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callmeelle22 · 3 years

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Blue Dream VIII

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 9, 182

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream; Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter IX: He Loves Me

We were coastin' on the coast when you opened my eyes

Made me notice where the ocean was holding the sky, right

I was blinded, your smile shining behind those green eyes

The horizon so enticing, please, say you'll be mine

The second Friday in the month of November finds Iris at home as she usually is, tucked into her living room sofa, a large glass of wine on the coffee table in front of her, right next to a loaded pipe.

This week in particular has been grueling, though in the best way. Her classes are going swimmingly, so much so that she might be able to skip the final in her multimedia journalism course; but that means she has to stay on top of every single assignment, making sure everything she turns in is up to par. Not only that, Her segment on Good Morning, Central City is in less than a week, and with the television promotions for it, there has been an increase in traffic on her blog, an increase in comments on her posts, an increase in stories in her inbox waiting to be told. It’s mind-boggling, and Iris finds herself so giddy, she doesn’t always know what to do with it.

Some of it she channels into Barry. Since opening up to one another after Barry’s visit to his dad, everything about them has been more: more exciting, more passionate, more intimate. Iris can honestly say that she’s never been fucked as well as Barry fucks her, and she can’t decide if that’s just because apparently nothing turns her on more than Barry sliding thick and slow into her and muttering, ‘yes, take all of me, baby; good, good girl,’ or if she feels the way she feels because it’s him, because he is a dream of a man, some fantasy she must have conjured up in a daydream she doesn’t remember having. She finds herself always wanting him: the heavy fullness of him, and the way he smiles at her every time he sees her after they’ve been separated for even minutes; the whispered words of ardor, and how his eyes always track her movements, watching and observing and cataloging; the feel of him lean and long and hard on top of her, and the attention with which he listens to her, validates her.

And when she thinks she needs even a moment from that, there is her Friday night ritual. She’s already showered and dressed in a silk nightgown, this one in a deep purple color with thin straps and an open back. She takes a sip of her wine as she scrolls through her phone looking for a song; she chooses one, don’t wake me up ‘cause i’m in love with all that you are, and then she settles into the sofa corner, pipe in hand. Lighting up, she inhales, and releases.

She is full and high when her phone rings sometime around midnight.

Movements slow, she grabs her phone from where she’d tossed it on the table next to the half-empty carton of pad thai. Barry’s name flashes on the screen over the picture taken of them at Wally’s birthday party. Her smile is easy and so is the absurd little flutter in her belly.

(But high Iris will concede that, while she figures she should be past this stage now, this jittery, nervous stage, she’s not at all ashamed that it is still how she feels, because there is something so delightful about being with someone who gives you butterflies, even as time keeps passing).

Her stomach dips as she brings the phone to her ear. “Hello.”

“Hey, baby.” The sound of his voice, a little bit deeper than normal, a little bit slower than normal, makes her stomach tighten even more.

“Hi, Bear.”

It’s then that she notices the sound in the background, music and loud voices. She thinks she hears someone saying, “Barry, are you talking to your girlfriend?” but then Barry hushes them and comes back onto the line.

“What are you doing, beautiful?”

“What I’m always doing on Friday nights.”

“Getting high in those sexy pajamas you like wearing?”

Iris laughs softly, noting the effect of his voice on her, how even over the phone and even when he’s apparently surrounded by people, it travels, quiet and steady, over her skin.

“Are you drunk, Barry?”

“A little bit,” he says, “mostly tired though.”

Iris shifts on the sofa, snuggling deeper into the couch. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know. At some bar with Cisco and Chester. We were only supposed to grab food and a couple beers but then they had some sort of two for one special happening, and Chester and Cisco are degenerates, so here we are.”

Iris shakes her head at that, and there’s a short pause before Barry speaks again.

“I miss you.”

“You saw me yesterday.” The part of Iris that wants to appear less affected by him is glad that he can’t see the grin that lights her eyes as her cheeks warm, as she bites her bottom lip. “And we talked this morning.”

“Hmmm,” Barry hums. “Tell me you miss me.”

“What if I don’t?” Her taunt is quiet, like the whisper of her hands on her own body, trailing along her thighs at the hem of her nightgown.

There’s another pause and the sound behind lowers a little, becomes duller. Her own music comes to her attention again, you make me see the truth in things, i think that you are, the remedy for everything, it seems that you are, the truth itself ‘cause nothing else can take me so far, and it makes her shiver from the truth of it.

“I wouldn’t believe it,” Barry tells her, finally. “Yeah, I saw you yesterday, but I had you shaking on top of me.”

“Faking it,” she quips back and Barry lets out a small bark of laughter.

“Tell me you miss me, Iris.”

She licks her lips slowly, thinking of last night when she had seen him, the encounter he’s talking about, when he’d had her climb into his lap after dinner at her small little dining table and fucked her right there.

“Tell me, baby.”

“Yeah, I miss you, you cocky jackass.”

His answering chuckle was a low thing, deep and dirty. “Now tell me what your pajamas look like tonight?

“Barry, are you asking me this around your friends?”

“No. I'm standing outside of the bathrooms now. Boys' night shifted when they saw a couple of pretty women and I got tired of fifth-wheeling. And I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

She can picture him, standing in the corner and leaning against a wall, a hand in his pocket as he clutches the phone to his ear; his cheeks are probably rosy with his indulgence and his lips pink from licking at them, his hair messy from touching it.

His voice dips again. “Now tell me.”

Iris can admit to herself that she likes when Barry gets a little stern with her, when his voice deepens and he sounds so sure of what he wants, what he needs from her. It makes goosebumps crawl along her skin, and it does so doubly now, her senses already loose, dipping into the warm, heady place that intoxication takes her.

“It’s a nightgown,” she explains. “Purple. Silk. Stops at the middle of my thighs. Has a low back.”

His groan is loud and clear. “You had to come from one of my dreams. There’s no way you’re real.”

The statement sobers Iris, if only a little, but enough that the smooth and easy flow of her breathing stutters, much like the beat of her heart, stilling until she thinks she’s gonna lose breath, and then hammering back.

“I could say the same for you.”

The responding silence is piercing, expansive, a space where words left still unsaid are scattered along the floor, merely waiting for one of them to pick it up and say it.

“Iris,” he starts, and then he pauses again. “Can I come over? I know it’s your self-care night, and you can tell me no, but I need to… I really just want to see you.”

She doesn’t even think about it. “Yeah, Barry. You can come over.”

Twenty minutes later, she peels herself off of the sofa to open the door for him. He’s standing on the other side, in dark blue chinos and a baby blue and white checkered shirt, his favorite tan desert boots on his feet. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he’s leaning against the door frame when she pulls it open. His hair is a mess and his jaw is covered in stubble, but other than the faint red tinge in his cheeks, there is nothing that tells her he isn’t as lucid as talking to her had made him seem.

She smiles up at him, aware that her own eyes are probably low and red, but he smiles back, just as softly. He doesn’t come in right away, instead reaching out to pull her to him, one big hand holding the back of her neck. He looks down at her, eyes traveling down the length of her body.

“Hey my good girl,” he greets at last, and before she can respond, he leans down and kisses her. The kiss is chaste at first, one peck and another. Then he pulls back, only enough to scoop her up, gripping her by her waist and settling her in front of him, her legs wrapping easily around his hips. She yelps at the action, but then he’s kissing her again, and they’re moving into the apartment, Iris noting the faint slam of her door behind them.

He carries her to the couch and drops down in the center of it, keeping her atop him, keeping his mouth on hers. The kiss is slow, so slow, the sort of kiss that has no purpose, not one other than allowing them the space to be together. He holds on to her by her hip, free hand trailing up and down the length of her exposed spine, but he doesn’t make any move anywhere else. He seems content to just kiss her, this deep, open-mouthed kiss.

It’s like he’s trying to get inside of her, to climb in and settle down, to take up space with his searing, insidious presence.

It’s as if he’s trying to tell himself that this isn’t a dream, that it’s really her, it’s really them, moaning into each other, holding onto each other, breathing each other in.

It’s as though he’s trying to cement their story, to write it clear into her skin so that she can’t deny it’s veracity, like he’s promising that the only thing she’ll get on the other side of her climax is this, a gentle, effortless sort of fall.

Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that.

When he pulls back, Iris cannot say how much time has passed. She only knows that her body has molded to the shape of him, that her heart has found the rhythm of his, that she’s there with him, my afternoon dream when the world is speedin’, i am still sleepin’, in my blue dream.

“What was that about?” she asks him. She stares back at him, and the way he looks at her is more intoxicating than the wine he’d just tasted on her tongue, more so than the weed that so effortlessly floods her bloodstream.

“Told you I missed you,” he replies, voice husky with exhaustion, and likely the arousal she doesn’t think ever really disappears.

She nods, a little dazed. They sit together for a while longer; Iris tucks her head into Barry’s neck and he keeps rubbing his warm hands along her spine. The atmosphere is delicate, peaceful. She takes him in, inhaling the citrusy scent of him, savoring the feel of him so close to her, surrounding her. They stay that way until Iris feels her own exhaustion tugging at her. She climbs off of him and, after turning off her music, she pulls him through her bedroom and into her bathroom. They brush their teeth, Barry with the toothbrush that he’d bought to keep at hers, and Iris reties the silk scarf she’s wearing on her head.

Inside her room, Barry strips down to his boxers, laying his clothes neatly on the arm of the chair by her window. They get into bed, Barry spooning her, his arm holding her tight against him. She settles in, fitting herself snuggly against him, and he kisses her temple before resuming his stroking, this time on her belly through her nightgown. It doesn’t take long for her to drift off, her breathing deepening before evening out. And just before she goes under, she hears it, Barry muttering, “I love you, Iris,” into her hair, so low that she’s sure she’s only just dreaming it.

When Iris wakes up, the first thing that happens is she hears it again, hears him, Barry’s night-rough voice whispering “I love you, Iris.” It runs in her head on a loop, an anaphora to every other thought, every question she’s having: i love you, iris, did he think she was asleep? i love you, iris, did he mean it? i love you, iris, does he want her to say it back? i love you, iris, i love you, iris, i love you, iris.

Over the past few weeks, Iris has become more comfortable with the idea of it, with the reality that what she feels for Barry is real and big and grand. It still takes her aback, how quickly she’d, they’d, fallen into it. As naturally wary as Iris is, she can’t discount what she’d felt last night when he’d kissed her, when he started into her, like she was the sun and the stars and every other bright light in the galaxy all at once; with awe and reverence and yearning; like he wanted to be consumed by her, and he didn’t care how close he got to that fiery, burning light, as long as she was standing there waiting for him.

And it’s enchanting to be looked at like that. Iris has been trying to get it out on paper, that feeling, trying to make sense of the contradictions: the fear that comes with caring about someone enough that they could break you; the power that follows knowing it’s the same for him too; the overall potency that comes with falling in love.

Still, the thought of saying it aloud, right now—when she’s still working on writing it all out, still trying to explain it to herself first—makes her seize up, her eyes darting wildly, her limbs frozen in anxiety.

Barry begins to shift behind her, loosening his arm from around her, and she takes the opportunity to slide out of the bed. She pads across her carpeted bedroom floor into the bathroom where her feet meet cold tiles. She uses the bathroom, washes her hands and brushes her teeth, and throws water on her face. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, chocolate brown eyes bright in her face, her skin clear, her mouth turned down in consternation.

She goes back out into her room. Barry is fully away now, lying on his back, both of his hands cradling the back of his head. Her comforter is pooled at his hips. She takes in his bare chest, the way his biceps bulge in this position, how clear his eyes look in the sun, even as his lids are low with sleep. Those candy eyes catch her as she walks over to him, staying on her as she kneels on the bed and crawls over him, settling herself on top of him. He’s half hard under her and he lets out a soft little grunt when she sits her butt right on his crotch.

“You sleep okay?” she asks him as he reaches up and traces at his iris tattoo. She loves it, the violet ink that has sunk into his skin, the hints of blue and orange giving it depth, the fact that it’s an iris, placed big and pretty over his heart.

“Are you alright?” he asks instead of answering her question. His voice is still sleep-rough and scratchy. The sound of it sends a soft little tremble through her.

She smiles, the gesture real but uncertain. Well, maybe not uncertain, but she’s aware that she’s in her head again, trying to parse through her feelings. Or, rather, trying to figure out which of her feelings is taking precedence, which one she thinks that she should address first.

“Yes, I’m okay.”

Barry hums as he drags a hand from behind his head, placing it at her hip. “You know it’s okay not to be, right? Okay, I mean. And you can talk to me about it, whatever it is.”

He gives her hip a squeeze.

“No, I am okay. I’m good, really. I just…” she licks her lips as she hesitates, unsure if she’s even ready to bring it up, unsure if she even should. But she knows that she’ll think about it all day, will hear it in her head all day, will wonder and question and drive herself sick with the thoughts of it. So she bites the bullet, lets out a long exhale, and takes him at his word that she can talk about it.

“I heard what you said. Before we fell asleep last night.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his entire body stiffens, his hands stilling on her hip. He doesn’t break, though, and continues to watch her face in that way that he does. For a moment, Iris wonders if he even remembers what he said, if the words were just some half-drunk confession he hadn’t actually meant to say,

(and the flicker of disappointment that follows is tangible, an almost visceral response that tells her much more than anything else could have).

“Okay,” he says after a moment, tilting his head. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She wishes she was as good at reading him as he is at reading her. She’s supposed to be able to make the observations, to understand the truth behind what people don’t say. Sometimes she thinks that she can, thinks that when she really looks at him, she can see what’s simmering in those eyes, can understand his intentions in the grip of his hands, and the curve of his spine, and the shape of his mouth. But it doesn’t feel constant, not like he is with her, and that fact is doubly true right now. Because she can’t tell anything about what he’s thinking, his only tell being the way his hand is still on her hip, tighter than it was before, holding her to him.

“I don’t know,” she tells him, truthfully. “Did you mean it?”

For the first time, he averts his eyes, gazing over at the window. There’s nothing to see; the blinds are closed and the curtains are drawn, but he focuses there for several long seconds, brows furrowed and lips pursed. She blinks, and then she’s suffused with something foreign, something cold and bitter.

“You didn’t,” she says, and it isn’t a question. “Okay, that’s, that’s…”

She moves to climb off of him, but he’s quick, bringing her back by sitting up and wrapping both of his arms around her.

“Where are you going? I’m not done.”

Her eyes flash. “Well you haven’t said anything and I don’t need to sit here like this and listen to you tell me that you didn’t mean to say you love me.”

“What are you upset about, Iris?”

“I’m not upset, Barry,” she says, her frustration evident. She tries to move again, but he holds on to her. “It’s fine. Of course you didn’t mean it. It’s only been a few months. We’re just…”

“We’re just what, Iris?”

He’s looking at her again, with those pretty, too-knowing eyes, and she feels a little like she can’t breathe. Because he didn’t mean it. And the thought that she’d managed to get this all so wrong is, is horrifying.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, and even though she didn’t actually believe it to be true, she continues, “sex, I guess. Apparently.”

She shifts again, but he tightens his grips even more and she can’t understand it, why he’s still surrounding her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him so potent.

“Is that really what you think?” he asks, and he doesn't sound angry so much as annoyed. “That I’m just here for sex. When it’s you that initiated all of our first encounters, when…”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, fuck you, Barry. Like all that slick talking isn’t initiating. You’ve got some fucking nerve.”

This time, when she tries to yank away from him, he lets her; and with a grace she doesn’t feel, she climbs off the bed. She strides towards the living room, but she doesn’t get far because Barry grabs her by the arm and presses her body against the wall near the door.

“Let me go, Barry,” she says, heart hammering angrily against her rib cage. He releases her arm immediately, but he cages her in, planting his hands on the walls on either side of her.

“Look at me, Iris,” he commands, his voice a raspy whisper. She blinks over his shoulder, taking in the messy blue comforter on her queen bed in the middle of the room, and the pale cream curtains on the windows to the right that don’t hide much light, and the blue and cream striped lounge chair where Barry’s clothes are.

“Baby, please,” he tries again, and it’s the pleading that makes her turn.

He looks a little like he sounds, frazzled and out of sorts, his eyes darting quickly across her face and the shadow at his jaw far past 5 o’clock.

“I meant it.” The words come out softly, a little strained, and he blinks once, twice, before repeating. “I meant it. I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“No,” Iris shakes her head. “You’re just saying that now. You didn’t mean it.”

Barry lets out a heavy sigh as he steps back from her. She doesn’t move, though, she can’t. Instead, she watches him, her body lost in the turmoil of the past few minutes. He walks towards the bed, then steps away again, stepping in a circle before coming back to her. This time, when he looks at her, she sees it, him, his feelings.

“You looked terrified this morning, Iris,” he explains, “thinking about what I said. I think that I can read you, that I can see into what you aren’t saying to me. I see the way that you look at me, the way that we are together, and I can swear that you also…”

“What if that’s just sexual chemistry?” she interrupts, because she’s still spiraling, her body still so heavy with the range of emotions she’s experienced in the span of just minutes. And what if he really didn’t mean it, what if she’d actually started writing this story wrong, what if this has all been some dream she’s just starting to wake up from.

Barry stops pacing to look at her, incredulous, and then he narrows his eyes at her.

“Is that really what you think, Iris?” He steps, no stalks, towards her, steps slow and measured. He looks up and down the length of her, eyes lingering at the spread of her hips, the dip of her cleavage, before settling on her face. “You really think that the way we are together is, is just sex?”

She opens her mouth but doesn’t answer, and he closes the distance between them. He stands so close that she has to throw her head back against the wall in order to see up at him.

(She tries but can’t find it in herself to be ashamed of what this does to her, even as she’s not happy with him, having his attention on her like this, having his hard length pressed against her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him like this.)

“I know that no one else fucks you like I do, Iris.”

That makes her snap and he pushes at him and he stumbles back near the bed. “You’re a smug fucking bastard, Barry Allen.”

She moves to grab her phone off the counter, intending to, she doesn’t know, throw it at his head. But then she’s plucked off her feet. She squeals as he tosses her onto her back and straddles her hips, holding her by her arms above her head. She bares her teeth at him, but doesn’t try to get away from him this time. She’s breathing heavily, and he is too, and for a second, Iris thinks that this love stuff is too much. Because that’s what’s going on here, isn’t it? It’s their first fight and it’s about love, about the fact that they’d slipped into it so simply that they (and by they, she means she) is finding it difficult to just let it be.

“I don’t mean it in an arrogant way, Iris,” he murmurs. “I just… you are a fucking goddess, baby, and if you’d ever been with anyone the way you are with me, there’s no way they would have ever let you go.”

He presses down on her arms a little, presses his hips into hers a little. “And no one has ever made me feel like this, the way that you do, in bed and out of it. And you don’t have to say it back. Not until you’re ready. I meant what I said but I didn’t think you would hear me. I just needed to say it.”

His eyes roam her face and she stares back. Her breathing has begun to level out, but she’s still left with, with adrenaline or something, a heavy, aching sort of feeling flooding through her, making her warm and jittery and, and wet. Which, she’s never been turned on by arguing before, but, by god, she is. She is. Turned on and in love and so gone on the man above her that she doesn’t think of anything at all before she leans up and kisses him.

For the first time since they’ve started doing this, Barry doesn’t take his time. He kisses her back, just as hard, the kiss more teeth and tongue than mouth. He keeps a hold of her arms in one of his big hands and then reaches down to push her dress up over her hips, lifting his own hips just enough that he can pull himself out of his boxers and spread her legs, hiking them over his waist. He doesn’t bother with taking her panties off; he just yanks them over to the side, probably ripping the delicate lace, and then runs a couple of his sure fingers through her slit to see if she’s wet enough to take him. Satisfied, he grips himself and then slides into her.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, dragging the word out, and Iris seconds that, throwing her head back at the heavy, hard, full feeling of him. He gives her one experimental thrust, and then another, and then he’s setting a pace, fucking into her in hard, shallow strokes. He clenches hard around her, her head filled with the press of his body and the smell of his skin and the thought of his love, i know the meaning’, for all the seasons, you are the reason, my love. Then Barry leans down on her, so that his chest brushes her nipples and his pelvis rubs against her clit every time he rocks into her, and her head clears of everything but this.

“God,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed.

He moves his mouth to her ear as he picks up his pace, murmuring as he always does, “fuck, baby, yes, you feel so good, girl; my good girl, shit” but his words aren’t as smooth as they usually are. He is frayed, his breathing choppy and his pace brutal. She likes it though. Her pussy grows wetter with every thrust, her hips rocking up to meet him, and she breathes out through her nose when she finds her mouth stuck in a round “o.” They’re both slick from the exertion and Iris can’t tell if it’s his sweat or hers or theirs. He holds on to the meat of her thigh, widening her so that he can ride her deeper, harder. She drips, down onto her thighs, soaking him too, and she knows that were she to look down, his dick would be so obscenely slick with her. He kisses at her ear, down to her neck, along her jaw, biting and licking and sucking on her skin. His grip on her is hard, and it isn’t so much rough as it is raw, inelegant and sensual and crude and so so so so good.

The thought of it is just as arousing as the act of it, and Iris manages to breathe out, “shit, Bear, how, how, how are you always so gooood?”

He flashes her a grin, her Barry coming back to her, and he says into her ear, “because it’s us, baby. Because I love you and you’re falling for me and we were meant for this.”

When Iris comes, it’s so hard she swears she goes blind for a minute. The world darkens and all she can do is feel: passion and euphoria and ecstasy and every other expression like it.

She’s thirty minutes late meeting Linda for their monthly brunch..

She and Barry shower together, and she drops him off at his car downtown and then she drives the couple blocks over to Golden’s. Before he gets out, he leans over and kisses her, a long slow sort of kiss, licking deep into her mouth as he cradles her face gently in the palm of his hand, and then he taps the top of her car twice before ambling over to his jeep without saying a word.

She feels a little funny after all of that, wondering why she still hadn't been able to say the words to him. He hadn’t said much to her as they’d dressed and gotten ready to leave her apartment. But he hadn’t stopped touching her either: taking her loofah from her and washing her down in the shower, running his hand over her hip after she’d hopped into a pair of light denim boyfriend jeans, rubbing on her thigh as she’d driven them downtown. She doesn’t think he’s upset with her; he’d told her she didn’t have to say it back. But he’d retreated, at least verbally, and it’s fucking with her, making her realize how much her fear is keeping her from him.

Golden’s is already open by the time she gets there so she walks in through the front door, throwing a hand up at Kamilla as she heads to the back in her stiletto heeled ankle booties, tugging lightly at the long, faux pearl necklace lying over her white half tucked in sweater. It’s packed as usual, the Saturday lunch crowd filling most of the seats, and she has to walk around chairs half pushed in and groups of people laughing and enjoying their Saturday.

She slides into the booth across from her best friend, the table already littered with food, Linda’s mango mimosa mostly gone. The other woman looks up at her, perusing, her brown eyes curious. Iris ignores her to grab her champagne flute, dropping a frozen mango slice into the glass and pouring a smidge of juice in, topping it off with champagne. She downs half of it in one gulp.

“You’ve been fucked,” is the first thing Linda says, when she finally decides to speak.

Iris chokes on her swallow of mimosa.

“Freshly,” Linda adds. Her red painted lips curve up in a devious little grin. “Is that big ass hickey you’re sporting the reason you’re late?”

She rolls her eyes, but touches gently at where she knows it’s sitting, an uneven patch of darkened flesh about the size of a quarter on her neck just under her left ear. She’d been in too much of a daze while she was putting on her minimal makeup earlier, the moisturizer and a little concealer, a bit of bronzer on her lids, liner and mascara. She hadn’t noticed the hickey, not until she was putting on her lipstick in the car and she didn’t have any foundation to cover it with.

“I’m too old to have a hickey,” she says to Linda instead of responding to her question.

“Tell your boo that,” Linda responds.

Iris wrinkles her nose at “boo” and starts spooning some sticky sesame chicken onto her plate. She forks a dumpling and bites at it as she goes for the lo mein and she doesn’t realize she’s reaching for the edamame until Linda stills her hand.

“Okay, what’s up?”

Iris chews the rest of her dumpling. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re eating.”

“Is that not why we’re here?”

“No, I mean you’re eating, doing that thing where you just throw food into your mouth without stopping or even really tasting it. You only do it when you’re really anxious and there’s no notebook or wine handy.”

Iris stills with a piece of shrimp in her hand. She drops it back onto the platter and sits back into the booth, chewing and swallowing while Linda waits patiently, sipping from her glass.

And then she blurts, “I’m in love with Barry.”

Linda nods, not yet committing to a response. “Okay.”

“And he told me he’s in love with me and I didn’t say it back.” Iris lets out a breath, tension releasing like a pressure valve has been turned.

“Why didn’t you say it back?”

“Because I’m a coward,” she answers.

Linda’s head shake is automatic, her brown waves brushing at her neck. “There’s not a hint of coward in you, baby girl.” Iris takes her best friend’s white silk blouse just as she says, “Now why don’t you really tell me what’s up.”

To give herself some time to put it all together, she finishes her mimosa and mixes another, though this one with less champagne, and she eats another dumpling, chewing slowly. Then she clears her throat.

