never find a moment to steal her away into his arms and make it obvious to anyone that Emma is his partner, and his alone.

(This is all part and parcel of being the future monarch, he knows, but Killian has always been a selfish bastard at heart, a pirate not skilled at sharing with others. Besides, they’ve only just been allowed to show their love openly; he can’t help but want to revel in that for all to see.)

He puts on as good a show as he can, smiling at the countless faces he’s introduced to and gritting his teeth against all the little snide, uppity comments he gets to hear in return. He dances, too - with Snow’s old friend Ruby and with Emma’s friend, the Queen of Arendelle (who is kind enough not to mention the piracy he’s doubtless committed against their ships in the past years) and even, eventually, with Queen Snow herself, twirling each across the marble floors in moves his body remembers from his Naval Academy days much better than his brain does. 

“How are you holding up, Captain?” Emma’s mother asks once he pulls her back in from a particularly dramatic turn. Killian chooses to hum instead of answering, making the Queen laugh. “That well, huh?”

“Ask me tomorrow,” Killian suggests. “Distance may make the memory fonder.”

“I strongly doubt that, but I’ll be sure to ask.”

Inevitably, Killian’s eye drifts back to Emma again, where she now dances with her father. He means no offense to his current partner, and he surely hopes Snow doesn’t take it as a slight; he just can’t help but seek for his love’s face and smile and self no matter what else is going on around him. 

“You haven’t had much chance to be in each other’s company tonight, have you?” Snow comments wisely, drawing Killian’s attention back to his partner with a guilty little start that makes her chuckle again. “No, it’s quite alright,” she assures him. “I do remember young love, you know.”

“I’d never think to suggest otherwise,” he winks back. They’ve reached some kind of understanding, him and the queen; the kind of adventure they’ve shared will do that, he supposes. 

“Wise man.” Once again, Killian turns the Queen beneath his arm. When she comes back to their proper waltz position, there’s an extra little twinkle in her eye. “Now, I know you’ll be terribly sorry to see me go,” she tells him, voice bubbling with mirth, “but I have the sudden desire to dance with my husband. If we switch partners, do you think you could possibly bear the terrible burden of dancing with my daughter?”

“I think I’ll manage somehow.”

Emma breaks into a smile as they approach, her entire visage brightening with the gesture and somehow rendering her even more stunning. At his side, the Queen is saying something doubtlessly witty or romantic to her own husband to orchestrate this partner switch; truthfully, Killian doesn’t hear a word. Watching Emma is a delightful tunnel vision, only heightened as her delicate hand brushes against his arm. 

“I was wondering where you had gotten to,” she teases with a smile. “Having fun yet?”

“More with you here.” It’s all the truth he’s willing to admit to in this crush of other people; doubtless, Emma knows what he means anyways.

Sure enough: “I’ve got a feeling that wouldn’t take much.” Though she shakes her head, the smile still lingers on her lips. Killian knows this isn’t her idea of a good time, either, but she’s much more practiced in hiding it than he is. 

(That’s a thing he’ll have to learn over time, he supposes; after all, where Emma is concerned, he’s in this for the long haul. Horrible state functions and all.)

“Guilty as charged,” he smiles back. “What do you say, love? Care to take a turn about the floor with this old pirate?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“That’s not for lack of wanting, you know,” Killian assures her as they sort themselves into a proper waltz position and begin to move. “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all night. This is… stunning, love. Gods above, you look like a vision.”

Emma preens a bit at the compliment, a smug little smile and shake of her shoulders. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Captain,” she replies, nodding towards his jacket. “I might even say you clean up well.”

“I couldn’t exactly show up in my duster, you know. What a look that’d be. The entire idea has been not to look too much of an embarrassment, especially as an already… shall we say, unconventional suitor for the princess.”

“You never could, but I appreciate the thought.” The smile slides off her face then, only to be replaced by a hint of anxiety. “I didn’t want to leave you alone tonight, Killian - I really didn’t, I promise. I just… there’s so many people here and I had to greet everyone, and then there were so many people I needed to pay a little extra attention to, pay my respects or whatever, and —”

“Don’t worry about it, love,” Killian cuts her off, accentuating the sentiment with a little squeeze of her hand. “I know these are things you have to do as the princess. It’s quite alright.”

“I never want you to think I’m abandoning you for some duty.” Killian wonders, briefly, if that’s something she’s experienced or been accused of before; in that moment, Killian swears never to make her feel that way again if he can help it. 

