#there’s no grand story behind the leg they are just disabled the end

[sbeep]

Eden Shepard (he/they)

Earthborn sole survivor.

#memes memes memes #*Eden Shepard #drawing mass effect again is wild i wish i still had my trove of art from 2010 #Q #there’s no grand story behind the leg they are just disabled the end

[bnhaoptr]

Shanks | Shanks and S/O your first kiss

The red strands shone with the late afternoon light, becoming redder than usual in that dreary sunset light. His skin was lightly tanned, unshaven, and the smell of sea air that he brought with him came in perfectly with him.

Yes, you liked that. She liked to feel the sea odor embedded in every pore of him, to listen to his wonderful stories mixed with jokes, the way he drank and sang his favorite pirate songs, he loved the chill that ran throughout his body when he brushed his skin. She liked everything about him, even his flaws.

S / O never cared that Shanks was a pirate, or rather a Yonkou. It seemed that the danger and grandeur brought in his name, always tempered by a touch of good humor, excited her in every possible way. It was a dangerous attraction, one that makes you delirious, inventing stories of which many may never be realized. How many times did she find herself imagining rather spicy scenes with the redhead. I wanted to know what it would feel like to be held with one arm or how I would be loved with that little "disability", s/o was just curious.

She was always excited to see the imposing ship approaching the small island of the Grand Line. His village did not have much to offer any visitor, but he always made a point of stopping there, whenever he passed by, [your name] was never silly and hurriedly managed to find him. She combed her hair in a ponytail and wore light clothing since the summer heat is not so unforgiving to you. She never put on a lot of makeup, the most she used was a mascara and a gloss. Soon I was ready to find the said pirate. Before leaving his house, he took a flower and placed it between the hair strands and the ear in the form of an accessory. You were young, you had never left your little world surrounded by seas and creatures that lived hidden in waters so deep. He envied him a little for so many travel experiences, a white envy, he wanted to know at least what the island next door was like if he had the chance.

When walking slowly, you noticed an agitation near the waterfront bar, the spacious ship was standing there and people seemed to celebrate with the arrival of the almost routine visitors. Her eyes lit up when she saw him there, so imposing. In a nostalgic moment, his mind wandered away, he remembered the day he met him ... You were only sixteen years old and you had never seen such a great vessel before, the most you had ever seen were fishing boats. Then he came down the stairs however what caught his attention most was that vibrant red color in his head; you always loved red. After all, it was a warm, intense color and, as he believed, the color that defined destiny.

Before you know it your boss called saying that several customers arrived at the bar where you worked. It was a small bar, slightly dark, and it smelled of alcohol with several voices standing out between each other in laughter. You took a deep breath and entered that old trade when, at last, their eyes met. Those dark irises fixed on your irises | it was like a deep chasm that emanated strange energy. They seemed to be connected by a fine line only in the eye. His boss, a short, balding man with a protruding belly, ordered him to serve his table and three other colleagues. As soon as he reached the table holding the tray where the sake and rum lay, his hands began to shake. He was careful, with a lot of effort, not to get in the way any more and started pouring glass by glass, repeating this same process in all bottles. However, when it reached the last bottle of sake, the tremor made your fingers wobble, consequently almost dropped the alcoholic drink on the pirate. By pure luck and a quick reflex he took the drink, holding you by the hands. His rough and warm skin in contact with yours | your type of hand and skin | it was a comforting shock, funny how they both seemed to fit together perfectly.

He felt his cheeks heat up to a reddish tinge, as much as the hair of the man who wore a warm smile making his heart melt. You hurriedly apologized and disappeared into the kitchen; sometimes he spied this pirate through the doorway. And without realizing it, almost magically, you had managed to approach him. Enough to know his position in that group of pirates and his somewhat exotic name: Shanks. You didn't know how to say it precisely, but something about it attracts you, like a moth is attracted to light. In a few hours I could already feel the closeness between the two of you, in addition to what your trembling had gone through, your heart however continued to beat intensely, I had never felt the blood run so fast in your veins. You could only observe it, it was like a new species never seen before, even among so many other unusual pirates; like the fat guy who loved roasted meat.