“For a while now, I’ve been feeling, I don't know, lost. I was single, school was boring. Work was too, and it seemed like all of you were moving forward while I was just watching. Nothing felt exciting, not even my blog really. And then Barry came along, and I swear, the moment I saw him, it’s like my entire world lit up. There was this, this spark, and even when I was claiming that he was just around for sex, there was always this feeling that it was bigger than all of that, bigger than anything I’ve felt before.

And suddenly, I feel so different. I feel good, Linda. Everything is starting to feel good. My blog is getting real recognition now and Dr. Jamison must also be getting good sex because she’s been an actual joy to be around. And Barry...and Barry is…”

“Putting you to sleep every night?”

It makes her laugh, the way Linda wiggles her eyebrows as she says it, the way her eyes light up with mirth, the way her smile is a soft thing.

“Yeah, he is,” Iris says, her mouth twisting wryly. “But what if it’s a fluke, Linda? This man is everything I’ve wanted in a man and so much more than I even knew I wanted. What if we do this and I learn that he’s been, just, fucking with me this whole time?”

“You know that’s not true, Iris.” Linda picks up her own glass and drains it.

“But how can I trust this?” she pushes. “This happiness that seems to have only come when Barry stepped into my life?”

Linda reaches over and grabs Iris’s hand, and Iris clasps it like a lifeline, her pale orange tipped fingers pressing hard into Linda’s hand and Linda’s own pink tipped fingers pressing back. “There are no guarantees. So maybe we do find out that Barry has been faking this entire time. But what if he’s not? What if he’s as kind and loving as you say he is? ” She lets that digest for a moment.

“Love, and life, is a series of ups and downs, of good experiences and bad, Iris. The timing of it all is just coincidence. And I hear you. It feels so scary to realize that someone has that sort of power over you; that the care of your heart is in their hands. But what I’m learning with Dan is that love, love is always worth it. Because what you’re feeling, it doesn’t go away just because you don’t say it back, just because you don’t acknowledge it. And when you don’t you risk cutting it, him, off, and you’ll get hurt anyway. And that, my love, will be your own fault.”

Iris thinks about Linda’s words as they finish brunch, moving the conversation to Linda’s upcoming trip to meet Dan’s family. She thinks about it as she gets into her car and drives back home, forgoing working on a story in favor of plopping down on the couch and letting music play, my mind is open, so wide since you came inside, i feel so alive, without you life just passes by, passes by, lost in the reality of what she’s feeling.

She thinks about the words as she goes out to grab dinner, picking up a salad for herself and a chicken sandwich and fries for Barry, the intention to take him food not one fully realized until she’s parking in front of the precinct that Barry works out of.

She thinks about the words because Linda is right.

(She would never tell the other woman this, but she is right more often than she’s not, her poise and curious nature making her one to offer sound advice, always realistic and with love.)

She loves him, she does: his wit and his hands and his eyes; his compliments and his patience and ability to make her feel as if everything he’s ever wanted is present in the curves of her body; as if it is his profound pleasure to coax it out of her, with every touch, every moan, every dirty, mumbled thing.

Buoyed by the fact that she’d said it aloud, at the very least, and she didn’t wither away after she had, she grabs the food bags and her purse and walks up the steps to the precinct.

Her dad is working tonight but since she’ll see him tomorrow at dinner, she doesn’t drop by his office. Instead, she heads downstairs to where CSI is located, following the stairs to where they’ve apparently put them in the basement. The hallway is well lit, and there are several windows covered in closed blinds that lead to the lab door. She balances the bags in one hand and opens the door with the other. And she’s stopped short at what she sees.

The room looks like how she’s always imagined a crime lab to look like: lots of white, microscopes, and computers, shelves full of test tubes and petri dishes. Barry is there and so is the Cisco guy she remembers from Fall Fest. There’s a woman there too, in the utilitarian black pants and matching blazer that Iris knows is the norm for detectives. And it’s not that she’s there, because that’s not weird. But she’s there, next to Barry, close to Barry, leaning on his counter with her hand on his arm as she talks. She’s as tall as Iris is in the four inch booties Iris is wearing, with shoulder length dirty blonde hair and the sort of white girl next door look that men fall all over themselves for.

Cisco notices her first, as the door closes softly behind her, and Iris feels a bit mollified at the way his grin rises up when he sees her.

“Iris,” he calls, eyes twinkling. “Nice to see your beautiful face.”

Iris winks at him, pulling out a flirtatious grin so that she doesn’t scowl at the sight of the woman touching Barry.

(She’s not jealous. She’s not, but Iris can’t stand the thought of Barry looking at someone else the way that he does her, can’t stand the thought of him touching someone else the way he does her, can’t stand the thought of him whispering, yeah, baby, fuck, ride me just like that, to someone else the way he does her.)

Cisco, though, is loud enough that Barry hears him, and she watches as he straightens at the sight of her, eyes wide. “Iris!”

He gives her his look, the one where he rakes his eyes over the length of her and then lingers on her face, always trying to read her. She’s still a little frustrated at how she’s always such an open book for him, apparent after he’s finished his perusal and he smiles, slow and with more smirk than anything else. The woman next to him only moves her hand from Barry hesitantly, turning to see what all of this commotion is about. She gives Iris the same once over that Barry did, though decidedly colder, and Iris tilts her head at her before settling her gaze on Barry.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Iris says. “I know that you’re busy, but I thought I’d drop off dinner for you.”

She steps further into the room, and her heels clack loudly in the too quiet space. She pauses in front of where Cisco is sitting. She turns to him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you anything. I should’ve texted Barry to see who else was around, but I was picking up dinner and just decided to get him some too.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “You can get me next time.”

Iris passes him and lets her eyes wander back to Barry and the detective, who’s stepped back in a bit. As soon as Iris catches his eyes again, Barry steps away from her, moving around to meet Iris. She stops at a point along a wide expanse of empty space on one of the tables, and Iris feels it’s a safe enough spot to place the food without contaminating anything. As soon as she drops the food on the table, Barry cups the back of her head and stares down at her. His thumb traces the mark he’d left on her neck.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says, eyes wondering, smile tender.

She looks over his shoulder to where the woman still stands, looking at her too. She gives her a smile in greeting. Iris thinks it’s returned.

“I’m sorry. You look busy,” she responds. “Should I go?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just surprised to see you.” Without stepping away from her, he turns to address the detective. “Patty, I’ll come down as soon as I have the results for you.”

Her gaze trails over to Iris once more, observing where Barry holds onto Iris’s neck, onto her waist. “Of course,” she murmurs, finally.

She walks out of the room, her low-heeled boots nearly silent on the floors. Both Iris and Cisco watch her go, but Barry doesn’t pay much attention, his focus on Iris as he continues to rub along his mark.

Cisco stands, sort of abruptly, his chair skitting across the floor. “Barry, I’m gonna step out for a minute.” He shrugs out of his lab coat, tossing it on the back of his chair. His thick brown hair brushes against his shoulders with every shake of his head. “It’s good seeing you again, pretty lady.”

Iris offers him another smile. “You too, Cisco.”

She turns back to Barry who’s eyeing her, expression curious. “You’re here,” he says, voice low.

“Yeah,” she nods at the bags she’s placed on the table. “I don’t know, I went to get dinner and I was, well, I was thinking about you.” She shrugs with a nonchalance she doesn’t feel.

“Yeah?” Barry’s answering grin is wide, and a little bit boyish, cheeks reddening; it makes Iris smile back in turn.

“Come on,” Barry says, picking up the bags and walking over to a desk tucked into the corner. “I've got a few minutes.”

The desk is messy, stacks of folders and sticky notes all over the place, and he moves some papers around so that he can place their food down. He rolls his desk chair over for her to sit in and he grabs the bag, pulling out her salad container and his sandwich and fries and placing them in front of their spots.

She waits until he sits down in the hard back chair he’d gotten from under one of the computers and she snaps the top of her salad before she says, “so why wasn’t I introduced to the detective?”

Barry takes a bite of his sandwich and looks at her in question. “Who? Detective Spivot?”

“Don’t you mean, Patty?”

Barry pauses with a fry poised for his mouth. “Sure,” he says. “Patty is one of the detectives on the case we got called into.”

“Hmm.” Iris stabs at her salad. She takes a bite and chews, though she doesn’t really taste it.

Barry places his half eaten sandwich into the cardboard container and he turns to her, giving her his full attention. He inclines his head, watches for a second. She thinks that the corner of his mouth tilts up, that humor brims in his eyes.

“What do you want to say, Iris?”

She rolls her eyes, annoyed that she can’t focus on how cute he looks with his lab coat and glasses on, annoyed that that woman was touching him, annoyed that she’s annoyed.

“I didn’t know you were so close to the detective. Y’all were very...touchy.”

Shaking her head, she starts to go back to her salad, but then he drops his food and rubs his hands together. He leans towards her.

“Come here,” he says.

She ducks away, but he grabs her wrist gently and pulls at her. She goes, because her tripping heart and her heaving chest and her warming sex won’t allow her to not. Barry sits her in his lap, sideways so that her legs are half hanging over his. She’s a head taller than him in this position, and he presses a hand at the small of her back as he looks up at her.

“You’re jealous,” he announces, seemingly pleased with the fact.

Iris rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”

Barry laughs. “So you’re just really grumpy right now?”

“I’m just curious,” she says.

“Oh?”

“About the touching.”

“She’d literally just put her hand on me as you walked in the door. I was about to move it.”

Iris harrumphs. “Doesn’t Detective Spivot know that you’re…” Iris waves her hand as she trails off and it makes Barry’s slight grin widen.

“That I’m what?”

Even she knows that the huff she lets out would only be completed with a foot stop.

“That you’re taken,” she says, boldly. Because whatever she was feeling, whatever he was feeling, this morning, they are still them: two people who’ve crawled into open, waiting hearts and made space for one another; two people who are pages deep into a story that the stars must have already been writing; two people hours into a dream that is so vivid, it has to be real.

The statement seems to sober him, because his eyebrows furrow. “Am I?”

She wants to be bothered by the genuine question in his eyes. But they’ve never blatantly talked about them. There has been some conjecture, sex-fueled mutterings that hinted at the reality of them, of their feelings. There have been looks between the two of them that tell far more than Iris has ever even realized could be portrayed through eye contact. He’s told her that he loves her. But they’ve never defined or drawn out the lines or made it real.

But like she said, they are them. And he is. Taken. So she slowly licks her lips, and nods her head. “Yeah, you are.”

This time, Barry’s smile is a sexy, lilting thing. “I’m fully yours, Iris. You have to know that.” He turns her so that he can hold her gaze, and reaches up to curl his fingers around the back of her neck, his thumb hitting that mark again. Then he says,

“I love you. I will until you love me back and forever after that. And that means that I don’t see anyone but you. I haven’t seen anyone but you since the minute I laid eyes on you in that slinky dress you had on, dancing in the middle of the crowd by yourself.” He presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Even before, for months before, I couldn’t see anyone else. Because I was waiting for you, Iris.”

He gives her another kiss, this one longer, deeper, like the one he’d given her before he left her car. She finds herself humming into his mouth, her arms tightening around his shoulders. He rubs against her thigh, higher, then a little higher, until Iris is opening her legs to try to get some sort of friction.

Minutes or moments or eternity after, he pulls his mouth away, though he doesn’t move away from her fully. Instead, he looks at her, and she finds herself lost in him, in this dream of a story. She sees the words of it, my afternoon dream, when the world is speeding; i am still sleeping, in my blue dream and i know the meaning, for all the seasons; you are the reason, my love, and she wants to add to it, wants to let herself live in it, wants to finally fall into this love story without fear or reservation.

“Barry,” she says, whispers, and she notes how hooded his eyes look through the wire-framed glasses he’s wearing and how just the act of sitting here on his lap calms her at the same time that it inflames her. Then she thinks about his infinite levels of patience as he’s waited for her to be ready for him and how he’s always been interested in what she thinks or feels and how no one has even treated her body with the, the homage that he seems to. And she...and she loves him. “Barry, I…”

“Alright, Barry, we have…whoa.”

Iris blinks out of her haze, startles out of the confession she was about to make, at the sound of Cisco’s voice. Still, it takes a second before she’s able to pull herself from Barry, and from the expression he’s saddling her with, she thinks he might have an inkling of what she was about to say.

“None of this hanky panky,” Cisco continues, either oblivious or uncaring, Iris doesn’t know. “Spivot and Mitchell need to see us.”

“Alright,” Barry calls over her shoulder. “I’ll be down in five.”

When Cisco nods and leaves again, Iris is pulled back into Barry’s orbit. He palms the back of her neck, thumb brushing the mark on her throat. She assesses him.

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“I’m sorry.” He immediately goes red. He averts his eyes for a moment, before they drift back to her. “It’s tacky, I know, and I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was too late. This morning, I was, I don’t know, confused about us and I just…” He pressed his thumb into her skin. “I told you I’m not composed around you; I’m a mess.”

Iris covers his hand where it’s still on her throat. “You know that I’m yours too, right?” The earlier moment seems to have passed, but she can, needs to, give him this. His stare is hard and almost unreadable.

“Yeah,” he says after a while, sort of breathless. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

She wishes that she could stay in this moment with him, such a stark deviation from the way they’d left each other this morning. So she takes that feeling with her as she packs her salad up and helps him clean up the trash. Together, they venture into the hall and Barry leads her back out into the bullpen where Cisco is standing with Spivot and a tall, dark-skinned man with a baldhead and a beard. All three of them turn at the sound of Iris’s boots on the floors. Something about the look of them makes Iris grab Barry’s hand. Barry stops her a few feet away and leans down.

“I like how territorial you’re being,” Barry all but whispers in her ear. “I’ll come over after work and remind you why you don’t have to be.”

The thought of them this morning, the hard press of him, his breath rough in her ear, makes her look up at him, her eyes bright, bottom lip between the white of her teeth. It’s only Cisco’s pointed throat clearing that keeps her from falling mouth first into him.

Barry’s grin is knowing. “Bye, baby,” he says, a little louder this time, and Iris shakes her head, knowing he’s saying it in front of Patty for her benefit. He drops a kiss on her check and Iris nods at his coworkers.

“Detectives. Cisco.” She squeezes his hand once and drops it. “See you later, Bear.”

She steps away and walks out of the station, but not before she hears Mitchell say, “Damn, Allen, how did you bag that?”

She wishes she could explain that she’s the one that doesn’t know how she got him.

Barry does come over later, and as soon as he walks through the door, he pushes her up against the wall and fucks her, groaning “mine, mine, fuck, mine” into the bite on her throat, as Iris moans it back in kind, “yours, yes, Barry, I’m yours.”

My afternoon dream when

The world is sleepin'

I am still thinkin'

Of my blue dream

It's bliss

#westallen #westallen fanfiction #iris west #barry x iris #barry allen #strangers to lovers

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silentprincess17 · 3 years

Text

Sometimes Things Have To Get Worse Before They Get Better

This is essentially a darker, heavier alternate take on Memory #7 - Blades of the Yiga. I wanted to write a fic with a competent Yiga Clan. (Yes you read that right). It is very angsty in the beginning and then becomes fluffy (hence the title!)

Summary: Link and Zelda have returned from Vah Naboris with Urbosa and have spent the night in Kara Kara Bazaar Inn. Link wakes up and finds her missing.

Cue the angst.

This story is complete and I will post each chapter daily on here but you can read the whole thing on AO3

Rating: Mature (Graphic descriptions of violence) Pairing: Link/Zelda (Zelink) Characters: Link, Zelda, The Yiga Clan, Master Kohga

Chapter 1: Everything goes wrong when you don't have breakfast

Link was having a bad morning. He’d missed breakfast, a cardinal sin, and now he was anxiously darting around the Bazaar, weaving between the trees, in an attempt to see if he could spot a glimmer of blonde hair or a flash of a blue shirt.

She just had to run away. Again.

He sighed. It wasn’t that hard to understand why she constantly gave him the slip, even if he wished she didn’t. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to think such things, especially when he knew it wasn’t really him, she was running from, rather it the sword that was strapped to his back. It wasn’t him she was frustrated with, it was herself. And the sword symbolised how he was apparently fulfilling his destiny and his side of things, whilst she struggled endless with the stone-cold Hylia and had nothing to show for it. Essentially, the sword meant destiny and fate had already set out a predetermined plan for her, and she was currently set for failure. So yes, he could understand why she felt the need to escape what was surely a suffocating sight every day- the boy with the sword that has it all sorted, geared and ready to go, whilst she stumbled in the dark, Hylia’s Divine Blessing evading her.

If only she knew how much he struggled too. He didn’t just pull a sword out a rocky pedestal and boom morphed into Hyrule’s Saviour. He’d trained long and hard too. And frankly, he had felt compelled to draw the sword, it hadn’t been something that was in his control- if he had a choice, then he would also choose to just leave it be in the Lost Woods. It sounded naive and foolish now, but he hadn’t anticipated what the consequences would be when twelve-year-old Link had jumped up and wrapped his hands around that cursed mauve handle. Mostly, the thing he regretted the most about pulling the sword was that he’d effectively doomed them all. Did he want to be the one to basically foreshadow what was now surely coming? No. Another was that it had put a timer on the Princess to find her powers, and he didn’t want to cause her such anguish at being unable to unlock supposed birth-right sealing powers that she clearly didn’t have and didn’t know how to obtain. But… there had been a hidden consequence, one that he couldn’t for the life of him have predicted- when he released the sword from the pedestal, it didn’t just end with him now possessing the mythical legendary blade, oh no. He’d also obtained a whole wealth of memories, memories of past lives, past successes, past failures, and he’d lost whatever childish innocence he’d had then. And it crushed him, having this soul that apparently was doomed in this endless fight, and now he had to live up to them. He had to live up to these past Heroes and by Farore he had no idea if he’d be able to.

Every word that had come out of the Princess’s mouth at his blessing ceremony had cleaved him in two. All those past disastrous events that happened in Hyrule, and all the lengths his predecessors had gone to save the country… Adrift in time indeed. IN TIME. How was he supposed to do the same? And it made him fearful. And he was not easily frightened. He liked to think he was a little bit brave, he would run headfirst into any sort of challenge, be that eating rocks, defeating hordes of monsters, including Lynels, or even redirecting errant guardian laser beams but when he thought about what those Heroes had gone through… He certainty didn’t feel very brave when it came to imagining what exactly he’d have to do, what trials he would have to face, in line with theirs.

He finally finished strapping the sword properly to his back, he’d ran out as soon as he realised she was missing, and he tried to find any distinguishing patterns of her boots nearby. It was a useless venture, because sand shifted, constantly, and as a result any tracks were lost pretty much as soon as they formed. He sighed, deciding to do another very quick run through the Bazaar in case anyone else had spotted her, or she had come back from the baths maybe. He was clutching at straws, he knew it, and he felt that familiar churning feeling in his gut that something was wrong, but he decided to keep calm and check again just in case he’d missed something.

He sighed, even before Urbosa told him how the Princess’s behaviour was in fact coloured by the sword, he could have guessed. One of the biggest signs was that she always looked at it, instead of him. He only wished to tell her that he was just as lost as she was, because yeah sure, everyone Impa stated that he had the Sword that Seals The Darkness. Okay, but how did it do that? How does one go about killing darkness? Monsters he knew. Monsters he’d trained for. But darkness? And the thing that frightened him the most was that most of the past Heroes had fought a man. A power-obsessed, strong-willed and formidable opponent, but still, fundamentally, a man. None of them had fought this… Calamity equivalent that he seemed to be up against. Hence why he was uncertain, and fearful even, if the sword would be enough.

Not to mention how much it pained him that the arrogant idiot bird had managed to find his greatest insecurity, but that was neither here nor there.

But in truth, every time someone mentioned how he was their savour he wanted to cry. Perhaps she didn’t realise that whilst everyone had pinned her as a hopeless case and a lost cause, he’d been saddled with double the expectations to succeed. So much pressure, so many eyes, that he’d all but gone silent. Every word spoken could be misconstrued in some shape or form. Nothing he said was ever safe from scrutiny, so to continue to play the perfect, composed Hero that he was supposed to be, he decided to stop talking. What he wouldn’t give to explain to her that these praises that were lavished on him made him feel sick. Made him feel suffocated. Made him like a liar. Because really, he felt like a failure too- he had no plan other than maybe try and hit the darkness with the sword and hope that works. And the foreboding feeling he had that he hadn’t yet faced the supposedly impending huge trial that most of the other Heroes had, and they had all done said trial well before they obtained the Master Sword. He felt unworthy of it, somehow. All he’d done was train hard, fight and try to eradicate the plague of monsters in the land. He hadn’t travelled through time, he hadn’t transformed into a wolf, he hadn’t lost his sister, or his best friend. Hence why he was dreading meeting Ganon. There was a catch somewhere. He could feel it.

He exhaled heavily, sweat starting to build on his brow. This was why he wanted to tell Zelda that she wasn’t alone. That he knew what she was going through. They were a pair in destiny, fate… even souls after all. But she hated him, his very being, and probably wished he didn’t exist- no correction- she wished the sword didn’t exist, then he wouldn’t have pulled it and wouldn’t have become a direct comparator for her success. It all felt futile sometimes, and he wondered why exactly he was in such a melancholy mood this morning. Probably something to do with not eating.

She wasn’t in the Bazaar. He’d now checked over every stall twice. And Link felt rising trepidation. Of all the places for her to run away, she’d chosen the desert. She’d chosen where the main dissenters of the Royal Family lived. She chosen the one place where it was highly probable that there would be an assassination attempt on her. And he wasn’t there to protect her. Link could freely admit to himself he was scared. What if he didn’t find her in time, what if – No. He had to think positively. And then his eyes fell to his Champion’s tunic, embroidered, as it was, by her hand. Goddesses above, how would he present himself back the Castle if he’d actually lost her this time? And in such a worrisome place too. A stone settled in Link’s gut, as he desperately racked his brains, replaying last night’s events trying to remember if she’d dropped any hints as to where she was going.

He drew a big fat blank.

In the name of Din, where else could she have gone? She had been silent on the way back from Vah Naboris, probably reproachful that he’d managed to find her, yet again. And he had, admittedly, found it suspicious that she’d remained mum, accepted going to the Bazaar, and sleeping in the Inn, and leaving to head to Goron City the next day without a single word of dissent. He should have known that she was planning something.

And now, it was starting to get hot, as he quickly ran off towards the path, wondering if she’d gone back to Gerudo Town. But she’d already said her goodbyes to Urbosa last night... Link sighed, the heat already causing his tunic to stick to his back. It was a desert after all, one couldn’t expect it to get cold during the day, and he hadn’t had time to fill in their canteens, and oh for the love of Farore could he at least get a single sign as to where Her Highness had deigned to grace her presence at. He didn’t want to be beheaded for incompetence so soon.

He saw a small cloud of sand rise in the distance. At this point, it could be a mirage and he was seeing something that his mind had conjured in desperation at trying to find the missing Princess.

And then he saw a flash of red.

And his blood ran cold, despite the heat.

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evabellasworld · 3 years

Text

Storm of the Republic

Chapter 2

AO3 Link | 1 | 2

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Summary: When Tup murdered General Tiplar during a battle, Anakin Skywalker and Captain Rex dispatched Ahsoka, Fives, and Yara to solve the mystery that was plaguing the Clone Army. Meanwhile, Senator Padme Amidala contacted Commander Fox, Commander Tori, Riyo Chuchi, and Dipper to help her continue investigating the death of Palpatine, suspecting that Dooku was behind the evil plot. But when Dooku send an ISB agent to stop them, the team had to race against time to search for the truth, which could alter the course of the galaxy.

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Facing the wide window, Emperor Dooku gazed at the Coruscanti skyscraper, holding a file in his hands. He gazed at the white, puffy clouds floating in the azure sky as he watched the traffic flowing smoothly, taking a mental note of every hovering vehicle. The old man noticed the Jedi Temple from afar, which was left in ruins.

The scenery of the city was like how he remembered when he was first brought to the metropolis planet, where he trained to be a valiant Jedi from a young age. Dooku’s first training from Master Yoda was meditation practice, where he learned to detach himself from his physical surroundings. It wasn’t as easy as it seems, but after a few attempts, he was beaming with pride and joy towards his own success.

When Master Yoda knighted him, he experienced the same emotions he felt as a youngling after going through the challenging trials and errors he endured. Dooku could also say the same for his late apprentice, Qui-Gon Jinn, who was the apple of his eye.

The Emperor recalled the day when a 12-year-old boy with dark brown hair was assigned to him. Qui-Gon was shy and was anxious about failing his master, but Dooku wasn’t upset. Rather, he was impressed that his Padawan admitted his flaws. Not everyone has the guts to reveal their vulnerabilities, and from there, he took Qui-Gon to explore the Temple.

He was a curious boy, Dooku smiled fondly, as he glanced at the photograph of him standing underneath a cherry blossom tree. He even saw some similarities with Qui-Gon’s apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Qui-Gon spoke highly about him a couple of times. At one point, Dooku even persuaded Obi-Wan to join him and defeat the Sith, but was disheartened when the Jedi Master refused his offer.