“I promise, darling, I won’t. This is who you are, who you’re meant to be; I’ll just be privileged to watch you work.” If it weren’t for the crowded room, filled with people and expectations of how to behave, he’d kiss her right here. After all the scandal they’ve already made, though - the princess and the pirate, quite the pairing by anyone’s standards - he refrains, contenting himself for the moment just to hold his princess in his arms for this dance. That doesn’t mean he can’t do a little bit of plotting, though. “That being said…” 

“Yes?”

“What do you say we sneak out of here early, darling?” Killian murmurs in Emma’s ear. His love has an excellent poker face; even as he whispers indecorous ideas in her ear, her face betrays only the slightest hint of a smile, visible only because Killian was watching for it.

“We’ll have to be sneaky about it,” she replies. “My father will never let you stay the night in my chambers.”

“Hmm. Well, you know, I was just thinking…”

“Yes?”

“What do you think about the ivy, for old times’ sake?”

The smile blooms over Emma’s face slowly, slowly enough for Killian to read every ounce of mischief and lascivious promise contained within, before she finally leans forward to whisper back in his own ear.  

“I’ll bring the rum.”

Not your typical princess at all - but she’s his princess, and Killian finds that that makes all the difference. 

[hedwigstalons]

Fanfic year in review 2020

So I was tagged by @mrmustachious @eirabach @tsarisfanfiction and @hodgehegposts.  Thank you all.  I’ve not been writing for much longer than a year so this is actually going to give me an interesting snapshot of just how much fanfic has taken over my life.

Total number of completed stories: 48 and apparently 4 WIP (of which I had completely forgotten about 2 of them - oops)

Total word count: 130,837 in the completed stories, about 85,000 published words for my WIPs, maybe 5000 that haven’t been shown to the world yet.

Fandoms written in: Thunderbirds (44 published, 3 WIP) & SKAM (4 published, 1 WIP)

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

Far, far more, both in terms of words and number of stories.  I started writing at the end of November 2019 so I still see this all as a very new venture for me.  I had no idea a year ago that writing would become this much a part of my life.

What’s your own favourite story of the year?

Oh my goodness, um, maybe Becoming Thunderbird One because even though I can see so many stupid errors that I should have picked up in the editing, it’s one of the few that actually provoked an emotional response from me as I was writing it.

Did you take any writing risks this year?

Undertaking any sort of writing was a risk because I’ve never really done anything creative until now.  I have tried to stretch myself and expand out of my comfort zone (what comfort zone - I’ve not been doing this long enough to have one of those) by starting a Bad Things Happen Bingo card to make myself write whump.  I have also challenged myself to write ships, smut, characters that normally stay silent for me and multi-chapter fics; all in the name of making sure I explore and attempt a wider range of writing.  

Do you have any fanfic goals for the new year?

To finish High Expectations which has been a victim of life stresses.  That story got so long and involved that I have to be in the right frame of mind to pick up all the threads and that hasn’t happened much lately.

I’ve also signed up to the @skambigbang which gives the dual challenge of a new way of writing  (drafts? deadlines?) and writing for a new fandom.

Most popular story of the year?

High Expectations has had over 3000 hits but being a multi-chapter does boost that.  AO3 does place it as my Thunderbirds fic with the most kudos too though so I must be doing something right with it.

Postcards is something I wrote for SKAM right at the end of 2020 and already has the most kudos of any fic I’ve ever written.  The SKAM fandom on AO3 does seem to be more liberal with it’s kudos though while the Thunderfam are far more vocal on Tumblr.

Most fun story to write:

Hmm, tough choice so I’m going to have to pick a few.

Gordon The Joker is the shortest fic I’ve ever written but it just worked and felt right.

Prom Night was fun but it also consumed me and I barely slept, cracking out nearly 10k in 2 days around full time work and kids.  

No Pain, No Gain was off the back of a prompt thrown at me by @gumnut-logic when my muse vanished but the story (and the fact the words returned) put a smile back on my face.

The #irrelief fics were also fun to do.

Biggest disappointment:

Having such a long pause in High Expectations.  I hate that that one has been on hold for so long but I want to do it justice and my head has not been in the right place lately.

Biggest surprise:

That I do actually seem to be able to write and that people want to read what I create.  Prior to 14 months ago I just did not write for pleasure.  I’m not one of those people that filled notebooks with story ideas while I was at school.  I never created anything original and anything that required imagination was a really struggle for me.

Tag time:

Of course no one is obliged to do this but throwing some tags at @godsliltippy @willow-salix @seathesilverlinings @scribbles97 @misssquidtracy

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh Ep 28: Valon Joins the Dead People Gang

So lately it’s been really freakin hot.

