The little shadow that runs through the grass

In the breast-pocket of the suit he intends to wear to the funeral, there’s a handwritten letter for Koschei: a single sheet of psychic paper, folded over.

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Was I not one of your top students? And did I not, on multiple occasions, demonstrate an exceptional aural sensitivity *and I quote* ‘an unparalleled ability to identify sonic anomalies in subspace transmissions tests?’ And while you are well aware of my own qualified desires to serve on the USS Enterprise, I’m assigned to the *Farragut?* …No. I’m assigned to the Enterprise.

“Godsdammit, what did you get us into this time—” *explosion*

(via fuckyeahzoesaldana)

thecumbermaster:

mesmiranda:

“It was a very sensible and well thought-out plan, wasn’t it?” She hesitates for a moment, and then adds, “Ko, I don’t really care. I can’t. You’re so much more important.”

He takes her hands and squeezes them. “Don’t you dare - don’t you even think about it. No.”

Simply: “You are. All the time I’ve spent with you—it’ll never be enough.”

(via thecumbermaestro)

thecumbermaster:

mesmiranda:

“I had the idea that if I didn’t sleep, the nightmares wouldn’t start up.”

She does look a little sheepish, to be fair.

“There might be someone John knows—a Stanley Manor…”

He laughs, and kisses her cheek. “Don’t do that again, please, for my sake. And see if you can’t give him a call, see if he can help you work out what’s happening.”

“It was a very sensible and well thought-out plan, wasn’t it?” She hesitates for a moment, and then adds, “Ko, I don’t really care. I can’t. You’re so much more important.”

(via thecumbermaestro)

thecumbermaster:

mesmiranda:

Taking comfort from his being there, being close, she keeps flicking through images. “He keeps showing up in my dreams, pursuing me—we’re underwater, and for some reason I can’t swim properly, and he keeps coming after me. I can’t even see him but I can feel him, not in my head but in my bones. I don’t even have any bones. It doesn’t make any sense.”

She looks up at him, her face drawn: “Do you think this is some kind of apocalyptic or magic thing? He’s huge, and I’m just me. You don’t know him and I don’t know him, and if you don’t know about something I’m willing to bet we’re screwed.”

He pulls back to look at her, to really take her in. “Mess, have you been sleeping? At all?”

With a sigh, he pulls up the spiderweb of contacts he keeps, and skims through them at high speed.

“Best bet is either someone like Loki, but we haven’t spoken in quite a while and I won’t have anything to trade - or one of the John Fucking Constantine magic brigade. Heaven won’t touch this with a ten foot pole.”

“I had the idea that if I didn’t sleep, the nightmares wouldn’t start up.”

She does look a little sheepish, to be fair.

“There might be someone John knows—a Stanley Manor…”

(via thecumbermaestro)

thecumbermaster:

mesmiranda:

That steady hand motion feels like the only thing keeping her together, so she’s quiet for a long while. Then she rests her chin on his shoulder, and then takes his hand and draws up the screens on the console.

“Have you ever seen this before?” she says aloud, her hand clutching his tight. “Something like it?”

“It’s - I should but I don’t. If that makes any sense.” He shakes his head and clings to her.

Taking comfort from his being there, being close, she keeps flicking through images. “He keeps showing up in my dreams, pursuing me—we’re underwater, and for some reason I can’t swim properly, and he keeps coming after me. I can’t even see him but I can feel him, not in my head but in my bones. I don’t even have any bones. It doesn’t make any sense.”

She looks up at him, her face drawn: “Do you think this is some kind of apocalyptic or magic thing? He’s huge, and I’m just me. You don’t know him and I don’t know him, and if you don’t know about something I’m willing to bet we’re screwed.”

(via thecumbermaestro)

thecumbermaster:

mesmiranda:

No, gods no, she needs to fix that. This.

She catches her breath, swallowing, and rubs her face against his shoulder: “That won’t happen again. Please forgive me.”

“Let me help - whatever it is.” He runs a hand through her hair and breathes her in.

That steady hand motion feels like the only thing keeping her together, so she’s quiet for a long while. Then she rests her chin on his shoulder, and then takes his hand and draws up the screens on the console.

“Have you ever seen this before?” she says aloud, her hand clutching his tight. “Something like it?”

(via thecumbermaestro)

thecumbermaster:

mesmiranda:

No, no, no, her mind repeats numbly, the only thing going around and around inside her skull.

“I will never leave you,” her mouth says. “And you will get sick of me. It will be very boring and prosaic and irritating, after all. Except whenever I go anywhere with you it’s an adventure, and new, and I get giddy all over again. Existence versus life. Please tell me you had a vortex manipulator, or something—”

/ if you try i will hunt you down see if i don’t /

He laughs again, desperate and terrified and utterly lost. “Only if I wanted to try burning my arm off, it’s shot, utterly wrecked and I was so scared I thought you’d died, Mess, i thought — “

No, gods no, she needs to fix that. This.

She catches her breath, swallowing, and rubs her face against his shoulder: “That won’t happen again. Please forgive me.”

(via thecumbermaestro)

thecumbermaster:

mesmiranda:

/I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I swear, I thought I could stick it out—I didn’t want to—/

I didn’t want to bother you, because I can’t lose a single moment with you.

Messy holds onto him, breathing in: the necessary components, wool and scent and ginger hair and soap, and oxygen. Her throat hurts and her face is damp. Her fingers won’t unknot from the back of his jacket, not at all. /Were you okay? Where did you go?/

/Don’t you ever dare do that again I refuse to lose you I can’t I won’t you can’t make me —/

He slides his hands under her arms and takes most of her weight, still crushing her close against him, sobs hitting him like waves.

“I waited for you to come back.”

No, no, no, her mind repeats numbly, the only thing going around and around inside her skull.

“I will never leave you,” her mouth says. “And you will get sick of me. It will be very boring and prosaic and irritating, after all. Except whenever I go anywhere with you it’s an adventure, and new, and I get giddy all over again. Existence versus life. Please tell me you had a vortex manipulator, or something—”

(via thecumbermaestro)

thecumbermaster:

mesmiranda:

Oh. Breathing again. There it goes.

She buries her face in his chest, and her hands tighten on his jacket, and she has to memorize this exact moment right now, and now the breathing is going all funny. /I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, I’m so sorry—/

“Don’t you ever -” and he’s laughing but he’s crying but he’s kissing her but he’s shaking even though his hands are still as hard on her arms as to leave bruises if she were capable of bruising, as though he can hold her in place with his fingers and his fear alone.

/I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I swear, I thought I could stick it out—I didn’t want to—/

I didn’t want to bother you, because I can’t lose a single moment with you.

Messy holds onto him, breathing in: the necessary components, wool and scent and ginger hair and soap, and oxygen. Her throat hurts and her face is damp. Her fingers won’t unknot from the back of his jacket, not at all. /Were you okay? Where did you go?/

(via thecumbermaestro)