Turning to his desk, Dooku picked up another file. Only this time, it was related to two missing Jedi Knights. According to an investigation by Agent Starros, Ava Lira and Eva Bella Young were born in Chandrila to a single mother, Kaia Young. At the age of 3, they were taken to the Jedi Temple, and the rest, as they say, was history. Based on their appearances, the identical twins resemble their mother, despite their red hair and blue-green eyes.

Six months ago, the Jedi Order reported them missing after they did not turn up, and the Nurin alert was placed in order to search for them. Though there was a lead, the trail went cold and until today; they were nowhere to be found.

They don’t deserve to die, he frowned at the twins’ photograph when he heard the door hissed open. A light purple woman with chestnut hair and facial markings entered his office, bowing at him with utmost respect. “You summoned me, my Lord?”

“Yes, Agent Doherty,” he greeted cordially. “You may take a seat, please. I would like to discuss the progress of your mission so far.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Lenora answered politely as she sat down and placed her datapad on his wooden desk. “I have a list of senators I have monitored so far. Would you like to have a look?”

“That would be lovely, Agent Doherty,” he agreed as he picked up the datapad, skimming through the list of senators that sided with the Galactic Republic. Though he barely knows all of them, there were a few individuals that stood out, particularly the ones closer to the late Chancellor.

They were Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo, Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan, Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrila, and former Senator Riyo Chuchi of Pantora. These were the politicians that were vocal in the Senate, particularly about the ongoing war they’re facing.

Senator Amidala was close confidant with Chancellor Palpatine. They knew each other decades ago, when she was still Queen of Naboo. She was most critical about the Clone Wars and even tried to end the conflict with one of the Separatist senators, before the latter was killed. Despite her background in politics, however, she was also skilled in combat.

Senator Organa was also her closest ally, along with Senator Mothma and Senator Chuchi. His home planet, Alderaan, was the most peaceful in the galaxy, and like her, he also advocated for the war to end, which didn’t come as a surprise to the Emperor.

Placing the last three names on a list, Dooku then shifted his focus towards Riyo Chuchi, who was formerly a Senator of Pantora. She was part of the Republic Senate for almost three years, before the Imperial Security Bureau labeled her as a traitor. “Agent Doherty,” he spoke, showing his interest towards the young politician. “What can you tell me about your findings on Senator Chuchi?”

“Senator Chuchi was responsible for the death of Agent Starros and fled Coruscant 6 months ago,” Lenora explained to him. “She had help from clone units CC-1010, CC-6231, and CT-1512, who were part of the traitorous Republic remnants’ army. If it weren't for Agent Starros, they would have been captured by now.”

“I’m impressed that you outdid your former mentor,” Dooku lifted his chin up. “I find Agent Starros rather emotional for my taste. I’m sure you shared my sentiment towards her, considering what she had put you through.”

Lenora bobbed her head as she recalled the torture Agent Starros had committed in the past, making her fist clenched. “I’m glad she’s dead, my Lord. She had sociopathic tendencies and was prone to emotional outburst when things didn’t go her way. It’s rather unprofessional, if you ask me.”

“And that is something we do not tolerate in our government,” he returned her datapad, along with the files related to the Chancellor’s death. “Take these back to the late Chancellor’s residence, please. It is much safer there.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she bowed, acknowledging his orders.

“And keep a vigilant eye on Senator Amidala and her latchkeys,” added Dooku. “We must let no one bring down our government, just like how the Jedi did with the Chancellor.”

“I understand, my Lord,” the ISB agent approved as she walked out of the room and stepped inside the lift, releasing her breath. That wasn’t so bad, she wiped her forehead. I’m so glad the Emperor wasn’t as bad as he seemed.

Lenora recollected the day the Republic Intelligence was dispatched to handle the case of Palpatine’s murder. Dina Starros was in charge of the case, much to her envy. She used to pour a bucket of ice-cold water on Lenora whenever she failed, and forced her to sleep outside her dorm. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, she begged. I’ll do better next time, I promise.

Thinking about it made her shiver in fright as she pictured herself in a warm, secluded desert, which soothes her. Still clinging on her datapad and files, Lenora stared at the panels when the lift door opened, revealing a familiar face she saw from her datapad. “Good morning, senator,” she chirped, catching her by surprise. “How delightful to see you here.”

“Good morning, Agent Doherty,” Padmé replied in a nervous tone. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Oh, the Emperor summoned me. He wanted to know more about my progress. You know how meticulous he can be.”

“Of course he would,” Padme raised her eyebrows as the lift door was shut, leaving her at mercy with the ISB agent. Out of all people, why must I run into her?

“Is everything okay, senator?” Lenora inquired, noticing her fidgeting. “You seemed tense.”

The Senator of Naboo shook her head and cleared her throat. “Everything is alright, agent. I was just thinking about the next Senate debate, that’s all.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem, given that you are one of the best politicians we have right now. Besides, I trust you’ll do great later on.”

“Thank you, Agent Doherty,” she coaxed. “You must feel honoured to receive a mission. It’s not easy to get special attention from the Emperor himself, you know.”

How smart of her to say such a thing, Lenora bemused as she turned to her, crossing her fingers behind her back. “I wouldn’t call it special attention, really. He only told me to monitor the rest of the senators and put those files back at Palpatine’s residence, that’s all.”

Padmé’s eyes widened when her plan worked, prompting her to sneak a quick glimpse at the datapad and the files she was carrying. “What’s so important about the files that it needed to be kept at the late Chancellor’s house, anyway?”

“It’s a case file relating to his death,” Lenora spilled the truth. “Every piece of evidence that we’ve collected from the investigations is recorded here. That way, it’s easier for us to keep track of our progress. Impressive, isn’t it?”

If I could get my hands on them, I could finally reveal the truth behind Palpatine’s death to the Senate. “It is, actually. I bet there must be a lot of guards outside his house.”

The agent shook her head. “We only placed sensors by the door. The Emperor finds it a waste of resources to dispatch a couple of guards outside. Besides, I doubt anyone is going to break in.”

I’ll risk my life for that file. “That makes a lot of sense.”

Stopping at the 47th floor, Padmé sighed in relief as she stepped out the lift, grinning at Lenora. “I wish I could go on with our conversations, but I have important matters to deal with.”

“I understand, senator,” she maintained her smile. “Have a wonderful day.”

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melyzard · 4 years

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Fic Title Meme

Tagged by @ladytharen, @moonprincess92nz and someone else who’s mention I cannot seem to find now (sorry). Thanks, friends!

Look at the most recent 20 fanwork titles on your AO3 account and answer the questions:

1. love is a verb 2. fire exists the first in light 3. quarantine games [Welcome to Stellr] 4. The Nakadia Job 5. REBEL Y/N? 6. All the Stars Are Closer 7. I Might Know My Heart 8. Andor / O-4 / ERROR FILE INCOMPLETE [Rank and File] 9. Cold Comfort 10. not waving but drowning [Quantagram Stories] 11. Harmonies 12. Social Communications 13. the shadow that the desert knows 14. truth and trust 15. A Force That Must Be Free 16. you know you've only got one 17. Mechanical Aid 18. Observational 19. Time Sensitive 20. Slicer

1. How many are you happy with? Eighteen. I write what I like, and if I don’t like it, I usually either delete it entirely or I rewrite it before I post.

2. How many are … not great? Two (for the record, I judge a story ‘not great’ when I re-read it later and decide that I have a better idea for the concept now. In this case, it’s Harmonies, and not waving but drowning)

3. How many did you scramble for at the last minute? A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins. She arrives precisely when she means to. 4. How many did you know before you started writing/creating, or near the beginning? None. I title works just before I post them. I don’t know how to title a work before I write it, because I might write it differently than I originally intended (happens all the time)

5. How many are quotes from songs or poems? Six (Poems: fire exists the first in light, not waving but drowning, the shadow that the desert knows. Songs: All the Stars are Closer, I might know my heart, you know you’ve only got one) [Note: links are all to the original source for the quote] 6. How many are other quotes? Two (love is a verb, which is a quote/saying I heard from @allatariel, and A Force That Must Be Free is a paraphrase of a quote from Sense8, which I fused with Rogue One in that story)

7. Which best reflects the plot of the story/content of the fanwork? love is a verb, because that is exactly the point of the entire plot and all the choices the main characters make.

8. Which best reflects the theme of the story? Time Sensitive, because it is about two people living in out-of-synch time dilation caused by gravity wells, and the affect that the passage of time has on one of them in particular. He becomes, quite literally, very sensitive to time. (Close runnerup: Cold Comfort, which is literally about two characters trapped in a freezing hellscape and trying to survive while also coming to trust one another despite their innate terror of being known and/or of being betrayed, trapped, and killed. Get it? They were cold, they comfort one another, and they both know that if the other did betray them at least the freezing hellscape would probably destroy the betrayer too. Yeah, was pretty pumped when I came up with that one at 2 am on a Thursday.) 9. Which best reflects the character voice of the story/POV of the fanwork? Toss up between Mechanical Aid, (A Kay-POV revolving around his rescue of Jyn and Cassian from a mission gone wrong), and the shadow that the desert knows, which I picked precisely because it felt like the kind of thing Jyn might be thinking about Cassian while she’s chasing his trail of furious destruction and professional espionage across a desert city of dead gods. Of course, she wouldn’t admit to herself that she’s thinking anything so fanciful, but it would be lingering in the corner of her mind all the same. 10. Which is your favorite title? Hard to pick, but I’ll settle on truth and trust, because there was a paired theme I had running all through the story, and these two words ended up being very important to the core theme and plot of the story itself.

tagging @sleepykalena, @woahpip, @youareiron-andyouarestrong, and anyone who wants to talk about their titles or title-choosing process!

#writing #fandom #thanks for the tag!

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ernmark · 5 years

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heyo!!! m sorry to bother, and I understand if it would be too much work, but would u mind recapping what happened between Juno and Peter? I have pretty bad memory problems and no time to listen to it all again like i wanna, so i’m just sad for boys but also confused lmao

It’s not a bother at all!

(Actually, it’s a whole lot easier for me to write a post like this than to do original writing, so I’m especially happy to do it).

If you have any questions or need any clarification, just let me know and I’d be happy to elaborate!

So a super quick review of Juno and Peter’s history together:

Juno Steel and the Murderous Mask:

Peter was hired by a deranged Xenoanthropologist-turned-Martian-Furry named Miasma to steal an Ancient Martian death mask from a local mob/reality TV family, the Kanagawas. When his first attempt was thwarted by a murder, he returned to the scene of the crime disguised as Agent Rex Glass of Dark Matters (the Solar System’s super shady FBI organization), but the Kanagawas would only let him near the crime scene if he was accompanied by Juno.

Lots and lots of flirtation was had. They were trapped in a closet together, Peter punched Juno down a hallway at Juno’s request, they fought off a bunch of genetically engineered monsters together, Juno took a pretty nasty hit for Peter, and Peter tenderly stitched him up while making a teasing remark about “playing doctor”. During all of this, Juno quietly deduced the truth about the real murderer, and about Peter’s role as the original thief of the mask. In the big parlor scene at the end, they worked together to subdue the murderer.

Peter then persuaded Juno to take him back to his apartment, probably fully intending to bed him and then sneak out with the mask during the night. He pulled Juno into a kiss, sneaking the keys to Juno’s safe (where the mask was kept) out of his coat while Juno was distracted. Unfortunately for him, Juno wasn’t distracted. He’d figured out Peter’s game a while ago, and used Peter’s distraction to get him into handcuffs and call the cops.

Peter wasn’t fazed by any of this (more turned on, really), and so he offered to run away with Juno, so the two of them could go adventuring together. Juno refused and let the cops take him away. When he was gone, he found a note left behind, in which Peter assured him that he really did want them to run away together, and signed it “your better half, Peter Nureyev”. He then made his escape.

Juno Steel and the Midnight Fox:

This is the latest of several episodes in which Peter has been stealing artifacts for Miasma and Juno has been hunting the two of them down, over the course of which Juno swallowed a Martian pill that gave him very costly mind-reading powers.

After all his leads dried up, Juno went to a local art smuggler, Valles Vicky, and did a case for her in exchange for help from one of her contacts. At the end of the case she called the contact, and it turned out to be Peter. Peter made his entrance by breaking into Juno’s apartment and waiting for him to turn on the light before he announced himself, because he’s dramatic like that, and then dragged Juno off on another adventure.

His first words to Juno since Murderous Mask: “Hello, Juno. It’s been a while.”

Juno Steel and the Train from Nowhere:

They drove directly from Juno’s apartment to the Oasis Casino in the middle of the desert, where Peter had an appointment to play a high-stakes game of Ragnian Street Poker with retired hack jewel thief Brock Engstrom. In order to get Juno in the room with Engstrom and his bodyguard, Nuryev introduced the two of them as Duke and Dahlia Rose, a husband-and-husband duo of bright-eyed jewel thieves from the Outer Rim. He even bought Juno a lovely suit as part of the disguise, which Juno took particular offense to.

Peter and Engstrom gambled secrets, with the stakes being that Juno would be killed if Peter lied about any of the secrets he revealed. Juno took offense to that, too, but Peter insisted that he would give up all his own secrets and weaknesses before he let that happen.

After some further surliness and poor communication skills between the two of them, Juno figured out that Engstrom was cheating, and together they were able to force Engstrom to reveal the secret of the Utgard Express high-speed vault.

Things were going great and they were heading back to their shared hotel room with a questionable number of beds, but Juno had to be Juno and he accused Peter of taking secret orders to murder him. Peter pointed out that the “secret orders” were in fact very bad doodles, and that Juno was being a jackass, and he went to bed.

That night, an assassin tried to murder them, so the two of them had to make a break for it, and they wound up stealing Engstrom’s car, the Ruby 7 (previously owned by Jet Siquiliak of the Pirate Crew). They made it onto the Utgard Express, but were caught by Brock Engstrom and his bodyguard in the process. More adventures were had, more flirting happened, and Engstrom’s bodyguard made Juno especially nervous about his feelings for Peter. So as soon as the two of them were defeated and our heroes stole what they needed to get, Juno lashed out and tried to distance himself again.

Just as they were making their escape, they found themselves cornered by Miasma, who had hijacked the Ruby 7 for herself. She ordered Juno into the car at gunpoint, and then intended to murder Peter and leave him in the desert to rot. Using his very painful mind-reading powers, Juno realized that she needed him alive, so he threatened to kill himself if she harmed Peter. Miasma agreed to let Peter live, but to bring him with them as leverage over Juno.

Peter Nureyev and the Angel of Brahma:

Miasma took Juno and Peter to an Ancient Martian tomb deep underground, where she’d set up a lab and bunker. There she proceeded to force Juno to probe Peter’s mind for multiple tests of his (very, very painful) mind reading powers. Peter often insisted that Juno take time to rest, but Miasma tortured Peter during these lulls in order to motivate Juno to continue. Typically Juno worked himself until he lost consciousness, and then they’d be dragged back to their cell.

This continued for somewhere between days and weeks.

When Miasma got dissatisfied with Juno’s progress, she forced him to go into Peter’s memories, where he witnessed Peter murdering Mag. This seriously freaked him out, but Miasma insisted that he continue or else she would start cutting off bits of Peter for motivation. Juno relented, and kept watching until he passed out.

When Juno woke up, he was messed up by what he’d seen, but wasn’t ready to talk about it. Peter asked him why he’d never bothered to look into his backstory before, and Juno admitted that he was afraid of what he’d find. Peter insisted that he look into Peter’s memories now and see it for himself, and he could make his decisions about Peter then– whether Peter was worth his time, or whether they would part forever after all this was over. Juno nervously agreed, and he looked back into Peter’s mind on his own terms (while holding hands with Peter. I feel this is important.)

He witnessed the events on Brahma, where teenage Peter and his adopted father Mag attempted to stop the tyrannical leaders on New Kinshasa from murdering petty criminals with their flying laser city of death. They infiltrated New Kinshasa as Mag and Peter Ransom and made their way to the reactor core of the city, and got as far as stealing it… only in the process, Peter learned that disabling the city’s lasers would also wind up killing everyone in the city, and mass murder was really not something he was okay with. During the argument, Mag revealed that he’d been lying about all the things he’d said to motivate Peter– he’d say whatever was necessary to win Peter over to his cause. Peter was horrified and demanded Mag give back the reactor core. When Mag refused, Peter murdered him and replaced the reactor core, saving the people of New Kinshasa. He was caught in the act and identified as Peter Nureyev, and he used his capture to essentially hold the entire city hostage, threatening to bring it down if they continued their reign of terror. He then made his escape, but his true name was forever linked to the ransom of New Kinshasa.

During all of this, Juno went too deep and was having some major health complications, and Peter panicked and called the guards for help. After they assured him that Juno was okay, he knocked them out (killed them?) and attempted to drag Juno out, but Juno was too heavy to carry and in too much pain to leave under his own power. Peter made his own escape, swearing to return for Juno.

Juno Steel and the Final Resting Place

Miasma got what she needed from Juno, and she decided to finally execute him. At the last second, Peter (disguised as one of Miasma’s minions), shot her and the other minion and rescued Juno in a very heroic fashion.

Together they ventured deeper into the tomb in order to find one of Miasma’s artifacts, the bomb that wiped out the Ancient Martians, so that they could destroy it. Once they got inside, though, they found Miasma there, mysteriously still alive. Turns out she’d spliced herself with Ancient Martian DNA, and was now effectively immortal and a whole lot more eldritch.

They fought her, all the while figuring out her plan: she was going to hide in the bunker alone and use the bomb to wipe out all other life on Mars, because she’s charming like that.

The bomb’s countdown was triggered, and Juno dove into Miasma’s memories in order to find out how to deactivate it. He pushed himself too hard, though, and his mind-reading powers destroyed his right eye in the process. He did, however, come up with a plan. He pushed Peter out the airlock and locked himself and Miasma inside with the bomb, keeping her away from it so she couldn’t escape or get rid of the bomb. While Peter desperately begged Juno to open the door, Juno admitted that Peter was the best thing that ever happened to him, and that his one regret was not taking Peter up on his offer to run away together.

The bomb went off, and Miasma was killed. Juno, however, wasn’t: the bomb was only meant to kill Ancient Martians, as a form of mass suicide for their hive mind species, and had no effect on humans. Juno, who was more than suicidal at this point and wanted nothing more than to go out with a big heroic blaze of glory, was in shock that his last hurrah was taken from him. And also in shock about literally everything else that had happened to him in the past week.

Peter kissed him, took him back to a clinic (unfortunately, they couldn’t save Juno’s eye), and then back to a hotel in Hyperion City. He acknowledged that Juno had said what he had in the heat of the moment, and he didn’t have to go with Peter if he didn’t want to. Juno assured him that he did want to (oddly specific wording on his part). Overjoyed, Peter took Juno to bed, and a sexy time was had by all.

Afterward, Juno stayed up to watch Peter sleep, then rolled out of bed, put his clothes on, and walked back into his office. On his way out, he heard Peter murmur his name in his sleep, content that he and Juno would embark on their grand adventure in the morning.

#the penumbra podcast #a quick and somewhat messy recap of season 1's romantic plot points #nootiemytootie #100

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ellsey · 5 years

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Agents of Shield Rewatch 1x19 The Only Light In the Darkness

A romantic title for a semi-romantic episode. Wheeeeeeeee!

This guy borrowed Dumblydore’s Put-outer?

Jk he has random light powers or something

That includes like your soul light I guess? Honestly I have no clue.

It doesn’t really matter this guy is not the point.

Fitz is super concerned about his “buddy” Ward

Nice juxtaposition of what Ward is telling them vs what he actually did

Coulson looks vaguely suspicious of Ward?

Orientation! I have a looooooooooooooot of thoughts about this. Sorry in advance.

JK I’m not.

I’m going to separate this out by person.

May: This is where we find out May’s been married. Once. She looks perfectly at ease here. This is not her first rodeo. On the egg and rock question, May is very no-nonsense. In other words, she’s very Melinda May. Again with the deserted island box question, May wants a weapon she can use to defend herself and feed herself. Melinda May is a woman who knows what it’s like to have to survive without any backup. When asked why she’s still there though, she very readily answers, “Coulson.” That’s the reason she’s doing everything she’s done. Which makes their fighting even more painful.

Fitz: Fitz looks kind of uncomfortable, but more interested in how it’s all working? So typical Fitz. It’s just him and him mum he says. I feel like this can explain some of his reticence to say anything to Jemma. He’s been abandoned before. On the egg and rock question, Fitz (and Simmons) take this as a chance to analyze it from every different angle. So once again, very Fitz. And then we get to the deserted island box question. At first, Fitz clearly wants to over analyze everything again, but when forced to give an immediate answer he says, “Simmons.” For him, the one thing he never wants to be without is Simmons. He knows they can survive anything if only they are together. So for him, the box contains the only thing he really needs in this world-his partner. In answer to the question as to why he’s still there, Fitz says he’s got to stay close to the people he trusts. It’s obvious he’s very rattled by everything going on.

Simmons: I love that Simmons and Fitz clearly are giving the same answer here on the egg and rock question. PSYCHICALLY LINKED. For the deserted island box question, Simmons chooses the Tardis. I know this is kind of a throw away line to relax some of the tension in the scene, but it shows just how different a place she and Fitz are in. Fitz has had to consider his life without Jemma multiple times. Jemma hasn’t really had to as much. I think that’s part of why Fitz’s confession under the water in a few eps seems to be a shock to her. Picturing life without Fitz just isn’t something she’s doing at this point. In answer to the why are you here question, Jemma very honestly says she’s not sure. I think this is the first clue that she’s starting to realize how much her life is changing.

Daisy: Mary Sue Poots is an awful name. I don’t blame her for taking a different one. Poor Daisy is also having to reevaluate her place in this world again, and I think that’s reflected in her answer to the deserted island box question. She’s just so unsure. This is backed up when asked why she’s still there. She says it’s the only home she’s ever known. She doesn’t know where she fits in anymore, but she knows this is her family.

Trip: Aha! So Trip’s grandfather was a Howling Commando. He’s so awesome y’all. In contrast to May, when Trip answers the deserted island box question, he says a sat phone. While this is a very good and valid answer, it shows that he is used to having backup. While I’m sure he knows how to survive, he’s used to having a team there. Which follows considering the second he knew what Garrett really was he latched on to Coulson’s team immediately. I mean he obviously liked them, but I think Trip very strongly needs to have a team. In answer to the question of why he’s still here, Trip gives a marvelous answer about his legacy and the good guys winning which is so Trip because IT’S JUST SO PURE LIKE HIM.

Ward: I mean the beginning questions are easy for him. He doesn’t even have to lie really. Note he does want a weapon in the box though. And not a useful one like May. One to take out people. I mean I guess it could take out animals too, but I doubt that’s what he’s thinking of. And now Ward is having to lie about being an agent which is HILARIOUS to me. Oh how I wish Koenig would have just shot him already. In the end though he’s able to just tell the truth and say Daisy, so I don’t know what all this rigmarole was all about anyway. You’re so dumb Ward.

Ok they explained the bad guy’s powers but eh it’s not important at this point.

Haha Fitz’s face at having Trip be their pilot is funny, but also be nice Fitz. Trip is a good guy.

I understand though.

Ward and Fitz’s exchange is veeerrryyy interesting here. I do think that Ward was being genuine here. First of all he obviously knows that Fitz is in love with Simmons, but he takes it one step further by telling Fitz to tell her how he feels. I almost think Ward is still hoping to find a way to get the job done without having to cross every one off. Despite himself he has come to care for them in his own way, no matter what he says. Or maybe he just wants Fitz to have a moment of happiness because Ward knows he’s supposed to kill them soon. At any rate, Ward is correct that Fitz needs to just tell her.

Phil is a super bitter Betty about May. I do understand, but also be nice to her Phil. She just loves you.

Uh oh, this is clearly Audrey Nathan and she’s in trouble

Whaaaaaaat? Shield was being shady and trying to make him stronger??? Color me shocked.

Except not.

“Let’s live dangerously” oohhhh poor Koenig if only you knew

Ha Simmons has read enough fanfic to figure out the plot of this story that Audrey is telling about the Shield agent swooping in

Fitz has clearly not

Again, Ward is being sincere with May here. He’s talking about following orders because he’s having to do it even if he’s starting to question some of them

:( Don’t go May

Anyway if I had any slight sympathy for Ward I don’t anymore. Monster.

“Our best agents are watching” more like our two most lovesick agents

The things Daisy is saying about May is clearly VERY APPLICABLE to Ward here

She just doesn’t know it

Awww Fitz is very clearly watching Jemma and admitting he’s too scared to talk to her MY HEART

Man, I think we’re getting more honesty from Ward in this episode than in this entire season so far

I still find it hard to tell what is true about Ward’s family and what’s not

Eww this is not the kissing couple I requested

What a beautiful juxtaposition of these two scenes though

The terror of both Audrey and Daisy at the affection of two very dangerous men

Not to mention, it’s put up against the very pure love that two other men have. Coulson and Fitz are willing to put the well-being of the objects of their affection before their own in every way possible. LEARN SOMETHING WARD AND CREEPY CELLO GROUPIE.

Daisy figuring out Ward is Hydra kills me every time

I’m glad Phil got a moment with Audrey, even if he couldn’t stay

Daisy is so strong here. Queen.