Like crazy freakin hot. I haven’t done anything productive because youknow--I live in a Covid hotspot and I’ve been quarantined for what feels like is 6 years, and then to continue the 10 plagues across America, now it’s just really freakin hot.

I was trying to go the hell to sleep when I heard this WIND outside my window at 2 AM. Just...WIND. It was like 5000 degrees outside, and then it started thundering, and then the lightning started hitting and I was like...wtf 2020, please calm down!

So I decided to check Twitter at 3 AM really fast just to make sure this wasn’t a freakin dream. Aaaaaaand Northern California had a Fire tornado warning.

3 words I never thought I’d see in conjunction. Fire tornado Warning.

and it hella dropped in Tahoe, y’all, it was freakin nuts. Meanwhile, Death Valley--the place where Yugi hella biffed it and died, if you don’t remember--hit 130 F (54.4 C, for the metric lovers in the back) so...it’s been a time for every part of California, and now we have some good ol fashioned rolling blackouts accompanied by 27 wildfires (yes, 27 fires) who have turned the sky into a yellow pea soup.

So because of the rolling blackouts (one of our power transformers exploded because of either the lightning or overuse, I dunno) at any point...my power might go out. Because of this, I didn’t feel like booting up Photoshop and so instead I’ll just...work on this.

...something about the Fire Tornado, the yellow shadow realm outside my window, and crazy lightning over San Fransisco reminded me that it’s been a HOT MINUTE since I’ve posted so lets get back to Yugioh. Somehow they knew that the doorway to hell was my back yard and you know what? They’re right. Completely believable and I wish someone would close the damn door.

Tristan read my mind that it’s been such a hot minute since I’ve checked in, that he mansplained a very quick summary of what the hell is currently happening to Tea Gardner.

A brave man, Tristan Taylor. A brave man to risk getting into a fight with Tea, who is the only Goliath on this show that exists without also being a paper card.

Which is when Pharaoh had some news.

I guess without Duke around, Pharaoh had to be the new Killjoy

(read more under the cut)

I exaggerate a little for the caps, but it’s kind of interesting that when Joey is usually on his own, it’s Yugi who’s certain that Joey is about to die and Pharaoh is the one that has to calm little Yugi down. But, when Yugi’s not there, I guess Pharaoh is just already in a Mood.

Mai is really weird this episode! I wish this season had gone into more detail about the extent of the Orichalcos’s mind control. Because Mai could very well be under it’s spell...or not...maybe it has no spell and they’re just falling for it like a placebo?

It’s not like the Orichalcos was ever put on anyone who was “good.” like if it were possessing someone nice like...

....

....(let me think about this, I’ll think of someone on this show who is a true lawful good.)

....

.................Dark Magician Girl, then I’d actually know if this Orichalcos actually IS different from how these characters actually are. But Mai was introduced in this series as a villain, and she’s always been around to bust balls, so it’s like...what part is Mai and what part is not?

Apparently a part that only shows up when Valon dies.

PS Valon turns a very quick 180 right before he died. I honestly thought I had skipped an episode or something because bro mentioned something about...Valon burning down a church or something...but I think that was a spicy headcanon where he mixed up this show with another anime.

I think. If I skipped an episode, y’all would tell me, right? I didn’t skip an episode?

I did skip the card games, however, so something about getting punched like 1000 times in the dick by Joey Wheeler taught Valon how to be human again, and the death that followed the 1000 dick punches inspired Mai to remember that Valon exists and that she Loves Him.

(just flat on his face)

I just...

I am going to give Yugioh this one. They have had so little in terms of relationships--I will give this to them. Good Job Yugioh, you did it. You had a relationship on your show. Sure, it was one where she...never seemed to like the guy at all, but hey--they actually did embrace...a corpse. Good on you, Yugioh.

Again, I have a really difficult time not cracking up about this very tragic moment a little bit because (and I have said this before about relationships on Yugioh), but I have never seen a TV show treat a straight relationship this way. I have never seen Straight Baiting before in my life and it is...WILD.

Also because Valon and Mai have both murdered I want to say hundreds of people at this point, it’s hard to feel too bad about them, although they are drawn as a very cute couple in how their outfits match. They got the finger less gloves, the belts hanging off their collar, the sleeveless outfit that is both too much clothes and too little clothes at the same time.

And like...I really like the idea behind Valon/Mai. I still think that was a good idea to build off of, I just wish that there was more of a sign from Mai that she had any idea that Valon existed prior to this. Because Valon had Orichalcos too, but he was fully able to love her--so what was happening on her end that prevented this? Was it just the amount that she hated Joey was so much more than her love for Valon? Was Valon actually more jealous of her hate of Wheeler and misinterpreted it as love?