A few years after that episode you had grown up, considering yourself much more mature since the first encounter with that man. You will even start wearing makeup. He put on his favorite outfit and tied his hair in the hope of cooling you off, given the high temperature of his home island that made the smaller strands stick to the back of his neck by sweat. You didn't dress up so much to work but seeing that immense ship made you feel immeasurable and unusual, so much so that you even applied your lipstick favorite. As soon as your feet touched the floor of the bar, a few glances were directed at you, although none of them were so interesting that it would hold your attention. He, strangely, was not there, unfortunately. A slight regret and discouragement made their home in his chest, his boss called him for help to serve the tables as usual. She couldn't complain, even without his presence there, her crewmates were just as excited, able to get laughter out of her lips.

Late in the afternoon, Ben Beckman ordered some barrels of drink and bottles of a specific sake. Your boss who suffered severe back pain asked you to help the pirate take the bottles while he took care of the establishment and some who had passed the alcohol quota. That made your animation come back, after all you could see it in its “natural habitat”. Ben Beckman next to you was a big man compared to his height, his body  it was so small and delicate next to him. That man was able to carry large barrels without any problem or effort, unlike you who used a wheelbarrow to carry large quantities of bottles.

Arriving in front of the ship with scarlet and gold details, his legs swayed with such emotion. Beckman asked you to wait outside that soon he would be back to pick up the rest of the bottles, you agreed by sitting a little further back on the soft sand. Got your nails going | the way they are | while waiting. The sun was setting among the clouds as the sky turned orange, the tide was rising a little more than usual and the albatrosses were flying across the sky behind a school of defenseless fish. And in that moment of deconcentration, a slight cough made her turn her face to find that man who always instigated her. That scene, that man receiving the afternoon sun all over his body, filled his eyes with beauty and his body with mild excitement. With a jump you were on your feet wiping off excess sand with your hands.

- What are you doing here [your name]? - He asked surprised.

- Shanks! I came to help Ben with the sake bottles.

 The redhead approached her and the wheelbarrow, he looked at the bottles and took one saying how good that sake was, second only to the one in his homeland. You used to serve it yourself, you were bewildered by the words of that conversation, you didn't know what to say about the quality of the sake since you didn't drink alcohol.

- [Your nickname]! World for [your name] - Called Shanks.

- A-Ah! I'm sorry, could you ask the question again?

- Do you want to drink with me?

In the strength of his impulse and instinct to be a little closer to that man, he accepted the invitation.

-Come, let's sit under those trees, it's cooler!

With your heart in your hands you followed him, sat down together and let him serve you, from a distance you saw Beckman taking the bottles and taking them into the boat. Shanks spoke animatedly to you, sometimes mentioning an adventure or other he had experienced. Alcohol made him lethargic, causing little sobs that made that red-haired pirate laugh and tease his alcoholic inexperience. Within minutes the sun was completely hidden behind the ship.

"Shanks, why didn't you go to the bar this time?" - You asked curiously.

- I had some obligations to resolve. Things I couldn't put off until later.

- I understand...

- Come [your nickname], it's getting late and your boss will be worried.

Shanks held out the hand in which you accepted immediately, without hesitating even a second, even though he had only one arm he had incredible strength that no effort needed to be made to pull you. However, you tripped over your own feet and ended up bumping into that man's body. I could see his defined abdomen against him, the scent of the sea intensified by how close he was and when he touched his muscles he felt how stiff they were. You looked up and saw that manly features that you always loved to admire, so with the shame that was present in a reddish color on your cheeks you whispered an "excuse" and in response you received a smile.

 Shanks's hand came down from his arm to his waist, the feeling of that hand holding him was comforting and he never imagined how incredible that would be. Her mind seemed to lose focus a little, so she looked up again and saw that he was watching her too. Something inside of you started to boil, on impulse you ran your hands over the man's thick neck and slowly approached until your lips touched his; thin, dry lips tasted like sake mixed with salt. You were surprised when the kiss was returned by Shanks, he pulled your waist closer to the strong torso and further deepening the kiss.