Coulson now realizes he needs to make things right with May, but unfortunately it’s too late

Poor Fitz looked like he was going to say something to Jemma for a hot second, but he changed his mind. Sigh.

Daisy needs to decrypt the hard drive, and Ward must really be blindly in love with her because you can definitely see her wheels spinning here

I love May’s mom with all my heart

May’s going to find Maria Hill!

Man I had a lot more feelings about this episode than I thought. It’s just so dense though. It get’s a 10/10 on the JUST TELL HER YOU LOVE HER ALREADY scale and a 10/10 on the Ladies Who Are Scared to Death but Still Getting Things Done scare. My ladies really stepped it up this ep.

The song for this episode is the very aptly titled “Tell Her You Love Her (Acoustic)” by Echosmith because LISTEN TO THE WORDS PHIL AND FITZ AND JUST SAY IT ALREADY.

youtube

This is legit one of my all-time favorite songs, and it fits so well with this episode so I’m excited to get to use it.

#aosrewatch #aosrewatchs1 #earth vs space #team earth aos #fitzsimmons #leo fitz #jemma simmons #philinda #phil coulson #melinda may #audrey nathan #daisy johnson #grant ward #eric keonig #and a whole lot of unrequited feelings

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boogiewrites · 5 years

Text

Choking On Sapphire 83

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: Baby Says

Summary: Alfie and Genevieve face the troubles of her day to day life. Genevieve gets some surprise visitors that help give Alfie some insight into her past and their future.

Warnings/Tags: Mild Language. References to assault and violence. PTSD. Fluff. Reunions.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Arm in arm Alfie and Genevieve walk on a Saturday morning in her garden, in full bloom and lush this time of the year. Gen was freshly out of the bath, her hair starting to curl and bounce in the early summer wind. Her face was unbothered, her limp almost entirely gone and the more superficial of the bruises had disappeared. Her ribs only caused her pain when exerting herself at this juncture and when Alfie was around he made sure she did not. He’d fallen into the habit of treating her much like a child, but in his defense, she was acting much like one. Still prone to bouts of crying, sometimes with clear triggers and others not. The ones without were the hardest, she would sob and scrawl down that she didn’t know why she was so upset and Alfie was left to put on his all too frequently worn mask of indifference and guide her through it.

But this particular light and lovely morning was about to take a turn for the emotional for Genevieve. But in a much-welcomed way.

“Mr. Solomons, sir!” a maid that held his favor calls from the edge of the house. “Miss Durand has visitors!” she shouts with a bright smile.

“Don’t know why she’s bloody smilin’. Told her no one was to see you.” he grumbles, bringing Genevieve around slowly as her glazed eyes looked up at him, silhouetted by sunrays. The red in his hair and beard was standing out in the sun, his freckles coming in across his nose and the tight trim on his beard and hair showing off all the handsome planes of his face. She smiles up at him and hums, still medicated and not speaking except for the occasional vocalizations of happiness or upset. “Take her to her room.” he orders gently, a hand rubbing over Gen’s fluffy mane before another maid chirps and takes her arm. “I’ll be with you in a bit, love.” he calls out and she gives him a slow nod before turning back to the maid who says something to make her smile. At least she was doing that again. “Who the fuck is here? I told ya no visitors.” he mutters with a low brow at the young woman.

“I knew you’d want her to see these visitors.” she keeps the same broad grin on her face, practically beaming at him.

“Why are you so fuckin’ happy? Has the savior returned?” he snorts and chuckles.

“They’re waiting for you in your study.”

“Least they got fuckin’ manners. Tells me it’s not the bloody Shelby’s” he grumbles to himself. His footsteps are heavy and none too happy to be making the trip down the hallway. He hated surprises. Someone coming and demanding they see him without prior invitation or forewarning, who did they think they were?

“Fuck me.” he says with a mouth wide open, revealing Altar and Alma standing and chatting in front of his desk. “Forgive the language Miss Lafitte, I am... ya bloody well surprised the old boy.” he laughs with a shake of his head.

“No offense taken. I rather miss the sort of fellow that would curse in front of a lady.” she smiles and reaches out to take his hand and sighs heavily before patting his cheek and kissing it just as lightly and sweetly. She smelled like flowers just like her daughter.

“You’re looking mighty well for what you’ve gone through, lad!” Altar booms with a big hug and pat the back for him that he swears pops a few things.

“Well I’ve got to keep up appearances, innit I?” she shrugs. “What on earth brings you here? Or HOW I should ask in your case, Miss Lafitte.”

“It’s Alma. I’ll be your mother some day. Almost was a lot sooner if the devil hadn’t intervened I hear.”

“Yes, ma’am. She disappeared the night I was set to ask her.”

“Shame, that.” she shakes her head. “But you found her. You brought her home.” she coos and hugs his neck tightly.

“Yes ma’am I did. Just as I promised.”

“He’s a man of his word Alma. No need to worry about Solomons.” Altar gives an approving nod.

“Might I see her? Is she well enough to see me?” Alma's wide eys inquire.

“I wouldn’t keep you from her even if she weren’t.” he replies happily. “She’s going to cry, fair wairing to ya, love, she’s very emotional already, poor little bird. But she’s been doin’ well this mornin’. And she innit speakin’ yet, throat got damaged the doctors say,” he informs with polite and a quick catching up as he walks her to the door.

“I’d like to see her as well, of course.” Altar smiles.

“‘Course. Best one at a time. Let the lady first then you file in once she’s certain she’s real ‘n that.”

“Real?” Alma asks with a high inflection.

“The medicine she’s on can make her hear and see that what aren’t there. None of it this mornin’ so far, it comes and goes.” he waters down the truth and Altar can sense it but Alma is just so excited to see her daughter she overlooks it.

Genevieve sits perched in front of her vanity, a silver brush in her hand, slowly dragging through her hair. The glow of the Morphine causing her to overlook the last of the bruises on her arms, the high neck of the gown covering those left underneath. Her hair now to her waist she watches it bounce with its natural curl as she releases it.

Alma, the giver of that hair stands in the doorway as Alfie files in first, catching her attention with a loud and happy signal of her name. “Genevieve my love you have visitors.” He calls out and she sets the brush down slowly, turning towards him with a small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth and half-lidded eyes of contentment in her druggy fog. “It’s someone you haven’t seen in a very long time.” He warns her and he sees her eyes shift, an inkling of curiosity piqued and he sighs with relief. “Are you listening, love?” He asks just to be sure and she nods slowly. “Genny love... your mum is here.” He states while maintaining eye contact to see it sink in.

Her eyes go wide and she reaches up to grasp his forearms which were holding her shoulders. “Muh?” She manages and he feels her shake.

“Yes, love can ya-?” He begins to make sure she can handle such excitement. But she catches sight of her and much to his surprise stands and shoves him out of the way to get to her. The entire showing was rather impressive.

She can’t speak but she cries, oh does she cry. Until her eyes are as red as the sun and dry as the desert, she cries. She makes an awful sound trying to form words as she rushes towards her mother and collapses into her arms, sobbing and wailing.

“There my beautiful girl, let me look at you! It’s been too long little Lily, yes?” She holds her now red and splotchy face as Genieve blubbers, but Alma pays no mind and kisses every bit of her face, telling her how she was more beautiful now that she was grown than she ever had been before. The I love you's begin, Genevieve a weeping child in the embrace of her mother as she directs her to the couch in front of the fire. She shooshes her and cries herself, whispering only sweetness and praise, kissing her daughters dizzy head as she cries softly in her bosom like a baby.

Altar sneaks in after the initial explosion. Moving over to Alfie who stayed back on the other side of the room at her vanity watching the display. He didn’t think the reunion would’ve gone down much differently if she’d been herself.

“I wanted to thank you, Alfie. For handling all this.” Altar gives him a nod and a pat to the back.

“It’s all part of the life innit?” He responds, keeping an eye on her to make sure she was still okay.

“I hear you’re back at work already?”

“Yeah I had to, ya understand. I was going crazy here, worrying about her constantly. Had to keep fings togetha for both of us now. So I just work until the afternoon hours and come home before tea. Off on Shabbat and that.” He explains with the same low tone Altar speaks.

“So she is well enough to leave?” The concern in his voice evident.

“With the girls here yes. If she were on her own, no. I’ll be honest with ya Altar this is going far better than I thought it would.”

“So she's been worse? And I would appreciate honesty. I need to know what future we’re looking at here.”

“She’s been much worse." a flat delivery that tells altar all he needs to know. "Glad you caught her on an up day. She’s been very emotional, all over the place. Nightmares of course, can’t bring up what happened or she cries. She talks to herself, or rather mouths and chases after children what aren’t there. I’ve been told that most likely the medicine though. Morphine. Nasty stuff, yeah? Still too soon to know the long term effects on her mind. Needs the medicine for the pain, but it keeps us from knowin’ the state of her. It’s frustratin' I’ll admit.”

“And I thank you for not running. To speak candidly. Our lives are hard enough without adding...things like this to them.”

“I innit runnin'.” Alfie swings his head. “As long as I have hope she can be herself again some day I’m stayin’. And she is makin' progress. Small but... it’s there.” He groans.

“And I was told you were known for your lies.” Altar grins.

“Nah mate. I tell the truth. Just people don’t know how to listen to me words yeah? I’ll tell 'em what’s goin' down right? But it’s up to them to interpret it. I never make no promises in business. Only contracts and agreements. None of that whimsical horse shite.” He mutters,

Altar chuckles. “I do hope she is herself again. And that it finds you in good time. These things... the mind... all very tricky.”

“That it is.”

“Her brother reacted similarly after the war.”

“George is it? She told me 'bout him.”

“They were close growing up. She helped him, believed in him. Patience was key.”

“It is in most fings.”

“Yes. It is.” He laments, knowing the road was still unclear on the horizon for his niece. “Thank you for your candor Alfie. I only have second-hand information and hearing to from you is more than reassuring for an old man I’ll have you know.”

“So you know what happened?”

“I know she was taken from her home and held captive for almost 4 days by Horne. That he was killed in a shoot out and now she’s at home.”

“I can tell ya more.” He offers with a frown.

“Do I want to know?” Altars broad mouth forms a tight line.

“Would you rather know the truth or hear people talk like I have? Because I’ve been well miffed 'bout what I’ve been hearin’.” He replies with clear anger on his voice.

“Then yes, please tell me.”

—-

“Your house is so lovely Genevieve. Just like the drawings you used to keep as a girl, yes?” Her mother coos, Gen now only having the hiccups that sent pain in her chest every time as she recovered from the tears. “...and your hair has gotten so long.” She strokes it back. “And the man you have chosen is a proud Jewish one. One that sought me out after you were taken. He speaks of you with such passion, cheri. I am so proud of your choice. And you were working towards your bat mitzvah I heard as well? You are becoming everything I could’ve dreamed for you, my darling girl. Your mum is so proud. You’ve come so far haven’t you?” She continues her string of praise, Gen now nuzzling into her mother lap and feeling rather sleepy. Alma strokes the hair back from her daughters face just as she had as a child, the other hand gentle on her back where she rubs small circles just like she used to, to calm her. She could sense her spirit was a bit lost and desperately needed the comfort.

When she was young and took to her fits of crying she would throw herself around dramatically, making grand sweeping statements of woe and agony. There were no words this time, but she felt the same raw wildness when she looked into her wounded daughter's eyes. She had never been a stranger to the dramatic, but Alma hadn’t minded. It reminded her of her mother, of that power in getting swept away by her emotions. She felt so deeply and completely she could live no other way, and those around her would either be drowned in love or burned by hate depending on her mood, It seems Genevieve was just as sensitive a soul as her bubbie had been. For the line of work her daughter had chosen to go in, the true line of work and not Abeille, she wondered how she managed. Perhaps much like Alma, she locked parts of herself away to cope. That’s what she’d done being with George. But at least her daughter had a man with a sound mind of her choosing, a rare and heartwarming thing for a mother to know.

“I haven’t seen her so quiet and still in weeks.” Alfie states, walking over to Alma who was looking down at her contently.

“Sometimes a girl needs her mother,” she answers softly, leaning to look upon her face. “I see she has finally fallen asleep.” she lets out a huff of a laugh. “Just like when she was a child.” she sighs happily. “Circles on her back, gently stroke her face and hair, tell her all the praise she deserves. She’ll always come back to you.” she looks up at Alfie with pinked eyes from the shared tears.

“Good to know.” he thanks with a nod. “Would you like anythin'? We can move her to the bed if you need.”

“No, no. I’m staying close the whole time I’m here. Some tea by the fire sounds lovely though.” she announces reaching out and patting his hand that rests on the couch arm. “Bring us all some, would you? We need to discuss some things.” she speaks with a still kind face but a more purposeful tone.

“‘Course Miss.” he nods and gives Altar one as well as he heads over to the couch and Alfie goes to fetch tea.

-----

With the Aggie reunion with Alma already passed before Alfie even saw her into Gens room, the older woman kisses her head as she hands her her tea she still takes the same way after all these years. Alfie settles in with Gen’s mother and uncle in the set of chairs in front of the fire. Gen was laid out with her legs in Altars lap, her head in her mothers as Alfie takes the armchair to the matching pink hued set.

“I suppose the best place to start would be why we arrived together.”

“I was more than curious, yeah?” He responds with a smirk.

“I’ve moved out of George’s house.” She speaks with the same decisiveness that he misses from the childlike woman in her arms.

The surprise on Alfies face is clear.

“Yes, I made the same expression when she showed up at my door.” Altar snorts.

“After you came by, I had to reevaluate some things. Perhaps I’d been in denial about how one-day things would work out. But time kept passing, my children kept growing and changing and I was not around to see it as I would like. I had to do something. Seeing the poor condition of George in the face of real danger, his own most trusted servant betraying him and the watching and infiltrating of our estate, I saw the end was closer than I anticipated.” She delivers plainly and without drama, her hands still loving on her daughter. “I’m at the point now where I knew what I could lose or what could happen to me was lesser than what I’d suffer if I went on without my most wild daughter. Knowing she was fighting to become everything I always wanted for her… I would be damned if I’d miss her wedding, the birth of a child, being able to be at her side during something like this.” She sighs deeply. “My little wildflower.” She strokes her face lovingly and Altar gives a soft smile, reaching out and patting his sister's arm. “She was always so rebellious. I see that was not passing phase for her now. It is who she is and I could not be more proud of her for sticking to her true self.”

“It’s something you never got a chance to do, little one.” Altar says with an affectionate and soft tone he reserved for speaking to the women in his life. “There is so much more Lafitte in her than any of your other children. She’s so much of you sister, she had no choice but to follow her heart did she?” He smirks and gives her cheek and soft pinch and she smiles in return. “This one was just as wild in her youth. Don’t let that Christian repression they beat into her fool you.” Altar chuckles after wagging a finger Alfie's way.

“I cannot and will not make an argument I cannot win.” She grins to herself, another forlorn sigh as she dotes on the sleeping woman in her arms.

“Wish Genevieve had taken after you on ‘at.” Alfie jokes and it makes Altar laugh out loud.

“She is more rebellious for the sake of drama. She is a theatre in and of herself that Lily. I knew it the moment I first held her.” Altar reminisces.

“She always had a taste for it.” Alma murmurs with fond memories playing behind her soft eyes.

“Hasn’t changed a bit.” Alfie reaches over and gives Gens chin a squeeze. “Will you be living with Altar now? If you mind my asking.”

“Not at all, cheri, yes I will. He has plenty of room, and dare I say he could use the feminine influence.”

“They say a man is not complete without one.” He teases. “And what of you Solomons?” He turns a strong face his way. “Do you still have the same intentions with our Genevieve? Even now?”

“Same as ever.” Alfie announces with confidence. “Only in ritual is she not mine, she is in ‘ere ‘n ‘ere.” He points to his temple and chest. “I almost went bloody' mad when she first got home. Watchin' over her. I was bloody scared is what I was. I don’t wanna lose that one.” He points and sighs. “I love that hellion. That little Lily of yours. And once she’s better. Once this awful process is behind us I will make her my wife. Same intention as ever. I’m here for her now and always. As I said, only in formality is she not mine. In my eyes.”

“That is a relief to hear.” Alma admits. “I admittedly was concerned when I heard about the state of her. Most men would leave.”

“I am no coward to a challenge. And ‘ats what ‘is is. I like to think she would do the same for me. Fuckin' ‘ell she has to a degree if you must know. Gettin’ shot, negotiations behind me back to keep me alive. She’s a proper little nurse, that one.” He looks at her with fondness, perhaps needing to be reminded of all she had done for him after such a rough spell as they were in.

“She never did shy from the blood and violence as a child. Never phased her. Just fetching boiling water and flannels when the boys would come in hurt.” Alma shares with a gentle expression.

“Always been fearless, that one. Suspect that’s how she came to be here. Like this. But it’s also what kept her alive. I have no doubt.” Altar gives her small ankles a pat.

“A lesser man would’ve caved and perished.” Alfie agrees with a hard expression.

“Little fighter.” Alma whispers, leaning down to give her a kiss to her fluffy head of curls. “Perhaps everything will turn for the better. One can only hope and pray. She’s never given up before, let’s hope that holds up this time around.” she looks to Alfie with sad eyes. “But I did want to thank you, for getting her back. For taking such severe and swift action against the person who did this.”

“As I told her, I would burn down the whole fuckin’ country for her. No one messes wif a Solomons. And she is. If ‘ats how they want to treat her then she is to me.”

“I approve of your retaliation.” Altar lets him know. “Not only from an uncle’s standpoint. But from a man who has had to make many of the same decisions. If they come for your heart, you go for their head. Take them out and leave him no choice. Can’t show weakness in this sort of life.”

“My sentiments exactly.” Alfie nods solemnly. “I went for his livelihood. All the businesses and properties in his name. Gone. But this one here...she’s the one what killed him.”

Altar beams proudly. “My little Lily.”

“As much as I hate the idea of her having to do that, I can only approve. Revenge is something so few women get on their abusers.”

“Time will come for us all, dear.” Altar gives her a supportive rub on her back. “Even little George will have his day. He’s busy digging his own grave so we don’t even have to do anything at this point.” he rolls his eyes.

“He’s been in decline for some time. Which is what I assumed brought him to act so swiftly towards our Geneieve. He needed an outlet for his anger at his own shortcomings. His selfishness is coming back to bite him. He doesn’t have the power or the money like he used to. Too many poor decisions. No one wants to work with him because all this is rumored among his peers. He’s a weak little man, now both physically and mentally. Used to he was a stout thing, but in his old age his black heart has made him decline so quickly.”

“Good.” Altar gruffs out. “Bastard deserves worse.”

Alma shrugs. “It is true. But time will come for him. And I leave it to the higher powers to decide now. I am taking my life into my own hands, on my own terms now. My darling here gave me that push to do so. I can’t imagine having to do it at such a young age with no experience.”

“Luckily she came to me.” Altar adds.

“So true.” Alma agrees. “And now I am as well.” her face is still a frown, but a hopeful glint in her eyes. “We won’t be staying long, I’m afraid. I don’t want word to get out that we’re staying here and have George do something moronic about it. But we will be only a phone call away. I know it was a chance coming here, people seeing or hearing, but…”

“She will be better for it. Thank you.” Alfie says reaching out and placing his hand over hers. “As you said. A girl needs her mum sometimes. And now she needs all the help she can get. I’ll be sure she knows you’re well, and with Altar when she’s a bit more herself. She’ll be happy to hear it. Expect letters.” he ends on a light-hearted note and giving her a charismatic smile.

“I expect many.” she beams in response, a gulp and giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m leaving you with my most precious belonging, Solomons.”

“And she is mine as well. Have no doubt. I will always do what I think is best for her, for us. Not only out of respect for you and our laws but as a man who loves her. Who understands her and wants her to thrive. I would never act against her interests. Be sound knowing I will do everythin' in my power to keep your little girl safe and healthy. Her wellbeing in mine now.”

“And you will let me know the moment the wedding planning begins. I must be involved.” she adds on a lighter note.

“Of course.” he smiles softly. “We would have it no other way.”

“I knew there would be little traditional about my daughter's life once she left, but if I still can’t help but have the same wants of tradition when it comes to her wedding. She already skipped the planner and chose her own groom.” she chuckles. “So amuse an old woman and let her be a good Jewish mother for the first time.” she grins.

“What old woman?” Alfie says with a smirk.

Altar laughs loud enough for Gen to stir before he reaches down to rub her back to soothe her. “Told you he was cheeky. Same as Lily. No wonder you found each other. A couple of charismatic to a fault little buggers.” he chuckles.

“Altar!” she scolds and shoots him a look.

“No, no. As usual he is right. Both stubborn as hell but we’ve got our humor.” Alfie confides.

“She gets both from you.” Alma side eyes Altar.

“Oh but if you were only honest with yourself sister.” he laughs. “Us birds of a feather. We will always find ourselves in others and flock together won’t we?”

“Even when we aren’t looking for one another. As in our case.” Alfie’s adds a touch of sentimentality.

“Like bubbie said, when you aren’t looking for it.” Alma begins as she knows Altar will continue.

“That’s when you find it.” Altar finishes with a charismatic grin.

Alfie recalls Gen saying something much of the same sentiment. One night on her wine, lips on his jaw and fingers in his beard. She was never looking for him, for love. But against all odds it found her. Disguised for so long as something else, trying to run from her and hide, she carried on. She said she would change nothing that brought her to him, that kept them together. He wonders if she would say the same after this was over. Would she still not regret finding him, falling in love with a man like him and letting more danger into her life? He wasn’t a praying man, but he did hope that she wouldn’t regret the path they were on together now. ‘As long as it leads me to you.’ she would say. He truly hoped that would still be the case.

-------

After tearful and grateful goodbyes, Gen remaining lucid and not embarrassing herself or Alfie while her family was there he was breathing easy for a lovely moment in time.

Gen felt a rush of energy within herself, unsure of how to elaborate on it or process it she finds herself restless. The excitement sending too many signals off in her brain for her to calm down hours after they’ve gone. With Alfie asleep in their bed, a soft mess of dark gingery hair and a still hard looking face even at rest she slowly creeps out and into the bathroom.

She looks at herself in the mirror, facing herself truly for what was the first time since the incident. She didn’t remember each mark or bruise, and she truly didn’t want to. She wanted to never remember. Recalling the feeling of Horne’s brain as her nails dug into it when she killed him was enough for her. If he deserved that he wasn’t worth remembering.

A soft snort comes from the bedroom, a welcome change of thought. She leans against the doorway, her temple to the gilded frame. The past weeks were a fog to her, but she did remember Alfie always being there. She sighs and hums with a contented feeling as she watches him. The noise surprises her after the fact. She hadn’t heard herself speak except for her own thoughts since she came to in the hospital. But she hadn’t really tried, only pushing out the first syllable to indicate the severity of her words. Another snore from Alfie’s full and chapped lips as he rubs his face into the pillow. The sun would be up soon and so would he, or as soon as he discovered she wasn’t there. She decides to thank him for his dedication during all this chaos. Full days she didn’t remember, spans of trauma she didn’t care to remember that were still locked away in her brain, only coming in dreams and unwanted, uncontrolled flashes at random times. The medicine had helped those it seemed. It kept her impassive, kept everything with a lovely fuzzy frame of numbness around it. It was how she preferred to exist. The pain was still too much, both the physical and the mental. The morphine was a calm sanctuary she could return to when she needed, when things started to feel sharp and edged, she could go back to the cozy comfort of numbness. The morphine was becoming her best weapon.

But in these wee morning hours, before Alfie had to get up to make the drive to London, she rubbed her throat and tried to clear it as she felt muscle control coming back with the first dose of morphine taunting her in the near future. Reminding her it’d been hours and they were due for another rendezvous. But with her control, she warms up her throat and tries to speak. By the hour Alfie should rise, she would give him something to show she was trying.

She tasted blood but she didn’t care. Her voice light and raspy, but there. An odd soreness to her tongue she’d never felt before, her neck ragged but functional. She sits on her throne of pillows in the big elaborate bed with her various accouterment of medicinal devices and tonics around her. She waits, the light from the sun filtering through slightly, soon to rouse the sleeping bear she gently stroked that lay next to her, sprawled on his stomach.

A deep, sleep-filled grunt escapes him and she smiles. Fingertips over his nose and temples, waking him more.

“Mmph.” he blubs out with flared nostrils. Alfie loved being up before everyone else, the feeling of getting a head start on every other lazy fucker who was still in bed. But the act of waking itself he was not a fan of. He hadn’t realized how integral Gen’s practice of waking him gently had helped ease him back into the plane of reality until he no longer had it. He’d awoken to a still woman next to him, sleeping through him getting ready most mornings. But he’d forgotten all that time in the dim light alone for a moment as he crawled from the shelter of sleep with the tickle of her fingertips on his skin. “Mmph?” he asks with a clear question.

Gen remains soft, covers pulled up over her to her stomach, nails now on his scalp.

“Mmph. Genny?” he asks while rubbing his eyes. “Ya should be asleep, love.” he mutters and tries to focus.

“Matin.” comes from her mouth and he almost misses it. Easier to speak for her than the English greeting, she whispers it to him, leaning closely.