Anyway it’s a billion degrees and I don’t have air conditioning so...I think we’ll have more time to think about this next episode. Maybe it’ll occur to me two weeks after this heat wave ends exactly what I am trying to grasp at when it comes to these two, but for now all I can say is...well it was nice.

Ah RIP Valon/tine (or at least I assume that’s the ship name). You lasted almost a whole season. You almost became a thing. I guess well find out if there’s redemption after he eventually gets resurrected.

And on this show we redeem resurrected people kind of a lot, so that seems reasonable. Sure it was a couple hundred people that he murdered but like...we redeemed Marik.

And then she goes back to wigging out like immediately. The flipping and the flopping of Mai Valentine in this episode is a lot.

And immediately after he says something along the lines of this, he follows with...doing this:

Joey! Valon just died so you wouldn’t have to duel Mai Valentine! He’s dead, Joey! Maybe try talking???

The thing about this show is that cards can both heal you and also destroy you, and the line between the two is just...rolling a dice and hoping you come out healed. Yugi played cards against Yami so that Yami could free himself from his guilt and move on--Valon was healed of Orichalcos control because Joey beat him at cards--Seto was “cured” of his more evil side because Yami mind wiped him in a card game--card magic is weird.

At the same time, Cards can take your soul in just So Many Ways--kind of one of the downsides. But, in a very round about way, maybe cards are kind of like therapy in this world. Maybe they don’t have therapy, and all these kids playing card games with eachother is metaphorical to how they all need eachother in order to push eachother to actually go through the steps of-

Ah, who am I kidding? They just really needed to have Mai lose at cards so they could write her off the show.

I do appreciate that the show never tells you that someone’s actions in the past mean they must rot for eternity. This show will never cancel anyone and say “burn that bridge, let’s go” but I feel like murder is...the line where you can just walk away?

But youknow if that were true of Joey wheeler he’d have no friends left.

During this time, The Yugioh crew was inexplicably lost while, for once in his entire life, Seto was going the correct direction.

Unfortunately, the lure to throw cards at thing was too much for him to go the right direction for very long. It is kind of funny to note that he is the smartest boy in Domino--so he knows you can drive through a hologram--but he just didn’t want to know if they were real or not, so he...didn’t.

Like I think that says a lot about Seto, and I’m sure the show-runners didn’t think about this at all, but he could have tested his theory right now. He could have just seen if these were real in order to know if he was crazy or not...but he’d rather be insane, than be involved with magic.

Anyways, Mai drops that Orichalcos.

Reminder that San Francisco is only 7-12 miles from one end to the other depending on what part of the peninsula you’re on.

But then again, they’re reading a map in Roman characters and these kids are school dropouts who only speak Japanese and maybe Spanish. Maybe they’re actually doing really, really well considering the language barrier?

Anyway that’s all for now I’m gonna go pass out and hopefully when I wake up it’ll be next week when it is no longer hot. If you just got here, this is a link to read these caps from the beginning!

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

[flowerfan2]

Shelter at Home

McDanno, 1100k, T, A03

Summary:  Danny is coping with the pandemic as best he can in Steve’s absence.

-----

Danny sits down in his chair and stares out at the water for a few minutes, trying to let the sound of the gentle waves soothe him.  The ocean doesn’t give a shit about COVID-19.

At eight o’clock he clicks on a zoom link.  After a few seconds, Grace’s face shows up on the screen, and he can’t help but smile.

“Hey, monkey, how’s it going?”

Grace grins at him and waves, the motion not quite fluid on the screen.  “Hi Danno!”

Sunday nights are family zoom calls, with Grace and Charlie, his folks, and various other members of the Williams clan. Rachel even says hi from over Charlie’s shoulder sometimes.  But Wednesday nights are just for him and Grace.

“What’s new in wine country this week?” When things started to lock down, Grace had begged to wait out the quarantine with her college roommate’s family in northern California.  Given the whole cruise ship debacle, and the paranoia Danny continued to feel about being trapped on an island during a global catastrophe, he had reluctantly agreed.

 It didn’t hurt that Grace’s roommate Marisa was one of four good-natured kids and lived on a sprawling ranch with lots of land.  Her mom was a retired physician, and her dad was laying down the law when it came to quarantining.  Gracie was relatively safe and happy, and there always seemed to be enough to do to keep Grace occupied even when she wasn’t finishing her spring semester classes (remotely, of course).

 “Not much.  I texted you about my internship, right?”