When you were finished you slowly opened your eyelids trying to control your heartbeat. He felt his lips were slightly swollen and imagined that the lipstick was smudged because there were also traces of makeup in the redhead's mouth. Panting, her hand came down to Shanks's chest, feeling the heat that his skin emanated. Shanks was looking at you with a smile you've never seen before, so you smiled back and leaned your head against his chest.

- I waited so long for this ...

- I say the same. So I think we better take the delay.

  In the blink of an eye, you were kissed again by Yonkou. The taste of sake accompanied by the sea air, both mixed with the coastal breeze that embraced him, kept them company. You had taken time to take courage, but when you did, you didn't regret it a bit.

#akagami no shanks #Shanks #one piece #One Piece headcanons #one piece scenario #one piece imagine #shanks x reader #op shanks #red haired shanks #one piece x reader #one piece oneshot

[sorcererinthestars]

Let’s Go Steal a Yacht

[UPDATED 2021.] Written for the 2020 @rtwritingcommunity‘s Secret Sunshine event for @leftsmitteninbritain! Just edited for 2021. Safe now! Please enjoy some unrestrained summer fun on this lovely August eve!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25569448

-- The sun over the Los Santos skyline was relentless. The heat this week hadn’t been less than 90 degrees and it scorched every citizen that walked down the roads, turning skin red and blistering and making everyone sweat. Like every smart citizen of Los Santos, the Fake AH Crew had been mainly squirreled away inside their frozen fridge of a penthouse apartment, air conditioning blasting.

But Geoff’s birthday was coming up and that required a big bash. Michael bent over the proposed plans, scrunching his nose up as he pointed at the phone where they had all scribbled down ideas.

So far, the list was pitiful. “We can’t go out to bevs, J,” Michael sighs. “He doesn’t drink anymore. That’d be weird, right?”

“Only as weird as you make it,” he shrugs, glancing to Gavin, Jack, Trevor, and Alfredo who were sitting lazily on the various penthouse couches, watching with various degrees of boredom. Geoff was out on an errand — they should have at least half an hour of uninterrupted time to discuss.

“What if we did like — a heist?” Jack asks, snatching the phone from Michael. Gavin just grins at his immediate pout, but Michael hands the phone over anyways. “Like, combine something fun with a little mayhem.”

“Geoff does love his mayhem,” Gavin nods. “What do you have in mind?”

“There’s a bunch of rich kids who are running a coke scam across the border out of their yacht,” Jack explains, gesturing to the map of the city and pointing at a spot on the Los Santos waterfront. “It’s a pretty low-bit operation. Not much drugs, but it’s sort of just an excuse for the Harvard whiz-kids to blow off some steam. But they do it off of a massive yacht. I’m talking three-floors, two hot tubs, helipad sort of shit. Mommy and Daddy must own it, but the kids run it.” She grins up at them. “Seems like the sort of thing Geoff’ll like, right?”

“So… you’re thinking that we make a run for the yacht, take it and the drugs, and then have a full-out bev party with their built in pool?” Gavin’s all smirks, sitting back and putting his feet up on the table.

“Not to be a downer or anything,” Trevor says smoothly, “but won’t killing the sons and daughters of some filthy rich people like — cause more problems than a few pounds of coke and a boat we could buy is worth?”

Jack shakes her head. “I know these types of kids. I’ve been scouting out the yacht on my morning flights. It’s not stocked for a fight. I think the kids know it’s a matter of time before one drug lord or another rolls them over for their stock. It’s not meant to be a long-term operation. It’s not like they need the money. I figure, load up on some guns, be intimidating, blare a megaphone from my attack chopper, and they’ll roll right over.”

“Give Geoff a fun day out without any actual violence,” Jeremy hums. “I’d like to actually shoot at someone, but it’d be fun to pretend, anyways.”

Jack chuckles a bit. “Can you live without blood and guts for one day, Rimmy?”

He huffs out an overexaggerated sigh, but then laughs. “Yeah. For Geoff.”

“For Geoff,” they agree. And the plan is set.