With a stiff grunt, he raises his head up fast, a pop of his neck as he does so. “Wha-?” he mumbles, and rolls to her side, reaching out to take her hand into his, holding it in the warm spot where he’d slept. “Genny love what are you doin’?”

“Good...morning.” she forces out, a childish expression on her face, hoping for happiness and praise.

“Fuck me…” he whispers, sitting up and giving her a more focused expression. “Ya talkin’ again?” he questions with a deep throaty noise of approval, reaching over to cup her face.

“Good... morning... Alfie.” she says slowly.

“Oh, pet. Little French flower, my darlin’...” he coos at her, caught up in her wide eyes that met his and the subtle smile and closed eyes that nuzzled into his hand as he held her face. “Don’t ya be pushin’ yaself too much. Stubborn thing.” he grins and kisses her forehead. “Ya know I am weak for my name from your lips, love, don't be exploitin’ a man now.” he gives her a warm smile and kisses her cheek and she happily hums. A sound besides one of pain for the first time he recalled after touching her in such a way.

“Good morning... Alfie.” she says again, a rough delivery but her voice most certainly.

“It is, love. It is.” he says before giving her the most chaste and innocent of kisses that he feels her reciprocate. A brief moment in time where everything was light and hope-filled in his sleepy brain. Something he would think back on when her condition was questionable. This small moment that meant so much to them both. They both felt as one again. No matter how fleeting these moments could be.

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d3-iseefire · 5 years

Text

Princess of Shadow Chapter 3

Master Chapter List: https://d3-iseefire.tumblr.com/post/187613581372/princess-of-shadow-master-list

Link To My Other Stories: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISeeFire/works

Bilba bent forward in the chair and wrapped her arms around torso. She struggled to breathe, air wheezing down a constricted throat. Her chest heaved with effort and black spots hovered in her vision.

Maybe, maybe she'd just misread it. She didn't read all that well. Her grandfather had only allowed her to learn the basics, just enough to be able to read his nightly missives on her daily missteps so she could give an accounting the next day on how she planned to improve.

Princess had no need for reading. It would cause her to squint, according to her grandfather, and create wrinkles. Or so her grandfather had said after Sigrid had gifted her a copy of her favorite book for her birthday one year.

When Sigrid has asked how she'd liked it Bilba had been forced to lie and tell her she didn't enjoy reading. It was a falsehood she deeply regretted, but the thought of admitting the truth had been simply too humiliating.

She ran her eyes over the note a second time, and then a third but it stubbornly refused to say anything other than what it had the first time she'd read it.

She dug her fingers into her arms and sagged further. Her consciousness wavered, threatening to desert her as readily as her grandfather had.

Boots sounded on the flagstone, and then someone knelt next to her chair.

"Your Highness!" Hands covered hers and a firm voice rose over the throb of her own blood in her ears. "Listen to me, Your Highness. Close your eyes."

The voice was familiar but, in her panic, she couldn't place it. Bilba squeezed her eyes shut and nodded shakily. "Okay."

"Good." The hands tightened on hers in reassurance. "Now focus on my voice, all right? Just breathe."

Bilba struggled to obey. Ever so slowly her pulse began to slow, and her breathing eased. Shivers still racked her body, and her muscles were wound tight, but she felt less like she was about to pass out.

She opened her eyes and felt them widen as she recognized the hobbit kneeling in front of her. "Lord Berold?"

He flashed a brilliant smile and Bilba's heart gave a small jolt. Lord Berold was close in age to her, with curly, sandy brown hair and a trim figure. Most of the young women of the nobility, and a few of the older ones, were infatuated with him.

Bilba could admit she was not immune. Lord Berold was one of her favorites to watch at the many balls her grandfather was so fond of throwing. She was rarely allowed to dance, and then only with those approved by her grandfather. She spent most of her time observing the ball as it moved around the small dais she was required to stand on like a living decoration adorning the ballroom.

Lord Berold was forever surrounded by eligible women and their hopeful mothers. He was charming, charismatic, and willing to dance with even the most bashful wallflower. Bilba would often spend her time fantasizing about joining the swirl of brightly colored fabrics on the dance floor, partnered with Lord Berold instead of whichever of her grandfather's friends currently had his favor.

She knew better than to think it would ever be more than fantasy though. The nobility might love him, but her grandfather and the rest of his councilors had very little use for Lord Berold. He'd inherited his seat after his father's unexpected passing, making him the youngest on the council by more than twenty years.

Bilba had heard him speaking once about how he had a lot to learn and was content to simply sit and soak in the experience and knowledge of those older than him.

"Inheriting a seat is one thing," she remembered him saying. "Earning it is another."

Bilba forced herself to offer back a weak smile. "What are you doing here?" He might be the least of her grandfather's councilors, but he came from a wealthy family with plenty of outside contacts and resources. Her grandfather would have certainly allowed him along if only to make use of those assets.

"Ingram," he insisted absently. He let out a huff and shot an annoyed look at the paper she held in her hand. "I'd hoped to get here before you found that silly thing. My apologies."

"Did my grandfather change his mind?" Bilba asked, the tiniest bit of hope flaring to life. "Is that why you're still here?"

"Not exactly." Lord Bero -- Ingram, stood up to retrieve a chair. He sat down, so close his knees were almost in contact with her dress, leaned forward and clasped her hands in his once again. "Your grandfather decided it best if I stayed behind to help hold the mountain as long as possible."

It was a very kind way of saying her grandfather had decided she wasn't competent enough to be trusted with such an important task. "It's imperative they escape," she agreed softly. "What good is saving the mountain if her king isn't there to rule it?"

The words were almost verbatim what her grandfather had been spouting at every opportunity since the siege had begun. In retrospect, Bilba realized she really should have seen all this coming.

"So you're going to help me stave off the barbarian hordes?" she asked, the slightest hint of teasing in her voice. Just knowing she no longer had to face it all alone felt like a massive weight had fallen off her shoulders.

"That I am, and more." Ingram sat back in his chair and clapped his hands on his legs.

"More?" Bilba asked in confusion. "What more is there?"

They were surrounded, rapidly running out of food and now her grandfather and the leadership of Erebor were gone. It certainly seemed that the only option left to her was how soon she'd surrender and in what manner.

"Your grandfather expects us to hold off the dwarves until he can get well enough away, and then surrender," Ingram explained. He leaned forward again, and his voice dropped and grew more intense. "But what if we did more? What if we turned the tide entirely?"

Bilba blinked in surprise. "Turned the tide?" she repeated blankly. "How?"

"Simple," Ingram said with conviction. "We lure the Durins in with the promise of surrender, and then take them hostage. The dwarves want their precious king back, they'll agree to our terms."

Bilba was certain he'd lost his mind. "I don't think that will work," she said finally, slowly. "Durin isn't going to just march into a trap."

"Perhaps not Thorin," Ingram agreed with a light shrug of his shoulders. "But who's to say he won't send his nephew or his brother? They'd work just as well."

Bilba hadn't known what the Durin heir's name was, or that he had kin. She suppressed a shiver at the thought of having to face any of them. She'd seen the rows of dead and injured hobbits being brought back into the mountain. The Durins had no more mercy or compassion than their ancestor.

"We'll offer a truce, ask them to pull back so we can meet in a neutral spot for peace talks," Ingram continued. "Once they get near enough to us, and far enough from their own soldiers, we'll having archers hiding behind the gates reveal themselves and take them into custody."

Bilba frowned. The plan seemed almost ridiculously simple. "Just like that? Why didn't my grandfather do it? Did you suggest it to him?" Perhaps he wouldn't have left at all then and he cold be planning this with Lord Berold instead of leaving it up to her.

Ingram released her hands to reach into his jacket. He pulled out something that flashed and caught the light and, as he offered it out on his palm, Bilba realized it was a ring. A familiar ring, a blue stone trapped inside a cage of silver.

"Is that my grandfather's ring?" she asked in surprise.

Ingram nodded. "The king wanted me to pass it onto you, so all would know you'd been given his authority and power in his absence."

Bilba sucked in a sharp breath. "What?" The ring was her grandfather's prized possession. It had belonged to the last Durin king of Erebor, given to his hobbit wife after he'd forced her to marry him. Once he'd been overthrown the ring had been passed down to each subsequent hobbit king as a reminder of the evil of the Durins.

She picked up the ring carefully, the weight heavy in her hand, and felt an odd emotion begin to swell inside her. Her vision blurred and the bridge of her nose started to burn. "He really left it for me?"

Ingram nodded. "That he did."

A smile pulled at her lips and Bilba slid pushed the ring onto her finger. It was massively oversized, forcing her to close her hand into a fist to keep it on.

Ingram chuckled and reached under his shirt to pull out a thin chain. He unhooked it and held his hand out for the ring. "Here, let me."

Bilba handed the ring over and he threaded it onto the chain, then stood and stepped behind her. The weight settled against her collarbone, cold against her skin. Almost unconsciously Bilba pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin.

She smiled up at Ingram. "What do you think?"

"Stunning," he replied, admiration in his voice. Bilba flushed and ducked her head shyly. Ingram dropped to a knee suddenly and took her hand in his. "Your Highness," he said seriously, "I'll confess I'm not doing this with entirely pure motivations."

"You're not?" Bilba asked in confusion. She'd picked up the ring in her other hand and was toying with it absently, still unable to believe her grandfather had entrusted her with it.

"No." Ingram's mouth twisted and he seemed to hesitate, eyes darting away for an instance before coming back to hers. "Your Hig -- Bilba, have you considered what will happen to you if we were to surrender the mountain?"

Bilba's good mood evaporated and her stomach clenched. She shook her head. "I've been trying not to," she admitted in a near whisper. Feeling suddenly cold, she tugged her hand free from his so she could wrap her arms around herself once again.

Ingram swore quietly. "I've scared you. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Bilba said with a tight smile. "It's something I have to think about, right?"

"It's all I've considered," Ingram said sincerely, still kneeling, now with his hands clasped in front of him. "You're the crown jewel of Erebor, a bright light in her dark halls. I'd hate to see--" he cut himself off with grimace. After a moment he cleared his throat and tried again. "Anyway, I just wanted to say that I've long -- admired you. I'd hoped at one point to speak to your grandfather but, before I had the chance--"

"My grandfather announced my betrothal to Lord Grima." Bilba was quite certain her face was about to catch fire from the heat currently flooding it. Butterflies started up in her stomach and her heart began to race. She'd seen young women being courted before but had never had it happen to her. It wasn't allowed. "I didn't choose him," she blurted. "My grandfather did, because of the ties he has to Gondor's king."

"I thought as much." Ingram scowled. "I'll confess, that was another reason I didn't speak up. I knew I had little to offer."

Bilba put a hand on his arm and squeezed lightly. "I think you have plenty to offer." Her own boldness startled her, but it was also strangely exhilarating. Her grandfather would not have approved.

Or, she thought as the weight of the ring on her collarbone drew her attention, she wouldn't have thought so. Perhaps he'd just been waiting for her to come into her own and prove herself. Maybe, as Ingram had said, she'd inherited her position but had simply needed to earn it.

"Who knows?" Ingram was saying as he pushed to his feet. "After all this is over, and we're both heroes--" he trailed off and then held a hand out to her. "What do you say, Your Highness? Ready to save Erebor?"

Bilba took a deep breath and nodded. She took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. As she wrapped her hand around his arm she noted absently that his hair was damp, enough to have soaked his collar. It was probably cold, she thought, and made a mental note to order him something warm to drink from the kitchens. It was the least she could do for the person who was going to help her save the mountain. "What will we do first?"

"We'll start with the guards," Ingram said with a nod. "We'll pick a select few we can trust and explain the plan to them." He stopped suddenly as if a thought had occurred to him and looked at her. "You know what? You should be the one to tell them. I can wait for you in your grandfather's office."

Bilba's eyes widened. "Oh, I couldn't. They won't listen to me."

Ingram lightly picked up the ring she wore, fingers barely grazing her skin near the neckline of her dress. It sent an odd tingle through her that she'd never felt before, not unpleasant, but unusual. "They will listen to you," Ingram insisted gently. "You have the ring, and you're stronger than you know, Your Highness. Trust yourself. This is your time. I won't take it from you."

Bilba nodded shakily and didn't resist when he stepped away, toward the exit leading to the kitchens and the servant's tunnels.

"I'll meet you in your grandfather's office," he said. "Until then, Bilba."

"Until then," Bilba agreed in a whisper.

They would save Erebor, and her grandfather's trust in her would be proven, and Sigrid and Legolas would regret having betrayed her.

Elation rose up in her and, for the first time in what felt like a very long time, she felt something very close to happiness rise within her.

This was going to work, she decided as she turned toward the doors, steps lightened to a near skip.

She just knew it.

***

"So, word is the hobbits are ready to discuss terms."

Frerin snorted from where he was sprawled across a bench on the edge of camp, arm thrown over his eyes. "Terms. I can imagine how Thorin reacted to that."

"Which is precisely why he's not going, and you are."

Frerin groaned. Aule, but he hated politics. Give him something to hunt, or fight, or just anything that didn't involve having to sit in a chair listening to politicians drone on endlessly for hours. He'd been forced to attend meetings before and had come away having learned three facts.

One, that it was entirely possible to speak at length about nothing.

Two, that it was entirely possible to spend an entire day speaking and to end it having accomplished exactly nothing.

And, three, it was entirely possible to actually accomplish something only to return the next day to find it the others had decided to throw the whole thing out on a whim and start over from scratch.

He honestly could have lived his entire life happily not knowing a single one of those things. At least he understood why his brother, father before him and grandfather before him had tended to be irritable.

He moved his arm and opened his eyes as Vili came closer to stand over him. "You're blocking my sunlight."

"They're pulling everyone back enough to allow for a pavilion to be set up halfway between the mountain and the front lines," his wife's husband said casually as if Frerin hadn't even spoken. "Gandalf, Bard and Thranduil will be there as observers."

Frerin sighed in resignation. He'd been having such a nice day too. Well, aside from the bite in the air threatening an early frost and winter, and then the sheer boredom that was an extended siege.

All right, so maybe not such a nice day after all.

He got to his feet and his eyes, as they so often did of late, turned toward Erebor. A strange thrill ran through him and Frerin was surprised at how his stomach knotted with nerves. It had all been such an abstract thought before this, even during the siege, but it was rapidly approaching the moment when it'd be hard reality.

The mountain he'd only heard about, dreamed about on occasion in leaner times, would soon be in their hands once more. Taken back from the usurpers who'd responded to the kindness and generosity of Durin with treachery and death.

The sons of Durin were taking back Erebor.

#Hobbit #The Hobbit #lotredit #Lord of the Rings #writing #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #Female Bilbo #Frerin #thorin #Erebor #Fantasy #Adventure #angst #romance

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darks-ink · 5 years

Text

Disinterred CH.9

Chapter 9: But Now I Tell A Single Truth

“I really am sorry,” he reiterated, moving slightly closer to her, as if he wanted to console her. “For all it matters, I really do appreciate you coming to me to talk, instead of, I dunno. Trying to shoot the information out of me.”

(click here for author notes/previous chapters/fic summary/content warnings/mirror links to AO3 and FFnet)

It was a stupid idea. A profoundly, incredibly, unbelievably stupid idea.

But Valerie had always been a little too reckless. A little too quick to act. It was one of those traits that made her a good ghost hunter, to be able to act quickly and without hesitation.

Nevertheless, going out looking for Phantom was a stupid idea. Sure, the ghost always insisted that he was a good ghost, that he didn’t want to fight her. And the whole situation with the body that the police found in the woods was just too bizarre, had caught her attention even before the rumors that had captivated Casper High.

But, even if it likely involved ghosts, and even if Phantom knew anything about it… How likely was it that the ghost would talk to her about it?

Hell, the ghost only ever seemed to show up to fight other ghosts, and usually fled the moment he saw her. How was she even going to talk with him in the first place? Let alone bring up sketchy topics like this one? She could just imagine flying up to him while he was distracted, approaching him before going “hey, you know anything about that dead body in the woods?” Nah, he would probably just think that she was blaming him.

Which, to be fair, she probably would’ve. She still wasn’t sure about Phantom, about his goals and methods. But it seemed that the body predated Phantom’s stay in the city, and while he could have killed that person before anyone had ever seen him… It didn’t seem like his MO.

Besides, if Phantom was secretly a killer, well. He probably would’ve killed more people since then, no? Especially now, while the majority of Amity celebrated him as a hero who can do no wrong. Hell, he could probably blame it on another ghost and most people would believe him.

So no, Valerie didn’t think Phantom was responsible for this. But still, it likely involved ghosts, so Phantom might know more. At the very least, he might’ve gotten curious and spied on the police. He certainly could’ve done so more easily than Valerie, thanks to his innate ability to turn invisible.

Which had led to her current plan of finding Phantom and talking with him. Which was more easily said than done. Really, she should’ve realized so sooner, but, well. She wasn’t always the best at planning ahead.

Finally, however, a stroke of good luck happened upon her. Her ghostly scanner went off, alerting her to a fairly weak ghost nearby. And then, almost immediately, a second ghost appeared right next to the first. Valerie had already turned her hoverboard into the right direction before she checked the signatures of the ghosts. Her scanner told her what she had already expected: the Box Ghost and Phantom.

She sped over there, making it just in time to see Phantom cap his thermos and hook it on his belt. She forcibly relaxed her posture, to make herself look less threatening. And then she called over to him.

“Hey, Phantom!”

The ghost started, whirling around faster than humanly possible. When he saw her, he tensed up. Against her expectations, however, he made no move to leave. Instead, he quirked an eyebrow at her. “Hey Red… No weapons today?”

“Nah,” she answered, leaning back a little in the hopes of looking casual. If he saw her nerves and struck… Well, her new suit might respond to her thoughts, but summoning a weapon still takes time. “Actually, I was hoping that we could… talk?”

“Huh?” was his eloquent response, as Phantom dropped his tense posture again. His eyes had gone big, mouth hanging open slightly. Really, a picture-perfect depiction of bafflement. “Really? After 2 years of non-stop hunting, you want to talk? About what, exactly?”

“About that corpse the police found in the woods. I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with ghosts, which means that you probably know more about it, no?”

Phantom tensed up again, slightly. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes guarded. Uh oh, looks like she messed up somehow. Did he think she was blaming him?

“And you’re what, blaming me?” Yep, he definitely thought she was blaming him.

“No,” she said, voice straining as she tried to keep herself from snapping at him. “But you do know a lot about ghosts. More than me, at least, and probably more than the Fentons.”

“Oh,” was all he offered in return. His glare had softened slightly, more calculative and thoughtful now. “I guess you have a good point there. And you’re right.”

“About?” She was right! Her hunch was correct! She wasn’t quite sure what about, yet, but she would find out. For now, she would take this win.

“Well, about both of those things, I guess.” Phantom shrugged at her. “I do know more about ghosts than anyone else in this town. But I meant that you were right about suspecting a ghostly element.”

Valerie grinned, not that Phantom could see it while she was wearing her helmet. This whole thing was going way better than planned! “So, was a ghost responsible?”

“Uh, well,” Phantom spluttered, before snapping his mouth shut. He shifted around a little, and Valerie tensed up, expecting him to suddenly shoot off.

But then Phantom settled down again, raising his hand to scratch the back of his neck. “I kinda… can’t tell you?”

“What?” Valerie snapped. Was this ghost for real? “Why not?”

“I, uh. I told the police everything I knew about the situation, helped them out a little, you know? So I’m not allowed to talk about the uh, the whole thing.” He was still rubbing the back of his neck, a green blush creeping up. Oh lord, he was serious about this? Must be, because you can’t fake embarrassment like that, not even as a ghost.

“So… there’s nothing you can tell me?” She fought to keep the longing out of her voice, but couldn’t stop the frustration from seeping through instead. She was so close!

“No. Sorry, Red.” And he looked genuinely sorry, damn him! He dropped the hand again, giving her a sheepish smile instead. Unbelievable! The bastard always found a way to make her life hell, without even trying!

But she couldn’t deny that he had a point, if he wasn’t lying about this. And he didn’t seem to be, despite ghosts being prone to doing so.

So she sighed. “That’s fine, I guess. Can’t be helped.”

“For all the good it did me,” she grumbled, but she had to admit, Phantom had a point. It had been pretty nice to just… talk with him. And he really was right, he likely knew more about ghosts than she did. Knowledge she could use to hunt other ghosts, more dangerous ghosts.

But he was still a random element, a potential danger just lurking around. She couldn’t trust him.

“I’ll see you around, Phantom. Don’t cause any trouble.” She pointed at her eyes and then him, a movement clearly recognizable as the ‘I’m watching you’ gesture, despite the fact that she was wearing a helmet. And then she turned around and flew off.

So, she hadn’t learned everything that she had hoped to. But now she did know that ghosts were involved. And that, in turn, gave the rumors of Casper High just that bit of proof that they needed.

She didn’t want the rumors to be true, of course. Danny Fenton was a sweet boy. Hell, she had even dated him for a while!

But the rumors weren’t based on nothing. There was already a surprising amount of proof gathered, and, well. Valerie had the means of confirming the rumor. No matter how little she wanted it to be true.

And sure, there were things that didn’t make sense about it. After all, Danny’s parents were ghost hunters! Surely they couldn’t have a ghost for a son?

But, well. The Fentons aren’t great ghost hunters, at all. So she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they had a ghost living under their roof without ever knowing.

So, no, there was nothing concrete to strike the rumor down. Nothing to prove it wrong. So Valerie had to figure it out herself. Find the evidence she needed.

Now she just had to wait until the right moment to strike.

And, that Monday, Valerie saw the opportunity she was waiting for. It was lunch, the hallways were deserted, and she had just returned from a ghost fight. She wasn’t expecting to run into anybody, let alone the guy that she was hoping to talk to.

But there he was, alone in the hallways. Danny Fenton, for once without Sam or Tucker by his side.

It was not only the perfect opportunity, but one that she wouldn’t get again. Sure, she wasn’t sure why Danny was alone in the corridors of the school, without his friends by his side, but it didn’t matter. She had more important questions to answer.

She pulled out a ghost scanner, an old one from her first suit. It might not be quite as good as her current one, but it wasn’t recognizable as belonging to the Red Huntress. And, while it might not be able to read ecto-signatures, she just needed to tell if Danny was a ghost or not.

Twisting the dial to the highest sensitivity, she saw a dot light up on the display. Located right where Danny was standing.

She straightened out her posture, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to make her look more confident than she felt. And then she stepped forward, approaching the boy she liked. The one person she still considered a close friend.

The boy that had probably been a ghost the whole time.

“Hey, Danny!”

The boy in question jerked, visibly startled by the sudden call. With a loud thump the backpack in his hands dropped to the floor, a metallic clang emitting from it.

When he turned around and saw Valerie, he relaxed again, a relieved grin on his face. “Oh, hey Val. Wasn’t, uh, expecting to see anyone here.”

“Yeah, same,” she admitted. The ghost scanner was pressed against her leg, its display hidden from the boy in front of her. “Kinda convenient, though. I kinda… needed to talk to you.”

“Oh?” God, he looked so innocent, with those big blue eyes. Even if he was a ghost, and he probably was, she couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone. “What about?”

Uh oh, she hadn’t thought of a good way to bring up this topic… Dammit, Valerie, she cursed herself, should’ve thought ahead for once. When will you learn?

“It’s… about those rumors going around.”

“Oh, those,” he grumbled, as he crouched to pick up his backpack. “Surely you don’t believe stupid rumors like that? I mean, can you imagine that? Me, a ghost?” He barked out a laugh, sharp and cutting.

Valerie hummed in response. “Kinda do, actually.”

Danny stiffened, still crouched. Then he turned to look at her, a frown on his face. “Really? Why?”

“Well,” she started, as she turned the ghost scanner in her hand so that Danny could see its display. “This is kinda convincing.”

The boy grabbed it out of her hand, and she let him. Danny looked it over for a moment. Then he sighed, shoulders drooping. “Guess I should’ve known that you would figure it out.”

“So… You are?” She paused, before speaking again. “A ghost, I mean?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, finally standing up again, backpack in his hands. “Since the start of freshman year.”

She knew already, of course. But to hear him admitting it… It made it more real, somehow. And it didn’t help that this was someone she knew.

Because, sure, ghosts are dead people. Everyone knows that. But you don’t really think about it, not as a ghost hunter. Then they’re just enemies, powerful beings from a different dimension.

Not this kid that you’ve known for years. Who still lives with his parents. Who went out of his way to befriend you, after you lost your old ‘friends’.

“So, now what?” Danny asked, and Valerie snapped back to reality.

“What do you mean?” she asked, eloquently. Smooth, Valerie, she chided herself.

Danny rolled his eyes, swinging his backpack around so it hung off of his shoulder. “What comes now? What are you going to do next?” He offered her the ghost scanner.

Valerie frowned at him, taking the gadget back. “You mean… because of our friendship? You’re worried that I won’t be friends anymore?”

He snorted. “Honestly, Val, you ending our friendship is one of the least scary things you could do to me.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, before her thoughts ground to a halt. Wait a minute, what did he mean by that? Because, sure, he was right. As a ghost hunter, she was always carrying around ghost hunting equipment, including weapons.

But he didn’t know that, did he?

He must’ve correctly read her expression, because he shrugged and offered her a sheepish grin. “Yes, I know about your ghost hunting. Have known pretty much from the start.”