 “Yeah, I’m sorry, Gracie.”  Grace had landed a neat summer job with an environmental law organization, but they were cancelling all their summer programs due to the pandemic.

 “It’s all right.  I wasn’t really surprised.”

 Still, it’s just one more little disappointment on top of everything else.  He wishes he could make this easier for her.  “What are you and Marisa up to?”

 “Well, we’re still doing that yoga class every morning with her mom.  And Marisa and I played cards last night with her boyfriend and his brother, it was pretty fun.”

 “You did what?”  Danny asks, eyebrows raised.

 “Online, dad, with an app.  I sent you the link last week.  I’m not an idiot.”

 “Okay, okay.  Marisa isn’t still thinking about going to see that kid, is she?” Marisa’s boyfriend lives in L.A., and she has been getting increasing antsy about being apart from him, according to Grace.

 “No, her parents won’t let her. I still think it would be okay, his family is being pretty strict about quarantine too-”

 “Grace, absolutely not-”

 “I know, dad, I know.”

 Danny pushes down the wave of panic he feels at the thought of Grace taking a road trip right now, stopping in gas stations and diners filled with people, the virus lurking on everything she might touch.  Even if Grace stayed at Marisa’s place, Marisa would eventually want to return, bringing all that exposure back in contact with his daughter.  He knows Grace has a good head on her shoulders, and so far has agreed to not go anywhere without his permission, but he’s an ocean away from her and there’s only so much he can do.

 “Grace, promise me-”

 “Dad,” Grace says.  “Stop worrying.  I’m fine.”  She takes a deep breath and resettles herself on her bed, her laptop jostling as she moves around.  “So, what’s up with you guys?”

 “Not much,” Danny responds automatically, and Grace frowns.  He knows it’s not fair to think she isn’t worried too, especially since Danny can’t exactly shelter at home.  He and the rest of Five-0 are hard at work, going out every day wherever they are needed. Luckily Oahu hasn’t been hit as hard as some places, but there are still a significant number of people with the virus, including members of HPD.  Five-0 is taking its turn helping to enforce social distancing in public areas, and although the streets are fairly quiet, people are always finding new, inventive ways to get into trouble.

 “You’re wearing masks, right?”

 Danny has his doubts about the usefulness of this practice, especially since the ones they have been issued don’t fit particularly well, but he has been wearing a mask, and he makes the rest of the team wear them too.  If nothing else, it sets a good example.  “Of course, monkey.”

 “Do you guys have enough?  I saw on the news that not all police departments are getting the PPE they need.”

 “We’re good,” Danny replies, although it’s not exactly true.  He doesn’t want to lie to Grace, but neither is he going to tell her every little detail that keeps him up at night.  First responders are always in danger, cops are always in danger, Five-0 is always, always in danger.  The current craziness just adds another layer to it.

 He changes the subject to food, making her guess what he had for lunch.  People have been dropping off food at the palace, restaurants and others donating meals to those on the front lines, and Five-0 gets its fair share. It’s an amusing enough topic for Grace, and it keeps them occupied for a few more minutes.

 “How is Leonard’s even open?” Grace asks.  “With social distancing, their lines would stretch for blocks.  And can someone send me some malasadas?”

 “They’re taking phone orders, apparently,” Danny says.  “And no, they don’t do mail order malasadas.  We’ve been over this before.”

 “Whatever,” Grace says, grinning as she lets out a long sigh.  The conversation lulls, and Danny’s stomach tightens.  He knows what’s coming.

 “Danno?  Is Uncle Steve back yet?”

 Danny takes a deep breath, forcing a smile onto his face.  “Not yet. But he’s looking out for himself, don’t worry.”  

 “Are you sure?  Why won’t he just come home?”

 Danny has asked himself this so many times the words have lost their meaning.  “He’ll come home when he’s ready, Grace.”

 Steve has been walkabout for a few months now.  The house feels emptier every day, no longer the safe, happy retreat it used to be. Now Steve’s ghost echoes around every corner.  Danny would gladly share his meager hoard of toilet paper if Steve would just come back.

 Steve has kept his promise to Danny to keep in touch, although only barely.  Still, he lets him know daily that he’s alive, and at this point, that has to be enough.

 Danny and Grace talk for a few more minutes, then Danny tells Grace he needs to do some paperwork, and they sign off. He closes the laptop and pulls out his phone, typing out a variation on the same message he sends every night.

 Love you, babe.  Stay safe.  Goodnight.

 A few minutes later, Danny gets a response, and he can breathe again for another day.

 Love you too, Danno.