—

A few days later, on the day of the fight, Michael meets Gavin in the door of their shared bedroom. He leans against the doorframe, watching as the other gathers some of his camera equipment and places it in a waterproof bag. “So,” he purrs, announcing his presence. “Does that mean I get to see you in a skimpy bathing suit?”

Gavin doesn’t even have the decency to jump. But he does smile, moving over to the man as Michael shuts the door soundlessly behind him. “Guess it does. I’m sure you’ll like the view,” he grins back mercilessly.

“Don’t be an ass,” Michael teases, grinning with sharp teeth as he runs a finger down Gavin’s skin. Already tanned and lovely, Gavin really didn’t need much more sun. But his lips were still warm as he leans over to brush a kiss against Michael’s.

That wasn’t going to fly, and Michael shamelessly yanks him forward for a breathless kiss that leaves them both chuckling as they break apart. “And there’s more where that comes from later,” Michael demands as they step back. “I want no less than half an hour of uninterrupted Gavin time on a beach chair.”

Gavin laughs, eyes bright. “Is that so?”

“I want a frozen drink in one hand and my boyfriend’s hair in the other,” he says brazenly, laughing openly. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Sounds great,” Gavin smirks, eyes dancing, giving him one more kiss on the cheek. “Now get out. I’m sure more things need to happen and Alfredo’s going to need three people to tell him he shouldn’t bring a sniper rifle to a yacht.”

“Bet you fifteen bucks Jeremy is going to throw him into the pool and by the end of the night, neither of them are going to be able to stand.”

“Fifteen bucks. Jeremy can stand. We’ll have to fish a passed out Fredo from the pool.”

“You’re on.”

—

The best thing is that Geoff has absolutely no idea that half their heist prep bags are filled with birthday decorations, swim trunks, food and drink mixes, and all sorts of other goodies. He’s all gung-ho with the idea of shaking another drug gang from their territory and as far as the birthday boy is concerned, they’re going in loud and will return home for dinner and a movie.

They take a speedboat and a few jet skis out to the yacht, moored about a mile off shore in the deeper waters. As soon as they get close, they can hear shouting echoing over the waves. Probably emphasized by the whop-whopping sound of Jack’s blades overhead as she hovers in her copter.

“You have ten minutes to fully vacate this vessel!” Jack shouts. Only her boys can hear the glee in her voice as it echos, amplified by the speakers she has attached to the helicopter. The yacht erupts in chaos, scantily clad men and women racing around. Through the scope of his sniper, Alfredo can see drinks and things being tossed overboard.

“Leave the drugs and we’ll let you go,” Jack continues to order as people continue to scream and race around. Jeremy and Michael drive their jet skis in circles around the yacht, their screams of laughter erupting as shots pock the water around them. They’re going much too fast to be hit by an untrained hand.

“Should I take the shot?” Fredo asks lazily, gun in his hand. He doesn’t expect to receive a yes, and he’s right, Geoff waves his hand, just chuckling. It’s cooler out on the water, and if he spends his birthday just chilling and watching a bunch of rich bitches freak out, that’s fine with him. “Let ‘em squirm.”

After five or so minutes, they start to board the yacht. Any stragglers who try to fight them are immediately knocked out. There’s no need to kill, not in this adventure — that would bring down more trouble than it was worth. With any luck, the kids will tell this story to their friends back at their hoitey-toitey universities and no one will have to die.

Michael joins up with Jeremy as they’re wandering around the main deck. Jeremy has his obnoxious yellow ‘Bigness’ mask over the second part of his face and Michael has paint drawn like war lines across his face in a pattern he’s affectionately named ‘Mogar’. Lingering twenty-something’s spook as they see them, racing away.

At the end of the day, Jeremy only has to throw one sod overboard. He screams as he falls the six-something feet over the back deck, hitting the water with a thwap that seems painful. Michael screams jeers after him, Jeremy laughing warmly with pleasure.

They watch as the guy swims frantically towards the circling speedboat of rich kids, who pull him on board and race away.

“Did you see that idiot?” Michael laughs, spinning Jeremy around and removing that god awful cowboy hat. “He almost pissed himself when you grabbed him.” 