“What- How?” she bit out. Her suit started buzzing in the back of her head, ready to form to protect her.

Danny, however, simply raised his hand and started rubbing the back of his neck. God, how could he still look so innocent? “You kinda ran into me and Sam in the park, when you first started. We recognized your voice.”

He was right. She remembered that. She had encountered Phantom in the park, playing with that stupid dog of his. She had chased him, but he had thrown her off, and instead she came across Danny and Sam kissing in the bushes. She couldn’t remember what, exactly, she had said to them. But she knew for a fact that she had spoken to them.

God dammit, how was she this much of an idiot? Spoiling her secret identity so easily, and not even knowing about it? Because if Danny and Sam both knew, then surely Tucker did as well.

She grunted, angrily, resisting the urge to punch the wall she was standing next to.

A cold hand landed on her shoulder, and instinct drove her to swing a punch into its direction.

Danny flinched back, but her fist swung clean through him. The feeling was bizarre, but one she recognized.

He had turned intangible. Like a ghost.

Because he was a ghost. God dammit, more proof she didn’t need. Didn’t want.

“Hey, calm down. Please?” Danny had his hands raised, as if trying to calm down a wild animal. The thought was kinda ironic to Valerie, that the ‘dangerous’ ghost was trying to calm down the ghost hunter.

She chuckled at the thought, and Danny offered her a hesitant grin in return.

“Sorry,” she finally managed, loosely folding her arms over each other. “I kinda… freaked out on you, didn’t I?”

“Eh,” he simply answered, shrugging. “That’s okay. Totally to be expected, considered the circumstances.” Then he looked her over, a somewhat guilty glint in his eyes. “Are you okay now?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I think so. I just… I tried so hard to keep it secret, y’know? And now I find out that you’ve know this whole time. You, and Sam and Tucker… And who knows who else too?”

“Ah.” He grimaced. “I know how much that sucks, yeah. But, if it makes you feel any better, we haven’t told anybody. Sam, Tucker, and I, that is. And I don’t think anybody else knows.” He winked at her. “They’re not too great at discovering really obvious secrets around here.”

She snorted, allowing herself to calm down. He was right. If the people of Amity Park couldn’t figure out that Danny was a ghost, then surely they didn’t know that she was the Red Huntress.

And as for Danny… Well, he might be a ghost, but he didn’t seem to be an evil one. Despite everyone always saying that every ghost was evil… She just couldn’t imagine it from Danny.

And yes, sure, he lied. To her, and to everybody else. But he kept her secret too, without her even knowing about it. Hell, he had even dated her, despite knowing that she was a ghost hunter.

No, Danny hadn’t done anything wrong. As overwhelming as this all was, as much as she needed time to process everything… She knew that much, at least.

“Danny...” she started, before trailing off. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Danny, thanks for telling me. I- It must’ve been hard to tell me.”

He made a face, but nodded. “Yeah, kinda. Which is why I put it off until I couldn’t deny it anymore.”

She hummed her agreement. “I’m… gonna need time to- to process this. To work through it.” He flinched, and she quickly added, “But I’m not upset! It’s just… a little much, you know?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I get it. I’ll leave you alone so you can think.” He turned around to walk away, but then stopped. He looked at her again. “But, Valerie. If you ever need to talk, or something… You know where to find me, yeah?”

And then he trotted off, and Valerie was left in the hallway alone with her thoughts.

#danny phantom #phanfic #phanfiction #dp fanficti #dp fanfic #danny fenton #valerie gray #dark writes #disinterred #what are the chances that this will get buried in the pocalyse? eh #today is update day one way or another

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roswelldetails · 5 years

Text

Episode 105: Don’t Speak - details

Episode Summary: I’ve decided I’m not going to bother putting the official episode description in here anymore. Those can be found online if you really want them. Instead I’ll just say - this is the one where Isobel blacks out and winds up in the desert, Liz almost gets killed by Wyatt, and Alex and Kyle talk about the good old days before Kyle became a jock/jerk - oh yeah, and apparently Rosa was Jim Valenti’s secret daughter. Remember that? Good.

Details - this is not an exhaustive list of every single detail, just just a few that might be important now or later.

Noah & Isobel

According to Noah, Isobel didn’t come home last night. (She was dropped off by Michael, but must’ve left sometime before Noah got home.)

She must’ve been getting ready for bed because she had her nightgown on when she left.

Noah’s grandfather had a drinking problem and used to store his booze in old bottles of laundry detergent - making him suspicious of the bottles of nail polish remover he found hidden all over the house. He thinks Isobel is either having an affair or has a drinking problem.

Isobel says that she doesn’t know how she feels about her husband because she doesn’t know how he feels about her because he doesn’t really know her since she doesn’t even really know herself so everything has always been an act.

In other words - if she isn’t sure who she is, how can Noah really know her and love her?

At the hospital with Kyle & Liz & Dr. Avila

The box of Jim Valenti’s stuff has (among other things) the recorder labeled from the night Rosa died - it’s the RPD tip line 8pm-12am shift. The box also has a paper with a flower that Rosa drew, some magazines, a canteen, a trophy, a big white letter R, and the key to the chest in Jim’s underground bunker bedroom that’s not creepy at all.

Kyle has learned that his dad had multiple affairs, a drinking problem off and on, and a “pervasive obsession with aliens.”

During her interview, Liz tells Dr. Avila that the work they are doing is “borderline science fiction.” But she’s excited about it because it just happens to be the field she’s always wanted to work in.

I have a theory about this detail.

The Turquoise Mines

What a hub of activity! Rosa & Friends were mysteriously floated out of the cave here, presumably by Michael whose hand was broken at the time.

This is also where Rosa had stashed her getaway backpack that contained her bus ticket.

Grant Green & Liz

At the diner, Grant tells Liz, “Nothing is an accident, got it? People who talk end up dead.”

Inside the alien-crap storage warehouse, Grant points a (confetti) gun at Liz and wants to know who sent her.

Before becoming an alien podcaster of fake news, Grant claims he was a “peyote documentarian.”

Peyote is a type of cactus that also happens to have hallucinogenic properties when ingested.

According to Wikipedia: “The effects last about 10 to 12 hours. Peyote is reported to trigger rich visual or auditory effects (see synesthesia).” Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peyote

This is why Liz’s next line is that he was tripping that night in the desert. Though whether he actually was is uncertain. But Liz assumes that his work with the hallucinogenic cactus is the reason why Grant was not considered to be a risk.

Grant claims that “a couple of guys showed up later that year” and basically told him he could cooperate with them or enjoy a “slow death.”

Jim Valenti had a slow death. Just sayin’

Grant says, “Every general and scientist who investigated the original crash - dead. Okay? Your sister, I bet she knew. Dead. Jim Valenti, he knew. Dead.”

Before he runs off to save himself, Grant says, “You broke in, I tried to stop you.” We have no idea what he may actually have told Wyatt before Wyatt shot him.

Max, Michael, and Isobel in the desert

Max thinks Isobel’s blackouts are caused by trauma. He tells Michael, “Last time she had an episode like this was near the end of high school when she was afraid I was gonna abandon her. Okay, now she thinks she's gonna lose you, she thinks she's lost me to Liz; she's freaking out, man. It's triggering her."

Michael thinks the blackouts might be due to the talk about Rosa.

Max is able to telepathically link himself with Isobel in order to find her. (Like she was able to do with him in the pilot.)

Apparently this isn’t something Michael can do.

Isobel is passed out somewhere else - not where we originally see her wake up. So she’s blacked out (or passed out) at least twice and moved around between.

Isobel says, “It’s happening again. Just like it was before.”

Isobel thinks the current round of blackouts may have been caused by her exhausting herself by trying to use her powers to get Liz out of town. But then she accidentally lets Max know that she’s done it before.

Max didn’t know she’d done it before.

Last episode, Isobel told Max that if she was successful in getting Liz to leave, she wouldn’t forget about him, only how she feels about him. So we can assume that’s what she did last time.

Which means Liz has spent the last ten years loving Max deep down, but unable to access those feelings and unable to understand why she was having such a hard time connecting with anyone else.

Max says, “After Rosa, after high school. She didn’t abandon me, you sent her away.” Which may mean that Liz actually had some kind of relationship with Max before she drove off into the sunset.

Which explains why Max was so upset that he didn’t even warrant a goodbye from her.

Michael says that Max was the one who gave them the rules to live by including, “Never be extraordinary.”

Which actually, probably saved their lives with all the creepy stuff happening in this down.

Isobel still has a connection with Liz after having been inside her head a couple days prior. So apparently a lingering connection is formed both when Max heals and when Isobel mind-warps.

Max & Liz & Wyatt at the warehouse of alien crap

Wyatt wants to know who Liz told as he’s trying to murder her to death.

Grant Green was killed off camera, execution style with a single bullet to the forehead.

Max is shot in the shoulder by Wyatt, and Max shoots Wyatt in the leg.

The cops and ambulance show up at the same time, but no indication of who called them.

The cops drag Wyatt away and the paramedics go straight for Max.

At Max’s house

Max apparently has the supplies ready to do self-surgery. This may not be the first time he’s had to doctor himself.

Liz showed up after hearing from he hospital that he’d left - apparently you can refuse treatment for bullet wounds in Roswell.

And Liz’s car was blown up so... she walked? Or took a taxi? Or borrowed a car?

Max doesn’t think Wyatt’s actions make sense - he apparently doesn’t know about whatever shady entity is paying people like Wyatt and Grant Green to do their bidding.

Max is surprised to see the mark on Rosa’s body and wonders how it’s possible. If Isobel is able to leave a mark like that, Max didn’t know about it.

Max admits that Isobel killed the girls.

At least that’s his belief. No real indication of whether or not it’s actually true.

At Michael’s trailer

Michael tells Isobel, “Maybe it’s time we all tell the truth to the people we love.” - JUST WHO WOULD THAT BE, MICHAEL?

Also, Michael tells Isobel that he didn’t kill the girls, and she knows who did it - she’s always known.

Isobel knows what he’s getting at because she’s shaking her head in denial. No indication whether or not she actually remembers doing it, though.

At the cabin in the woods with Kyle, Alex, and the bunker bedroom

Kyle and Alex grew up together when they were young, but the closeness ended when Kyle got older and became “a nightmare of a bully. Like some bro jock from an 80's movie.”

Alex assumes it’s because he didn’t want other kids to assume he was gay like Alex.

One night when they were kids, Sgt. Manes made Alex and Kyle set up a tent to teach them extreme weather survival. Jim Valenti had driven home for the night so according to Alex, "mine concocted a brand new form of kiddie torture." The boys found a way to sneak back inside, though.

Jim Valenti left the cabin to Alex without saying anything about it to Kyle.

The bunker bedroom at the cabin has a notebook on the desk, a bin with a pink hairbrush, a radio, headphones, and a letter R standing up.

Alex says, "I wasn't loved. My mom was gone. My dad was a homophobic, abusive dick. And your dad saw it. He left me these keys so that I would have a place to go. He wasn't the type of person who would take advantage of a desperate teenager. He would help them."

The cabinet in the bunker has detoxing supplies, leading the guys to assume that Jim brought Rosa down there to help her detox.

The locked chest in the bunker contains various baby items and a photo of Jim holding Rosa as a baby.

Kyle assumes that since Rosa was his daughter, “That’s why he was trying to help Rosa sober up. That’s why he was never the same after she died.”

OR maybe he was never the same after she died because he had to frame his own daughter for murder and make the entire town think she was a drug addict who crashed her car into a tree.

The summer they built a tree house, Manes found out Alex was gay and tried to beat it out of him. Alex hadn’t even realized he was gay yet. According to Alex, Jim Valenti tried to intervene, “But you can't make someone stop hating someone. And my dad hated me."

Once Kyle leaves, Alex goes back to check out the lamp in the bunker with the weird cut out. He turns on the light and sees a shape projected onto the wall. He then breaks open the wall at that spot and finds some kind of alien fragment that looks just like the one Michael has in his trailer.

#roswell new mexico #max evans #michael guerin #isobel evans #liz ortecho #alex manes #kyle valenti #episode 105 #details #roswell cw #roswell nm #roswell nm season 1

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soberqueerinthewild · 5 years

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And so the psychic saw

{AO3 Link}

Previously Titled: Michael & Maria Talk After 1x09

My very first fic written for this fandom, and first fic written at all in nearly 15 years. This was written after 1x09, and is clearly canon divergent from that point forwards. This is a Maria POV fic, contemplating what might have happened if Maria read Michael instead of Alex following Maria and Michael’s hookup in Texas and Michael and Alex’s talk in 1x09.

***

Most of the time Maria didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about how her... intuitiveness, psychic powers-whatever you want to call it- worked. It has just always been a part of her. When she was younger, it was more like a flash of feelings she’d get sometimes when she touched someone and their emotions were high. It helped her be a good friend, always knowing when Rosa, Liz, or Alex needed an ear. She’d developed a little more control over the years, but even now, she usually didn’t see specifics of the future or past, like her mom often did, but sometimes if she focused intentionally, or the circumstances were just right, details came into focus. It made her vaguely uncomfortable when that happened by accident, like she was prying somewhere she didn’t belong. It was fine for the psychic readings she did to make a little extra cash. She figured those people were asking for it, but even then it wasn’t like a switch she could flip on or off. More often than not someone would ask for a reading, she’d examine their palm carefully, and feel...nothing. She was perceptive enough to make up something they wanted to hear and send them on their way. Those times when something that felt deep and true did flash into her mind, she was always a little startled. She generally tried to share a positive spin on whatever she saw, hoping that perhaps hope and optimism could help bring forth a better future.

In developing some control, she’d largely learned to block it out with friends. Thank god, since it would be awkward to have a psychic flash when she gave someone a hug or, god forbid, during sex. But keeping up that barrier did require maintaining a certain amount of control. Maybe that’s why, tonight, after waking up in the desert with a hangover and very little sleep, a four hour drive home, and then working at the bar until close, that barrier, that’s usually second nature, slips.

When Guerin had first walked into the bar a few minutes ago as she was stacking chairs after closing, she thought he might be sniffing around for round two. Fleetingly, she considered it might not be so bad. Stress from worrying about her mom and having her hopes in the faith healer dashed, had her feeling emotionally raw. Sometimes sex was a way for her to take back control and Guerin would do for that. But one look at his face and the thought vanished. Last night in the desert she’d sensed some sadness, hurt, and frustration, and thought he might’ve been looking to regain some control too. But that was nothing compared to what she saw in his face today when he walked in. He looked like every defense he’d ever put up had been stripped away.

It was so unusual for him that when he’d handed her back her necklace, she couldn’t stop herself from gripping his left hand tightly before he had a chance to pull back. She flashed quickly to yesterday, the vulnerability on his face when the faith healer fraud talked about re-opening the wound in his mind and the more familiar sarcastic grimace when he’d held it up that morning when she’d threatened his appendages. Despite calling her out on her own naïveté for hoping this faith healer was the answer to curing her mother, she knew he’d allowed himself to hope briefly too, that his hand could finally be healed after all these years. She felt a touch of fondness and empathy at the thought, and without thinking about it she heard herself ask,

“You know I don’t think I ever really asked what happened here?”

She isn’t sure what circumstances combined to cause the strongest psychic flashes she’s ever experienced to course through her. Maybe it’s the sudden sharp yearning to know the truth of his injury, combined with his stripped down defenses, but now, instead of hearing whatever deflection she is sure he’s already started mumbling at her, she feels terror, and pain as she gets a flash of a hammer slamming down onto Michael’s hand. With a start, she recognizes the twisted face of Jesse Manes as the hammer crashes down again. Her heart breaks with the next flash, the tearful and terrified face of a teenage Alex, his mouth contorted in a silent scream.

In the present, Michael tries to pull away, seemingly cognizant now that something odd is going on, but she holds tight, searching for understanding, unsure of the meaning of what she is seeing. She usually isn’t able to direct these psychic flashes, but today, determination takes over and she pushes past a barrier in her mind, or is it Michael’s mind?, she can’t be sure, and finally understanding washes over her as she is overwhelmed with flashes that seem to spin quickly through the years.

A 17-year old Michael and Alex gripping each other tightly at the UFO museum, and then giggling in that tool shed, as Michael pulls at Alex’s shirt, an open vulnerability she never thought she’d see on Michael’s face as he smiles at Alex. Now, suddenly, it’s years later, the feelings more intense, tinged with longing and sadness, she sees them at the reunion, in Michael’s Airstream, at the drive-in, scene after scene of them, either crashing together in desperation, or walking away from each other in anger. In the last flash, before Michael finally wrenches his hand away, she hears Michael plead with Alex to “really make it feel over.” She recognizes the clothes and surroundings as this bar, two days ago. Just before, she realizes, Michael’s flirting escalated from the banter that comes as easily as breathing to him, to something more targeted and blatant.

Back in the present now, she and Michael just stare at each other. She wants to be angry, but she can’t summon the energy, especially not when his eyes are red-rimmed and more exhausted than even her own. All that comes out is a sad sigh,

“Alex, Guerin?”

He looks down at the floor for a minute then back at her.

“Damn, DeLuca. I always hoped that psychic thing was just to scam gullible folks out of a few bucks.”

He tries for the sarcastic smirk he seems to wear 90% of the time, but he can’t cover his guilt. She doesn’t dignify his bluster with a response, continuing to stare at him searchingly.

“You know I love Alex, and it seems like you do too, so what the hell were you doing with me? If I’d known, I would’ve never...” She trails off, unsure of where to go from there.

She thought she was tired before, but now, she’s overwhelmed by her own emotions mixed with Michael’s, and the bone deep exhaustion sets in. She staggers, and Michael instinctively reaches out to help her into a chair. She doesn’t think he’s going to respond at first, thinks maybe they will sit there in silence for hours like they sometimes do, but he finally breaks, and there’s bitterness, but sadness too, as he quietly admits,

“Well, he never wanted anyone to know, so there’s that...”

She looks up in surprise. If she’d thought about it, which she hadn’t, ever- the thought of Michael and Alex had literally never crossed her mind- she would have predicted Michael being the one to conceal their relationship, to hold onto his perceived heterosexuality, not Alex, who is out to everyone these days. But as she scans her memories quickly, she realizes that though Alex doesn’t seem to have a problem talking about being gay, she’s never once seen him on a date, or anything resembling one. She sees again the hopeful look (and that ever present smirk) on Michael’s face in the drive-in flash she saw, followed by devastation as he watched Alex turn his back.

She tries to keep the pity off her face as she looks up at Michael again, but can tell by his reaction she hasn’t quite managed it. His chin juts up and his tone is defiant as he bites out,

“He’s always looking for reasons to walk away, and I’m real good at giving them, I guess.”

Her anger does flare up now,

“Thanks a lot, Guerin. I don’t appreciate being unwittingly used to piss off my friends.”

She tries to stand, but Michael pulls her back down, his features softer now.

“No, it wasn’t like that. Not intentionally, anyways. I swear.”

He stretches out his hand again to her, a silent offer to examine his intentions. She’s not totally sure if she can do that, but desperately wants to try, so she grabs his hand, his right one this time, and with a concerted effort opens her mind to his, focusing on their interactions yesterday. She’s a little startled to feel some true affection for her shine through, along with a desperate desire to feel anything but heartbreak over Alex and fear about Isobel and whatever is going on with her. She doesn’t feel any malice or intent to hurt her, or even Alex, and that’s good enough for her. She breaks the connection and sighs,

“Ok, Guerin, but never again, I mean it.”

And she does. She’d said it this morning, but in the back of her mind, she had already accepted that they’d likely fall back into bed together at some point. Now she knows she could never touch him again without feeling the rush of complicated, swirling emotions he feels for Alex, seemingly with every breath.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry,” he mumbles back at her.

He really does seem sorry, and still so sad and raw. She thinks then of talking with Alex at this very bar, telling him that sometimes, home can be a person. She can’t think of anyone who needs and deserves a safe home more than Michael and Alex. She resists the urge to grab hold of Michael’s hand again, to try to see what the future has in store for them. She really does hate spoilers, but she holds onto hope that they can find home in each other some day.

#maria deluca #michael guerin #roswell new mexico fic #my fic #malex #malex fic #soberqueerinthewild fic #maria pov

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news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog · 5 years

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'SighSwoon' merges self-care tips with hilarious memes on Instagram

Scrolling through @SighSwoon on Instagram is the equivalent of picking up a mysterious book at a thrift shop and falling into words that both enlighten and entertain.

Gabi Abrao, a 24-year-old Los Angeles native, is the mind behind one of Instagram's shiniest hidden gems. SighSwoon showcases self-reflective memes and guides on how to feel things, whether it's simple pleasures or a broken heart. It’s a treasure trove of content tailored for millennials navigating creative lives.

Sighswoon began in the summer of 2016, Abrao tells Mashable over email. Heartbreak and the desire to make some changes drove her toward the internet as a medium for creating and connecting with others, mainly through memes. With an ever-growing follower count of 62.3K, she's connected with a lot of people.

“When I share a realization online and see that thousands of people are going through the same thing, it makes me feel less alone, less hard on myself. I want people to feel this way too — understood, empowered,” Abrao explains.

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Reminder that we’re all multi-faceted human beings and inner movements and conditions are subject to change constantly. There is no fixed condition. The more you do and the more you experience, the more understanding you will gain about your many facets and when they show up for you. There is so much to you - your capabilities, your moods, your modes. Being in one mode doesn’t make you in fixed opposition to the the other. There is no forever, there is no never. Fixation is an illusion. Change and shape-shifting is nature. After you understand your modes, you may get close to managing them. The gift of this will be synchronicity and balance. ** (Reposting myself from last October because this theme keeps showing up for me time and time again. Love this truth too much. Happy shapeshifting.)

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Apr 7, 2019 at 6:20pm PDT

The artist uses her platform to offer a plethora of self-care tips, from how to sunbathe ("a secluded location where you can get as naked as possible") to the best ways to "shapeshift," a visualization practice for when you're uncentered. Reading her is kind of like speaking to a caring physician who knows exactly what ails you and then gives you the perfect prescription, free of charge.

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Three years ago, following a mildly devastating heartbreak, I dragged my mattress and box spring to the very center of the room and said, “I am a lush, self-sustaining island“. I slept in the center of the room for three days. That weekend, I took myself to a local playhouse. A 20-seat theater, the space was tiny and intimate. I arrived alone in a long black dress and proceeded to watch a stubborn man fall in love with an alien. The play was incredible, surprising, I cried. Once home, I felt ready for the luxury of leaning on a wall and shoved my bed back up against it. . . Later, ready for guests and no longer isolating, I thought of myself as a castle in the desert. “Grand for itself, wise for itself,” I wrote in a poem. In this new form, I was rejecting the need for outside validation, especially that of romantic partners. I imagined myself made of stone that remained cool, even at the highest noon. I imagined myself as an abundant whimsical structure in an environment lacking of. Sturdy and welcoming and independent. “Grand when you arrive, grand when you leave,“ I added to the poem. . . In a meditation class in high school, our teacher told us to pick our place. My teacher, who did past life regression on dogs, said, “Pick a place to be in. Just sit there and listen. Make room for visits from animals, insects, spirits.“ I settled for a giant warm boulder in the sun, next to a free-flowing river, surrounded by woods. A buffalo visited me that day, my eyes closed in a classroom. When things are neutral, when things are good, when things are great, I am the boulder in the sun by the river. Or I am laying on it. . . The house cat reminds me to stretch my body and take time in the sun. The house cat makes me not feel guilty for napping too long or staring at the traffic outside. The house cat reminds me to give myself permission to relax and take it slow.

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on May 2, 2019 at 7:19pm PDT

With so much to do and see online today, it can be difficult to slow your scroll and ask yourself how you're feeling. Abrao's hyper-aware content offers a mirror with which followers can take a nice, long look at themselves. The focus falls on subjects like self-worth, illusions, success, and creativity. She utilizes extensive captions to explain specific ideas in depth — or even just to describe a sunset.

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me drinking the sunset on a hill overlooking the city. it’s incredible how some of the most impactful events occur in line with some of the most devastating. sometimes intensity is just intensity. i am living my dreams and aching simultaneously, and i’d be a fool to think this could ever be any other way. dual, shifting, unbelievably fair. i am so happy to still be here. when things feel gigantic, and the imagination builds tall tales to match the sensation, we can always return to water and sunshine.

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Mar 26, 2019 at 3:50pm PDT

“As a teenager, I used to do street art wheat paste posters around the city that said ‘sigh swoon sigh’ on them," Abrao says of her page’s unusual name. "It was a mini poem I made up and attached meaning to, and sharing it like that was a reason to run around and be bad. Years later, the phrase would come back around and feel like the most fitting title for what my page has become.”

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My Higher Self just whispered this to me and I was floored. May we recognize crossfire. May we recognize deliberate, aimed fire. May we protect ourselves first before engaging in any perceived battle.

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Mar 13, 2019 at 9:36pm PDT

The Sighswoon feed is aesthetically pleasing, everything kissed with a tint of beige. It's light and welcoming, which is exactly the way Abrao wanted it. She blames her fascination with the hue on her time spent at the beach: “I was renting a bed and a balcony in a living room for $500/month. The building’s stucco was beige, the cheap '90s carpet was beige, and the sand was beige. I think I just wanted to match everything.”

SEE ALSO: I don't know who needs to hear this, but these memes are good

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tbt to the longest but purest #vintage #meme wrote this a year ago

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Feb 5, 2019 at 1:40am PST

“The cyborg in me recognizes the cyborg in you,” reads her bio, just above a link to her online store where she sells merch that features the saying on totes and sweatshirts. “It’s a claim to embracing the digital age,” Abrao explains, “the very human-meets-technology existence we all participate in, and are still wearily adapting to.” She admits that while it’s meant to be humorous, she also means it with her “whole heart."

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my beloved cream crewnecks are now available! i got one sample made for photos are I absolutely adore it. sizes run a little big and on the “men’s” side of sizing. sweaters are made-to-order and will ship within two weeks. link in bio 🏹🏹 p.s. totes are still available in the shop and any orders made today before midnight will ship on thursday morning along with every order placed this past week. love a cozy cyborg

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Jan 29, 2019 at 1:41pm PST

With just about three years of memeing under her (beige) belt, Abrao has figured out the formula for making a solid one.

“A good meme is funny, relatable, insightful, and healing. In that order. You should laugh, then feel connected to the creator or others who understand it, then experience some introspect, then leave with a healed feeling from those three processes,” she muses. Her delivery method varies as she utilizes many different meme formats.

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ok fine ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Feb 5, 2019 at 10:30am PST

Occasionally, Abrao will post pictures of herself wearing interesting outfits made of neutral textiles and glowy silks. These portraits provide a face to the name (as well as maintaining her color-coded image). They also fuel fan encounters at her part-time book store gig: "A few times I have rung up a book, handed it to the person across the counter, and they’re just staring at me, and they say 'You make memes right?'"

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Years ago, I read a passage by an unknown source that said - “When you have an amazing day, take note of what you were wearing, what you ate, who you were with, what you did. Do the same with bad days.” This shirt is my absolute favorite of mine, and I’ve only had good days in it.

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Apr 17, 2019 at 5:11pm PDT

Abrao just wants to help everyone chill out. "I aim for my page to be accessible, empowering, and soothing," she says. And she wants to keep it up for as long as possible.

"I wish to continue my studies of the invisible and unseen — documenting my findings through paintings, writings, videos, memes, and other art forms," she says. Her end goal is literally out of this world: "I will operate a carousel in the desert some day, and I hope to re-spawn on another planet in my next life."

In the midst of all the noise that is Instagram in 2019, Sighswoon provides a light-filled digital oasis, a faraway page that's easy to get lost on. Be careful, though. You might just walk away feeling refreshed and renewed. And with an affinity for beige.

WATCH: Nickelodeon releases official SpongeBob meme figures

#_category:yct:001000002 #_uuid:507e85d2-e538-3381-ba4a-2b4215c5f63c #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DTrEpEAL #_author:Harry Hill #_revsp:news.mashable

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nezzfiction · 5 years

Text

ENMY Chapter 89 - Fourth Crusade (Part One)

Chapter Synopsis: The Kingdom of Vacuo is about to enter its most daunting challenge since its conception. Salem is launching the Fourth Crusade. A war to end some of Remnant’s greatest warriors, including Team ENMY. Assistance from Atlas is on its way, but will the Fleet arrive in time to make a difference?

Only one thing is certain. Whatever happens in Vacuo will echo the events to come for the rest of Remnant.

Series Synopsis: Team RWBY is disbanded, and Yang must find herself new allies. For her, that might very well be yesterday’s enemies. Joining up with the likes of Emerald, Mercury, and Neo, the four will comprise Team Enemy(ENMY).

Links to read the series: Ao3 or FF.net

Or hit the jump below

Fourth Crusade (Part One)

Well, I looked my demons in the eyes, laid bare my chest,

Said, “Do your best. Destroy me. You see, I’ve been to hell and back so many times, I must admit,

You kind of bore me.”

“Have you finished relaying the situation?” Temujin asked.

“Ran your people the basic play by play,” Emerald answered. “Cuckoos gone, some of their loved ones gone, hordes of Grimm, plus, a giant freakin’ butterfly making a beeline for us.”

“Moth.”

“What?”

“It’s a moth.”

“Right. Behemoth. I get it.”

“Have you modified their emotions?”

“Tweaked them just a touch. They were as angry as you wanted them to be and ready to war without it.”

“That will do. Wake them. And connect my thoughts to theirs.”

“From sweet dreams to full-blown nightmare. This is gonna be a scene.”

As the mental connection secured, Temujin stepped onto the balcony of the Hanging Gardens. She sat on her small stool, and took her familiar horse-fiddle in her hands. As she touched the bow to the strings, her throat opened and she drew strength from her diaphragm.

Another tragedy to carve in these old bones one last time.

One last burden.

One last sin.

Temujin bore her soul bare to the untethered sun and the desert’s hot air.

Answer me, one last time.

My Kingdom of Blades.

A low, soulful song reverberated into the skies above Vacuo. Its volume began low, but slowly and surely, its melody became a crescendo that shook the heavens. The citizens roused to its sound. The voice of their Great Khan, the voice of their Kingdom. It called them to arms.

I failed you.

I deceived you.

I betrayed the Code I set for you all.

But will you answer me once more?

If this is our end, will we stand together?

How will we march into the darkness?

With fear?

Or will it be with Wrath in our hearts?

A single command coursed through the minds of her people. A pure emotion of most unmitigated rage. A sweltering draught that drowned away their sorrows.

All across the city, the citizens of Vacuo stirred. They stood tall with their chests out. Their weapons drawn and raised high.

“An Eye for an Eye.”

X X X X X

Despite the conference room in Atlas HQ being something the size of a small theater, all its occupants were struck silent. None could watch the floating projection, and not be horrified by what was displayed.

Finally, a lone, timid voice spoke what they were all thinking.

“They’re doomed.”

The digital map zoomed out to show the Vacuo capital and its surrounding lands. Rounding to hit the city from the North and South were hosts of Grimm almost twice the city’s size A flood of red markers filled the edges of the map, but the more imminent threat was displayed by the monstrous Behemoth flying directly from the West.

Murmurs began flooding the room. Mutterings of disbelief and fear rose with a rising tide.

“How can that many Grimm be controlled?”

“If something like that attacked us, would the Aegis and Javelin System be enough?”

“We should order our Fleet back. Strengthen our defenses here.”

“It’s all over for them.”

A hand slammed loudly onto the table. Cinder’s furious gaze silenced the room and brought order to the staff.

“How far is the reinforcement Fleet?” she asked.

None made a move.

“How far are they?!”

They all jumped, and one officer rapidly tapped her tablet.

“Still a day’s flight, ma’am! Twenty hours estimated!”

“Is there any way to shorten the travel time for the remaining distance?”

“They could possibly cut down a few hours by traveling at maximum thrust. However, that would only be possible for a small portion of the Fleet.”

“…”

“It would be advised not to separate—”

“I know that!” Cinder shouted in exasperation.

“……Ma’am, I think we should consider withdrawing the reinforcements.”

The Black Queen offered no response to the suggestion. She remained quiet, studying the scales and balances in her head. There was a tough call to make in this. The future of Atlas, and more importantly Remnant’s, would hinge on the actions she took now.

We didn’t expect Salem’s resources to be so extensive.

Can Vacuo hold until the Fleet arrives?

Even with the little aces up our sleeves, the chances of victory are too low to entertain.

Initiating the fight with Salem backfired.

No, it would have been worse to wait. At least, the Cuckoos have been removed from the board.

Is the situation still salvageable?

…

The smart move would be to recall our forces.

By the time they arrive, Vacuo will likely be overrun to a point they cannot recover.

…

Team ENMY must be evacuated.

Cinder looked up to the officer-in-waiting.

“Sortie the light-traveling transport marked Swordfish ahead to retrieve—”

“Belay that order.”

Cinder turned in surprise to Weiss’ sudden interruption. Her surprise quickly transitioned to smoldering fury.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“We aren’t sure Vacuo is lost yet,” Weiss answered.

“With all due respect, my fellow Queen, Vacuo can’t possibly hold out against that,” Cinder motioned to the projection. “Not until reinforcements arrive, and even then, the chances of victory are too small to consider.”

“We need to contact Team ENMY.”

“We will give them the order to evacuate—and they will follow it.”

“Cinder…”

“…What?”

The Black Queen squinted, as the White leaned closer to speak loud enough so only they could hear.

“You know, better than I, the things Team ENMY is capable of.”

“I do,” Cinder nodded. “They can perform the impossible given the right circumstances. With adequate preparation and strong mental grit, they can and will perform outside expectation. But what Salem has brought to the board is completely out of their depth.”

“I want to hear what they have to report first.”

“And we shall, but do not hold out hope.”

“At this point, hope might be all we have.”

Cinder went quiet for a moment.

“I detest the idea of abandoning our allies more than you would believe, and this miscalculation frustrates me to no end—but we cannot afford to be stubborn at this juncture. I thought you were smarter than this.”

“I doubt we can outsmart the Witch, if that’s what we’ve been trying to do.”

“…”

“She’s had decades to prepare and plan and manipulate the variables, Cinder. We can’t win that way.”

Weiss’ words rung deep with the Black Queen. It was a thought she fought hard to abate, but seeing the might Salem brought live on the projection, Cinder could only face the truth. If this was a chess game, it wasn’t fair to begin with. The Witch had too many pieces from the start and moved several times before her first turn came.

It was enough to dishearten anyone.

But that was not what Cinder saw when she met her coregent’s eyes.

“…What are you thinking?” she couldn’t help but utter, almost disbelievingly.

“I’m not sure myself,” Weiss shook her head. “I think we have a choice, Cinder. It’s the choice you and I have been dreading without really knowing what it was.”

“…”

“I can feel it. We have to make a stand here. We have to.”

“…Is that your head speaking, or your heart, I wonder?”

“Both.”

“Very well, Weiss. We will delay ordering the retreat.”

Weiss blinked in surprise.

“Really?”

“As I said before, your counsels are always welcome. No matter how naïve or ludicrous they may be.”

“Hmph!”

Seeing her fellow Queen pout brought a slight smile, as well as lighten Cinder’s mood. She turned to the adjutant and gave the following order,

“Mobilize all the light transports. Few reinforcements sooner are better than none too late. Have the rest of the Fleet maintain course. Inform Trafalgar and Ironwood of the situation and our decision.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” the officer saluted, and tapped at her tablet.

“And open a direct channel with Team ENMY in real time. Priority one.”

“Ma’am, it will take some time to construct a secure line.”

“It doesn’t need to be encrypted. I don’t care if Temujin eavesdrops on our conversation.”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away.”

Cinder breathed a quiet sigh and glanced at Weiss beside her.

“This is quite the gambit, my Queen.”

“You could have overruled me easily. You are, as you’re so fond of reminding me, director of all affairs military.”

“Indeed. But if I had to say…”

“I also think, a stand must be made.”

X X X X X

The throne room of the Hanging Gardens was instantly converted into a war room. Various communication equipment had been rigged around the chamber to coordinate their armies.

Ilia was busy giving sortie orders to the city wall’s hangars and garages to mobilize airships and other modes of transport. Nai had left earlier to join the battalion heading North. Minerva was dividing her students between those transported to the safety bunkers and those who would join the battle in the South.

Meanwhile, Temujin, the Rakis siblings, and Team ENMY had their attentions concentrated on the bigger picture.

“You’re sending an awful lot of your people to cover the armies at the flanks,” Emerald commented.

“Yes,” Temujin answered simply.

“But Behemoth was going to hit the city first. You want to take the fight to the other fronts, outside the walls.”

“Yes.”

“We were supposed to be locking down siege defense after we got rid of the Cuckoos.”

“We were.”

A tense silence filled the atmosphere.

“……You’re abandoning the city?” she whispered low.

Temujin didn’t give Emerald an answer. She rechecked how Vacuo’s military was being divvied up. It appeared none of the staff officers noticed how none of their forces were being devoted to Behemoth. The only way that was possible was if…

Emerald felt the stares of the Rakis siblings on her. Mouse and Knives were the most senior commanders just below Temujin. Minerva and Nai weren’t around, hands full with their own tasks.

“You knew you would have to abandon the city?” Emerald asked, remembering the Precognition Semblance the siblings had. “This was a future you guys saw?”

Mouse and Knives nodded slightly.

“So, what?! We went through with Operation Gun Dog for nothing?”

“It served its purpose. We also believed it might cause a deviation in the future they saw,” Temujin explained. “But it seems our gamble did not pay off on that venture.”

“Great! Thanks for clueing us in this late in the game. We knew Salem’s army wasn’t fucking around, but the wonder siblings didn’t see that big ass, Mothra-fucker coming?”

“The Witch did well to hide it. If you studied the material on our Grimm, you know Behemoth was outside expectation.”

“Yeah, it’s only in its adult form seven days out of the whole year. It also works on a strict timeclock, so you spawn-kill it as soon as it hatches out of its cocoon, far away from the any settlement.”

“There were measures to exterminate it months from now. In the worst case, we would have waited until it exhausted its lifespan.”

“Looks like there’s a new worst case now.”

“It is near impossible to defeat in fair, open ground. If the brunt of our forces were used to counter it, there would be nothing left when Salem’s main army arrived.”

“FUCK!”

Emerald continued to trade glares from Temujin to the large moth taking up the monitors. Poisonous powders spread beneath the Grimm’s shadow. Its toxins carried into the gusts of its wings. Once in a while, a few scales would drop from its body, unrolling into giant, armored caterpillars.

In addition to its other absurd traits, the Grimm possessed one other ability.

“You guys see any new visions of the future?” Emerald asked.

“…Yes,” Mouse squeaked out an answer.

“Let me guess. If you kept all your people behind the walls, and concentrated your attacks on Behemoth, it would’ve suicide bombed the city.”

Upon the Grimm’s death, it shed all of its scales, which caused an unfathomable amount of carnage in the surrounding environment. It was another reason the Vacuo military tried to lessen the damage by disposing it elsewhere.

“Salem won’t waste time. She’ll have it belly flop the city anyway,” Emerald bit her thumbnail. “That’s what I’d do. It’s too slow to wipe a good percent of a moving army, but it can level a lot of your standing fortifications. Salem’s trying to weaken the siege defense for the later game.”

“We have come to similar conclusions.”

“Any chance we can bring it down before it gets inside the walls?” Emerald continued to press.

“My sister and I foresaw something else, which our scouts have since then confirm.”

Mouse touched a nearby monitor and enhanced the image on the screen. Zoomed onto the back of Behemoth was a small army of Grimm. The groups seemed to be crowding something at their center like a shield wall. When the image was further enhanced, Team ENMY saw what was there.

A few of the Grimm Clan Leaders were identified. Camlann, Azkaban, and Combine were commanding their brethren from afar, while riding Behemoth’s back. The combination of area effects between Azkaban and Combine alone were enough to deter any real resistance. Their abilities were much more potent than the average Cuckoo or Daemontor, and their effect radiuses even wider so.

“…Crap. Then, what’s the plan?” Yang spoke up. “You guys do have a plan, right?”

Temujin looked to her goddaughter strangely, and sighed.

“A course of action is in place. Behemoth will be allowed to detonate within the city. After its death, our armies will retreat back behind whatever is left of the fortifications and initiate siege defense as planned.”

Yang threw Temujin an accusatory look.

“But the other citizens…!”

“Some will survive.”

“More will die!!!”

“Our warriors will fight all the harder.”

“You can’t be serious!”

Just then, Yang felt the oxygen empty from her lungs. She coughed violently from Temujin’s sudden activation of her territorial Semblance.

“I am deadly serious, my foolish goddaughter. It is the only way my people will survive.”

“By offering some of them on a silver platter…!” Yang forced her voice through. “I didn’t know you had such an ego…! I didn’t know you were so cold…!”

“You have no idea.”

“You’d sacrifice anything to win! What makes you so different from Salem?!”

“…Not much I suppose.”

“Bullshit!!!” Yang turned, and stormed from the throne room. Her team followed after.

Once ENMY was gone, Temujin bade a forlorn gaze to Knives and Mouse. Both were positively fuming and biting the edges of their lips to keep silent.

Good job holding back, you two.

We can’t have them staying behind, if they knew the truth.

Yang is right, though.

I would sacrifice anything to win…

Even myself.

X X X X X

As Yang stomped angrily out into the hall, her team caught up to her—right as she punched a hole through the nearby wall.

“Yang,” Emerald said with a hint of disappointment.

“I know what you’re going to say, Em.”

“Yeah, well. I’m going to say it anyway. Temujin’s making the right call.”

“I don’t know about ‘right’.”

“Either some die, or they all die together. Minus one is better than minus a hundred. The math isn’t hard to figure.”

“Or, we can make it’s minus zero.”

Yang stared at Emerald meaningfully, while the team leader narrowed her brow in return.

“Yang…”

“We can bring down Behemoth, Em.”

“Not after the gas we just spent on Operation Gun Dog. Not in time, anyway.”

“We can do it.”

Emerald held her head like she was massaging a migraine.

“Do I have to remind you how this is supposed to work? We frontload our hand on Operation Gun Dog. THEN, we rest a tic to recover what we spent. And only after, do we actually get in on the real fight with Salem’s army.”

“Except there’s no time to rest, because Behemoth is going to cannonball the city! We’re the only ones with enough firepower and mobility to stop it!”

“Alright. So tell me, what happens when we burn ourselves down to the felt taking down Behemoth—which is a little more than an impossible ask, by the way? You think Salem’s gonna pass up the chance to ghost us while we’re catching breaths in-between suicide missions? We know a certain somebody won’t.”

“We have to, Em! Innocent people will die!”

“You and I both know the safety bunkers might hold up,” Emerald crossed her arms with a suspecting stare.

“We don’t know that,” Yang argued back.

“Some of them will.”

“A lot of them won’t!”

“Yang.”

“What?!”

“I should be asking you that.” Emerald stepped close to Yang’s face. “What’s with you? Since when were you so touchy about people dying?”

“Since always!”

“No, not when we had to fight on Dracul. Not when we were making enemies in Vale. And definitely, not when we were taking over Atlas. I mean, you did, but not like this. So, what gives?”

Yang gave Emerald a long, pleading look, before answering.

“…Because this was our chance to do some good.”

“…”

“Hehe…! Stupid me, right?” she chuckled sadly. “After all the shady things we’ve done, I just wanted to do some good—some actual, honest good. Save lives instead of being the reason people lost them. Guess I should’ve known better.”

“Yang.”

“I know, Em.”

“It’s not how our team does things.”

“Yeah. We’re the enemy. We attack. Protecting and saving people isn’t our rep.”

“I’m…sorry.”

“No. Nothing to be sorry about.” Yang gave a vague shake of her head. “I’ll get my game straight in a second. Just let me know when we’re moving out of the city. Till then, I’ll take a rest. Gotta refill the reserves, right?”

As the girl dragged her feet off with drooping shoulders, Neo braced her waist with a comforting hand. Together, they went to look for a private room. Emerald and Mercury were left alone in the hallway.

“…Don’t say anything,” Emerald said, after a time.

“What?” Mercury put his hands up innocently. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Stop. You go weak whenever Yang pulls that ‘puppy dog that just got kicked’ look.”

“More like, ‘you just kicked that puppy dog’s dreams’ look, but same difference.”

“UGH!”

“What are we gonna do?”

“What do you mean?! I just said what we were going to do!”

“Yeah…but what are we really going to do?”

Emerald glared fiercely at Mercury’s passively waiting demeanor. The staring contest lasted for a couple of unblinking seconds.

“AAARRRGGHHH!!! DAMMIT! FUCK!!!” the team leader vented her curses.

“You’re getting softer, boss.”

“And who’s fault is that?! Stupid, moral, nobility craphat. Annoying, blonde, bullshit, punchy…”

As Emerald continued to mutter endless profanities under her breath, her scroll gave a soft ring.

“Welp, saw this coming.” She coughed to clear her throat, before answering. As soon as the line went live, Emerald tried to make her tone as professional as possible. “Let me guess, we’re being ordered to ditch Vacuo?”

“…The matter isn’t finalized,” Cinder’s voice came from the other end. “There is no shame for you and your team to retreat.”

“Yeah, I’ll say. Shit’s not about to just hit the fan here, it’s going to—am I on speaker?”

“Yes.”

“Whole room?”

“Fortunately, only Weiss and myself.”

“Great.”

“Your report.”

“It’s bad, Cinder. Real bad. I know you probably have an idea, but it’s nowhere close to what we’re seeing here.”

“So, Vacuo is lost?”

Emerald thought for a moment.

“……These people are strong,” she gave an uneasy laugh. “I saw Salem’s army with my own eyes—it’s like signs of the freakin’ apocalypse! But these people, they want to fight. They will die fighting.”

“You cannot let their behavior influence your own.”

“I know, I’m trying to say something different. Cinder, Vacuo is worth saving. We shouldn’t abandon them. We need them on our side.”

“They are that valuable an asset?”

“They are. This alliance is the most important investment Atlas needs to make.”

“Sounds like a sales pitch. Tell me what truly whispers in your heart.”

“…” Emerald braced a hand to her chest. “Team ENMY is going to take down Behemoth.”

“So soon after your previous mission?”

“I know we were supposed to take a power nap before the next big fight, but you see that thing.”

“You intend to accomplish this by yourselves?”

“Temujin’s diverting all her forces to the North and South.”

“She plans to forfeit the city. A calculated choice.”

“We’ll manage.”

“This is reckless,” Cinder ended with a short pause. “What would you do if I ordered you from doing so?”

“……I’ll always listen to you, Cinder. If you tell me to take my team, and get the hell out of Vacuo, I’ll do it. I’ll drag Yang back, even if she hates me. You say the word, I’ll listen. Always.”

“…”

“But I’m asking you to trust me. Let me make this call. My team can swing this.”

For a moment, Emerald swore she heard Cinder’s breath stifle with emotion. A second later, the other spoke again.

“You are ordered to return to me,” the Black Queen commanded almost angrily. “Alive and in one piece—but at a time of your choosing.”

“I promise!” Emerald answered quickly. “I promise I’ll come back!”

“Hmph. You are aware any infidelity towards your Queen’s orders incurs the highest of penalties.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“So, how do you plan to perish the creature?”

“…”

“Emerald?”

“I have an idea.”

“So, speak it.”

“You guys might not like it.”

“……Speak it.”

Emerald took a searing deep breath between her teeth.

“We might have to use a couple of the aces we’ve been banking.”

X X X X X

A few miles south of the capital, Vacuo’s military made first contact with the Grimm army. The battalion was tasked with eliminating the enemy’s first wave and slowing their advance towards the city. A part of them knew it would be no easy task.

But they did not know how difficult it would be until they saw the head of the horde.

“My, aren’t these some familiar faces?” the cold voice lingered.

While countless Grimm smashed into the lines of Vacuo’s warriors, a smaller battle was waged in the midst of chaos.

“Tai!” Glynda called.

“I know!”

The head of a Grimm King Taijitu struck at Glynda and Minerva, trying to snap the pair of sorcerers in its jaws. But Taiyang was able to position himself in time. His hands gripped each fang firmly, and slid his feet to a stop. Tattoos covered every inch of his arm, signaling the activation of his Semblance.

While their vanguard held down the threat, Glynda and Minerva aimed a set of spells at the source. A storm of raining ice and flames fell before them. Their target, pelted with blizzardous hellfire.

“Hm. That was much less than I expected,” the chilling voice came again.

Undaunted by the Magic spells, an enormous tortoise shell remained when the sand clouds dissipated. It was white, bony, and jagged. And as the Grimm barrier cracked open, it revealed a dark silhouette underneath. Their arm still connected to the King Taijitu head grappling with Taiyang.

“It seems my Crusade will be easier than I anticipated,” Salem taunted. “I knew you would be lost without Ozpin—but I didn’t quite know how lost.”

She gave her arm a tug, and from atop the Taijitu’s skull, a scorpion’s tail sprouted. The stinger snapped towards Taiyang’s head, but the man was able to dodge the blow at the last second. The tip caught his collar, but even then, it only left a small mark on his reinforced skin.

“That all you got?!” Taiyang shouted.

“Typical,” Salem scoffed.

The Witch materialized a long, ornamental hairpin from her robes. Its end was decorated with an elegantly jewel-crafted butterfly. Then, without any hesitation, stabbed the point of the needle into her collar bone, matching the placement with the scratch inflicted on Taiyang.

At the same time, blood spewed both their bodies. The man let out a scream of panicked anguish before steeling himself enough to leap back to safety. His hand clutched the base of his neck, where blood dribbled between his fingers.

The Witch on the other hand, showed only indifference to the curse-inflicted wound. She continued to observe her three opponents without paying mind to the black liquid spraying out. Only after a few seconds passed, did Salem spin a web from her fingertip to bandage the gash.

Taiyang badgered himself for his carelessness and forced his wound close with his Semblance. Though it stopped the bleeding, the fix was only skin deep. Regardless, he took a fighting stance, showing he was ready to go, but a gentle hand rested his shoulder.

“Assist the others, Tai,” Glynda spoke with consolation in her voice. “Leave this to me and Minerva.”

“This battle will no longer take place within the confines of this realm,” the Headmaster of Shade added.

Taiyang wanted to argue back, but prior experience held his tongue.

“Yes, run along now, little lionheart,” Salem condescended with a brushing gesture.

“Only certain performers are allowed to share this stage.”

X X X X X

“This is the best we could do, huh?” Yang asked.

“Yep. Everything’s zeroed on this spot,” Emerald replied.

“Couldn’t make it any farther out?”

“Considering all the last-minute strings we had to pull to make this puppet show dance, I’m surprised we made this much space at all. Let’s just be happy and take what we can get, shall we?”

On the farthest edge of Vacuo’s western wall, Yang and Emerald plopped down to take a seat. Their feet dangled off the side. Neo and Mercury joined them shortly. The four stared passively at Behemoth encroaching their position. They could see armies warring at the corner of their peripheries to the left and right.

Although they were aware of the violent events transpiring, and those to come, the team basked in the oddly-serendipitous moment of peace. For them, nothing would happen for the next few minutes. All manner of dangers were far or on their way. All they could do was wait. And likely, due to repeated instances of high intensity, even a few minutes of waiting was enough to bring a calmness to their nerves.

Neo pulled out an apple, and sliced off a few pieces with her sword. One by one, she passed the slips of fruit to her teammates. And the four munched on the small snack, while watching Behemoth beat its wings towards them. Nothing left, but to bide their time until the omen of destruction’s arrival.

“So, everyone around’s been cleared out?” Yang started.

“Yup. Zero possible casualties, except for maybe us. Just the way you like it,” Emerald replied.

“See? Doesn’t it feel nice to do the right thing?”

“Fuck the right thing. That’s not why I did this.”

“Oh? Then, why did you do it? I thought your self-proclaimed moral compass was broken.”

Emerald glared at her silently.

It is broken.

I mostly did this cause of you…

“Still, thanks for doing it.” Yang beamed with a warm smile. “I mean it, Em.”

Yang was about to pop another apple slice in her mouth, when Emerald snatched it midair. Taking it as some abstract price exacted, the girl didn’t make a fuss. Only taking replacement from Neo, who was performing her own magic trick of producing endless fruit out of thin air.

“Hey, Em?”

“Yeah, Yang?”

“Did Temujin seem…weird to you? You know, back there?”

“Temujin’s always weird.”

“Yeah, but… evasive.”

“Temujin’s always evasive.”

“You know what I mean,” Yang groaned. “Back when she told us she was abandoning the city, and even when we told her our plan, she just okayed it like it was nothing.”

“You prefer she argue with us? We practically handed her a ‘we’ll save your city for free’ card. Maybe, she just didn’t want to look a gift horse in the anus.”

“Uh, it’s teeth.”

“What is?”

“The saying. It’s ‘gift horse in the teeth’.”

“Oh. Mercury lied to me.”

“No, it’s definitely anus,” Mercury mumbled, stuffing more apples into his mouth. “That’s how you tell the horse’s age.”

“Okay! But you know what I’m saying,” Yang brought the topic back. “What futures did Mouse and Knives see? And what else aren’t they telling us? Temujin doesn’t seem the type, but she looks kind of like she’s given up. What else are they hiding?”

“Who knows,” Emerald shrugged.

“I know you’ve thought about it.”

“I got a few ideas, but nothing concrete.”

“This isn’t the time for our sides to keep secrets.” Yang let out an exasperated groan before popping another slice into her mouth. “Cinder and Weiss are ready to pull us out. Temujin has to know that. She needs to be open with us.”

“It’s not like we tipped all of our hand to her either. Still gotta play a few things close to the chest. Distrust goes both ways.”

“I thought we were in an alliance.”

“I think this is about as much two Kingdoms can trust each other without actually merging. And that’s without all the bad blood between Vacuo and Atlas.”

“We need to be on the same page, Em. Salem found a crack in our team, and pried it apart. What do you think she’ll do to two Kingdoms?”

Emerald paused, and then bit into the next crunchy morsel Neo handed her.

“True. If Vacuo somehow gets out of this intact, I wouldn’t put it past Salem to turn one of the Kingdoms against the other. You have an idea bouncing around that noggin? Or do you just like adding new problems to my ‘shit I gotta figure out’ list?”

“We need to have a sit down with Temujin. At the least, we need to hear everything the siblings predicted so far.”

“Yeah, she’s kept us in the deep dark about their visions. Not just us, but her own people, too.”

“And if we’re learning anything, whatever Temujin hides is worth finding out.”

“Emerald,” a voice came over the Enchantress’ mental link. “Are we ready to begin?”

“Yeah. Just about,” she responded, and got up.

At that moment, a number of transmissions reached Team ENMY’s communications.

“Alrighty. Time to set the world record for taking down a bunch of Nightmare Class Grimm in a row, maybe!” Emerald announced.

“All boss speedrun!” Mercury fake cheered.

Yang turned to Neo with a loving stare.

“Got my back?” she winked.

Neo smiled widely.

Yup.

X X X X X

(An hour ago)

“Are we sure this is wise?” General Ironwood couldn’t help voicing his doubts. “We were supposed to wait until we were closer to attempt this.”

“Drastic measures, General,” Trafalgar answered, next to him on the bridge. “Sometimes, all we can do is take a leap of faith.”

“There are countless variables which can skew the accuracy.”

“That’s why it’s called a leap and not a step, or a modest crawl.”

Ironwood breathed a sigh, before speaking into the console.

“Alright, Penny. Permission to arm.”

“Armed and READY, Mr. Ironwood!” the girl answered with a chipper.

“Execute.”

X X X X X

“……. What the hell are you kids thinking?” Qrow muttered his disbelief.

“I’m thinking we need your help to bring down Behemoth. Is the wax building up in your ears, grandpa?” Emerald replied.

“Don’t call me grandpa!”

“The other guy is definitely a grandpa. As a matter of fact, he’s the grandest of grandpas. So, you gonna help us or not?”

“I thought the plan was to surprise Salem with an ambush.”

“Plans change. Roll with it.”

Qrow breathed one of the most soul-draining sighs in his life, before centering himself to continue.

“Okay. So, let me make sure I got this right. You need me to use Titan’s power to help you kill Behemoth.”

“Yup!”

“But before that, you need me to stick my neck out.”

“You got it.”

“I immediately don’t like this…”

X X X X X

“I think I’m going to like this,” Raven gave a soft chuckle.

“I thought you would,” Emerald shared in the mental laugh. “Shouldn’t be a violation against whatever your contract is with Salem, right?”

“Only you brats could come up with something this sloppy and effective.”

“Compliment received.”

X X X X X

Out in the ocean separating Atlas from Vacuo, the acting reinforcements of the Atlesian Fleet came to a full stop. While the airships hovered as still as possible, their artillery battery raised to a high angle. Tapped into each vessel’s control system and calculating a complex aiming algorithm was a certain android.

“Coordinates fixed. Real-time calculations complete. Trajectory courses confirmed!” Penny cheered.

“FIRNG ALL ORDNANCE!”

X X X X X

(Back to the Present)

Team ENMY turned their gazes eastward, where a flock of glistening projectiles soared towards their position.

“Whoa, that’s gonna be close,” Yang commented.

“Yeah, well. It’s supposed to be,” Emerald sneered, as she elbowed Mercury’s side. “You’re up, top gun. Make sure it’s not us that gets our ass fricasseed.”

“On it, boss.”

Mercury activated his Semblance and felt the surrounding atmosphere come under his control. His senses extended to the oncoming shells. Their trajectories mapped out in his mind’s eye.

Damn. Not a bad shot from fifteen-thousand plus kilometers away.

Just need to sharp it just a little…

Mercury adjusted the turbulence and atmospheric pressure to suit his needs. He played out the simulation in his head, and matched it to the present. Their “back-up” fire would land exactly where they wanted it to on the dime.

“Merc,” Emerald elbowed him a few more times. “Hate to interrupt your beautiful mind moment, but the big bad bug is coming up faster. Maybe, short the fuse on lighting this candle?”

“Sure, just gotta speed up the momentum on more than a thousand combustible Dust shells. No big deal.” The sarcasm exaggerated in his voice.

“I had to hallucinate a whole Kingdom. Don’t get cute with me about making the big plays.”

The crying flock of whistling missiles screamed across the sky ever closer. At the same time, the great shadows and winds kicked up by Behemoth brushed the team’s backs.

Despite being caught between an arsenal of hellfire and the largest Grimm ever recorded, ENMY showed no signs of panic. Once Mercury finished his modifications, he expelled a small sigh of relief.

“Nice,” Emerald smirked, while putting on the sunglasses she took from Coco so long ago. Yang, Neo, and Mercury were producing their own pairs, when she also took out her scroll. She then, held it out and struck a smug pose.

“Are you actually taking a selfie right now?” Yang asked in slack-jawed awe.

“I wanna send a picture to Cinder. It’ll also make a good memory.”

Without wait or permission, the rest of the team crammed into the camera shot. They made random faces, while throwing up a series of hand gestures and middle fingers.

Meanwhile, high-pitch whistling from the Fleet’s artillery was at the peak of its cries when they were suddenly muffled. Bellowing explosions cut the sound off with its own. Raining hellfire engulfed Behemoth’s back in clouds of inferno. It was a carpet bombing of a creature that could have been a small island onto itself.

“Sweet fireworks,” Yang grinned. “Did you get the shot?”

“Got it!” Emerald confirmed.

“I always wanted to help destroy something beautiful,” Mercury shed a single tear.

Neo threw her hands up, cheering with mute excitement.

Fire! Fire! Burn!

“Okay, okay,” Emerald called their attention. “I know that just made the inner pyros inside us cream, but we still got work to do.” She tapped her in-ear communicator. “You there, OG?”

“I’m here.”

Flying above the incinerating back of Behemoth, a black bird swooped down. Its feathers shed upon its descent, giving way to a human form. He aimed the landing of his dive before the intact form of Combine, Chief of the Cuckoo Grimm.

The parasitic bird gave a gross chirp, as it recognized its bodyguards were burned away by Penny’s fire bombing.

“This… really sucks!” Qrow complained.

Sweat dripped down his face. He could feel the life being siphoned from him, leaving his skin cold. If he didn’t possess the Old One’s longevity, he might have died instantly in Combine’s presence.

Azkaban was somewhere near, so Qrow couldn’t activate his Semblance to save himself. But if things went according to plan, he wouldn’t remain vulnerable for long.

…

“How much could I pay you not to save my brother?” Raven posed to Emerald via their telepathic link.

“Discount low five figures,” the quick answer came.

“That was a joke.”

“Was it, though~?”

From her cliffside in the Black Oasis, Raven gripped the hilt of her katana and went into a low iaido stance. Her senses attuned to the combination of Emerald and Neo’s information. There, she saw her brother’s back turned towards her.

“Now, don’t flinch, little brother.”

…

“Neo?” Emerald prompted.

The petite girl poised her estoc in a thrusting motion above her shoulder. A silver light gleamed in her irises. She made out the positions of three key figures: Combine, Qrow, and Azkaban, before sealing the sight into her blade.

Neo took a long-drawn breath, and then emptied her lungs of all its air. She concentrated a majority of her Aura into the ultimate technique she created herself, leaving just a little in reserve. It was the most powerful move in her arsenal, and she would only be able to perform it once for a long while.

The small swordswoman felt traces of Yang’s influence swell in her soul. A bright fire of her beloved’s sun licked heat on her fingertips.

Neo’s hand moved quicker than the naked eye could catch. The sounds of shattering glass only followed after the fact.

In the same moment, Raven freed her blade from its sheath. Her bloody double-slash was going to cut a blazing X across the sky and Qrow’s back. But at the very last second, the move collided with Neo’s.

It was a clash of ultimate sword techniques that resounded across the entire continent. A piercing blade of blinding, silver glass and a cross drawn by a sinisterly, crimson paintbrush cut the sky into pieces. The world itself seemed to tear briefly, like it was made of paper.

Raven’s attack was barely deflected enough from her brother’s back, and guided in the direction of Combine instead. Likewise, Neo’s thrust was diverted towards Azkaban. Both their blades struck their marks down, slaying the Nightmare Grimm with their god-like skill.

Hmph, Raven scoffed with an impressed thought.

Out of the four brats, she might be the one who grew the most in all this…

“Not that I’d tell her that.”

…

“Uncle Qrow!” Yang shouted.

“On it, kid!”

With Combine and Azkaban down, Qrow felt the burden on him lifted. He tapped into Titan’s ability, while harnessing his own Semblance. A pair of great scythes unfolded in each of his hands. A familiar green glow permeated from his body to envelope the burning Behemoth.

The Grimm’s flying motion slowed to a crawl. Time slurred in the space it occupied until the creature stopped just above the wall and Team ENMY. Wind, fire, poison, and intermingled with it, falling caterpillar Grimm froze midair.

Yang and Mercury stared up, before bumping their fists.

The Spring Maiden felt adrenaline rush her veins. A crystallized crown formed its halo around her head. Her eyes blazed with the fire of her Semblance. She watched lightning crack across her vision, outlining Behemoth’s multiple weaknesses caused by redundancies in its anatomy.

“Wouldn’t be easy if we could just strike one spot. We’re gonna have to hit them all.”

The pair rocketed into the sky.

Mercury and Qrow went to work first. The young man summoned a storm to carry him across the Grimm’s expansive mass. Every kick he delivered made the floating island shudder. Likewise, the veteran Huntsman used his Reaper’s Semblance to sow death from atop. Together, they layered a cacophony of craters and trenches into Behemoth’s exoskeleton.

And then, Yang rose to join them.

“Many search the meaning of the shape given to their soul,” she heard Nai’s words echo the depths of her mind.

“I am Poison.

I am a Weapon.

I have lived and learned to become the agent that destroys my enemies’ bodies.

What does your life embody?

What meaning does its shape give?”

Yang jumped from falling debris to falling debris, making her way to the belly of the beast.

For my friends, I’ll be their warmth.

When they are lost, I’ll be their light.

And for anyone who tries to hurt them,

I’ll be the banisher of their darkness.

Yang’s Ember Celica shifted its form. Pistons fired across her entire arm. It rumbled with all the power and force of a jet engine.

I am the Fight that Life brings.

I am Fire.

And I Burn.

The exact moment, the noon sun reached its highest crest, the Spring Maiden’s punch let loose a flame likened to the birth of a new star. A supernova erupted in the center of Behemoth’s stomach, scorching constellations across the vulnerabilities of its body.

The halting of time was no small feat, and Titan’s ability only lasted a breath before reality resumed. But it was enough for Behemoth’s annihilation to be realized.

“Alright! It’s gonna pop!” Emerald shouted. “Clear the area!”

Yang, Mercury, and Qrow escaped the burning wreckage’s vicinity, as the Grimm plummeted down. Its body decomposed into countless scales, which combusted on any contact. The repeated detonations and weight of its carcass drove a crag into the wall and a small part of the city.

…

Yang let herself freefall. Burning cartilage still flew around her. Much of her energy was spent, but not all of it, per Emerald’s orders. But there was no denying the weariness setting into her nerves.

“Well, that was a thing.”

She looked to the side, and saw Mercury speed down to Emerald. Their leader stood on what remained of the wall. Her Uncle was nowhere in sight.

*Sigh* “I really want this day to be over…”

Just then, among the falling scraps, Yang spotted an oddity. It was a little singed, but it stood out from everything else with its white-colored design and the way it spun sharply through the air.

Yang squinted her eyes, and saw it was a playing card.

The Ace of Spades.

X X X X X

“Is this truly all the strength you can muster?”

Salem gave a wave of her hand, and the bright projectiles Glynda and Minerva cast her way dissolved into squirming maggots. As they writhed uselessly on the ground, the Witch made a claw with her hand. Her long nails thrusted in the direction of her opponents.

Suddenly, the sand beneath the sorcerers’ feet coiled like tentacles, pulling them into its embrace. Salem’s hand squeezed, and the prison of silt closed tighter.

“You’re spellcasting is rather rudimentary compared to what I’ve seen over the ages. But I suppose that is the folly of mortals. Not enough age to hone that wisdom, no matter the potential exhibited.”

“Then, perhaps another challenger is in order? One you can’t bully with your tricks.”

A crow flew down, before expanding its form into a man. He snapped his fingers once, and the “living sand” about to suffocate the sorcerers was dispelled.

Glynda blinked, not believing her eyes. The image of the man before her seemed to phase in and out of existence, as if their identity wasn’t solidified.

“Ozpin?”

“Apologies for the tardiness, Glynda,” the white-haired man with small glasses said. “There was an issue that required our assistance.”

“But, how…? What about Qrow?”

“Also, here,” the figure of Ozpin replied with a voice that was not his. “This body sharing thing is more complicated than it looks.”

The immortal’s body flickered between Ozpin’s visage and Qrow’s, and then another Glynda recognized as Beacon’s past Headmaster Myrddin’s. Reality bent, and several iterations blinked in quick succession. Some figures she remembered from historical texts, more of them she did not. The spinning of the forms continued until the image settled onto a small, hunched-back old man. He had the look of a retired farmer and had to use a cane to support him like a third leg.

“Titan…!” Salem snarled with rising furor.

“…Wicked,” the Old One spoke in a grounded tone. His voice was crass, but it dissipated into the surroundings like an earthquake. “Must we continue this vicious cycle?”

“Oh, it will not continue. Not for you.”

“So, it was inevitable. You and I must battle once more.”

“Immortal versus immortal,” the Witch gestured to herself, then Titan. A bloodthirsty Magic coursed her veins, making them pulse black across her pale skin.

“There can only be one.”

X X X X X

Yang was in no position to react. The playing card spinning outside her reach was practically a calling card for her death. All she could do was leave her fate to another’s hands.

…

Fortunately, those hands were the ones she trusted the most with her life.

The sound of shattering glass scattered pieces of Neo’s mirror portal into the falling sky. Her sword was held, outstretched. Its point pierced through the card as a bullet punched a hole through the same middle.

It should have been a perfect killshot. Yang and Neo read the trajectory, and it would’ve drilled right through Yang’s forehead, but Neo’s interference skewed its course.

“Shit!”

Yang whipped her neck as fast as she could, just in time for the bullet to tear a chunk of her hair off along with part of her right ear. Blood stained her cheek and a sharp ringing noise penetrated her eardrum.

“Hey, you. Can you hear me?” Emerald’s voice came from her comms, as Yang could see her leader smirking in the distance. She flipped her the middle finger.

“Told you she’d try.”

“Really, Em?! Now?!”

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to do this, despite my fair and wise warnings.”

“Can we save the ‘I told you so’s for later?”

“Say hi to her for me,” Emerald waved.

“WILL FREAKIN’ DO!!!”

Yang flashed an angry glare to Neo, who gave her a quick nod.

A second later, and her partner conjured a mirror for her to drop into. The portal pushed her into another, and then another, and so on. Each segment accelerated her into the distance.

Yang didn’t aim her fist. She knew Neo would do that for her. All she had to do was swing when the time came.

And at the last shuttle interval, she threw her fist.

Yang’s landing struck the terrain like a miniature meteorite. The target and source of her bullet wound was knocked off her feet, and onto her back. The shooter could have put up resistance, but the looming Spring Maiden erased any thought of that.

Instead, Inna Kao simply smiled.

“Hey, Yang.” She tipped her hat, still on the ground.

“Hey, Inna. Long time no see,” Yang replied unenthusiastically. “Em says, hi.”

“Oh? Tell her I said hi back.”

Yang did a quick sweep of her surroundings.

“No Bean?”

“Nah. I wanted to take my shot away from him just in case. Guess I made the right call on that.”

“Too bad. I wanted to see him.”

Inna stared at Yang for a while, before tilting her hat down.

“Heh… Well, you got me good. Don’t tell me ya’ll fixed that trap for lil ‘ol me?”

“It was Emerald’s idea. We’ve been ready ever since we heard you and Bean were around. We know we can’t underestimate you.”

“Shucks, Yang. Now, yer just makin’ me blush.”

Yang stared long and hard at the cowgirl.

“……I heard about your team. Sorry.”

“Yeah, well. I’ll be joinin’ them soon.”

“Funny thought that.”

Yang grabbed Inna’s rifle laying on the ground, and snapped it in half across her knee. It pained her a little to destroy someone’s personal weapon, but the bad feeling disappeared when she remembered she was missing part of her ear because of Inna. The gun would be repaired eventually. As far as she was concerned, they were even.

“Nothing to worry about if you don’t have your rifle,” Yang tossed the remains at Inna’s feet. “I’m done killing people, especially people I like.”

“…I can’t stop coming for you, Yang.”

“Yeah, you can. All you have to do is stop,” Yang shrugged. “But if you really want to keep trying, go ahead. I’ll be ready.”

“Hm hm! Told you, you’d be sorry, Inna,” Raven chuckled, as she stepped through her portal.

“Mom. Why am I not surprised you’re here?”

“Your little girlfriend actually matched my favorite move.”

“She’s a keeper.”

“I guess.”

“I’m totally telling her you approve.”

“I don’t. And another thing—”

Just then, Raven and Yang’s heads were flooded with an amalgam of information. Rather information, they were a bit like actual memories, but of events that had yet to occur. It was disorienting to say the least, but one thing was clear.

“Hey! Did you get that?!” Raven asked Yang.

“Yeah. What the hell was that, Em?”

“It’s the visions the Rakis siblings have been seeing. Don’t know why, but Knives was suddenly in a sharing mood. But after seeing what was in them, I think we can make a guess!”

“That vision…Temujin…!”

“That’s why you and Raven should get your asses back here on the double!”

“Mom!” Yang turned to Raven, and saw fear there like she never had before.

“Let’s go.”

X X X X X

“Hm. They brought down Behemoth,” Temujin rubbed her chin with an even composure.

The throne room, which was once a bustling war room, was now vacant. The lone ruler of Vacuo sat on her chair with only the Rakis siblings for company.

“Any deviations?”

“With almost all our fortifications intact, more of Vacuo’s citizens will survive by the end,” Mouse answered.

“Haha… They are truly something. Troublemakers. The perfect enemy against Salem and fate.”

The old woman smiled ear to ear, before breathing a contented sigh.

“Everything else is proceeding according to script?”

“……Yes.”

A nearby monitor showed an endless replay of Team ENMY’s assault on Behemoth. Right before the artillery from the Atlesian Fleet struck, a wisp of dark mist engulfed Camlann, and seemingly warped it out of the area.

On a security monitor, three figures made their way through the Hanging Gardens. The colossal armor of Camlann was recognized. Beside the Grimm were Adam and Blake. It wouldn’t be long until they reached the chamber.

“You two should go,” Temujin said to the siblings.

“No,” Mouse refused shakily. “We won’t leave you.”

“You have to guide our people.”

“We won’t leave you!”

The boy now had tears streaming his eyes. He wanted with everything to overturn the future he and his sister saw. A future where the Grimm overran their land. A future where their closest friends died…

…A future where Temujin offered her life to further incite the rage of her people.

“Oh,” the old Faunus put a hand on Mouse’s head. “You know, I faced a lot of criticism for adding that Eye for an Eye thing at the end of the Code. Mostly from Minerva, but whatever.” she smirked. “Who knew it would be the strength our people needed in their weakest hour? Surely, not me.”

Gentle sobs continued to escape Mouse, as Temujin continued.

“No, definitely not me… But if the death of one old woman past her prime can be the rally cry of our Kingdom, I will answer my duty with a full heart.”

“…”

“Go. My time is over.” Temujin announced proudly. “This is goodbye.”

“We won’t leave you!!!” Mouse cried back.

Temujin scratched her ear in frustration, before turning to her other side.

“Knives. I entrust you with your brother. You know what must be done. The both of you must regroup with Nai and Minerva. Notify them of my death. The first waves of the Grimm should be dealt with by then. Fall back here with Team ENMY, and eliminate Camlann. Hold the siege until Atlas’ Fleet arrives.”

The younger Rakis made no move to respond.

“Knives? Did you hear me?! Knives!”

Temujin shook her shoulder, and saw the girl’s expression turn with surprise.

“Oh, right!” Knives answered with wide eyes. Her tone was different from her usual. “Actually, I agree with Mouse there. You really shouldn’t be so quick to sacrifice yourself.”

The elder Faunus was struck speechless.

“There’s a lot of people who would mourn your death, Temujin. They’d be heartbroken,” the girl continued. “I know one person especially!”

“Who…?” the old Faunus could only mutter. “Who are you?”

The girl with the appearance of Knives could only smile brightly.

“There’s always a way to change fate, as well as those who are willing to fight it. You said it yourself.”

“…”

“But they can’t help you if you don’t believe in it too,” Knives held Temujin’s hand in both of hers. “This girl loves you so much. She begged for a way to save you, even in her dreams. That’s how deep her resolve is.”

Temujin continued to stare blankly at the girl. Knives met her gaze, unabashed. The young girl’s eyes seemed to glint with a brighter silver than usual.

Then, Temujin remembered where she heard this speech mannerism before, as well as this unflinching determination.

“Summer Rose?”

#rwby #rwby fanfiction #yang xiao long #neopolitan #emerald sustrai #mercury black #raven branwen #qrow branwen #rwby au #ENMY

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