“Rumors of the Rimmy Tim go a long way,” Jeremy cackles. “I wasn’t even carrying my gun.”

“You’re a god awful eyesore, J,” Gavin’s voice filters through their coms. “I’ve disabled any tracking they have in the helm, plus gps positioning. Stand by, gents — this party is just getting started!”

Geoff, standing at the bow on the top deck, lazily wraps his arm around Jack and grins. “A very merry birthday to me,” he hums. “How much coke did we salvage?”

“About $50 grand worth, I’d say,” Jeremy says from the lower decks. “Not bad for an hour and no bullets.”

“Damn,” Geoff smirks. “I love to be King.” He runs his hand over the rail of the yacht. “Alright boys, let’s scuttle this thing and head home.”

“Scuttle?” Alfredo bursts, incredulous. “No, no. Everyone gather at the hot tub in the rear of the boat — ”

“Aft, Fredy!” Gavin protests. “Gotta be sea-worthy!”

Alfredo sighs and Trevor just kisses him on the cheek with a smirk. “I’ll throw him into the sea myself,” he whispers in his ear.

“....aft, then. Jack wants to say something.”

“Something you can’t say over coms?” Geoff asks with a raised eyebrow, but at Jack’s bright grin of insistence as she pulls on his arm, he laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, I’m coming, I’m coming. But you better get this out past the twelve-mile marker soon or we’re going to have the LSPD on our asses.”

“Pulling out,” Gavin hums. “This thing is run entirely on auto-pilot. Auto-ship? What’s the correct word? Anyways, I’m steering it out now.”

Even as he says it, the ship starts turning and heading out towards the open waters. They all rock a bit, but quickly find their sea legs as they head towards the aft, where Jeremy is already pulling off his heist clothes to reveal yet another glaringly purple-and-orange outfit — this time a pair of swim trunks — and falling into the hot tub.

It’s sickeningly hot, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to take advantage of the bubbles.

It doesn’t take long for them to arrive, Gavin poking at his phone to make sure they’re not going to crash into, like, an underwater bomb or something. Geoff glances around at all of them, specifically at Jeremy with swim trunks, and lets out a bit of a sigh. He can’t help but grin. “Guys…” 

“Happy birthday, Geoff,” Jack smirks from off to his left, pulling out something from her bag. It’s a firecracker, and with a tug, confetti and sparks fly out over the deck. “We’ve got snacks! Diet Coke! Party favors! And best of all…”

Michael moves over and, waving his arms in an elaborate parody, tries to encompass the entirety of the yacht they just stole. “A yacht, just for you!”

The others erupt into cheers as Geoff turns a bright red. Redder even than the sunburn that already marked his cheeks, anyways. “Boys, you didn’t have —”

“Stop,” Jack teases, shaking her head. “You know we did.” She squeezes his arm and pushes him towards the hot tub. “Now, relax.”

—

Two hours later, Geoff had discovered the massive built-in grill and was working on preparing his own birthday feast. They had protested, telling him this was his day, but he was having a blast. Gavin had hacked into the speakers and music was pumping. Currently, Jeremy and Jack were racing each other on jet skis around the yacht, screaming and yelling at one another as they zipped past with incredible speed.

Michael was focused on a different sight — namely, Gavin’s face as he leaned over him as they both sipped on fruity, icy drinks. The booze was sliding through their veins, making the world a looser, happier place, even if Trevor kept prompting him to drink water to keep him from burning in the sun. Their hair was both wet from their journey into the water, but now they were just relaxing in the warmth.

“You’re tanning,” Gavin teases, nosing into the side of his face and kissing his ear just a bit. Michael just laughs. “I’m fuckin’ from Jersey, man, what do you expect.” Gavin’s resulting musical chuckle makes him blush a bit.

“Whores,” Alfredo comments dryly as he strolls past, but his grin shows he’s only teasing. He’s got some fruit concoction in one hand and was making beeline towards where Trevor was waiting for him on another deck chair. Everyone knew he couldn’t resist making a playful comment, but it doesn’t matter. Michael was feeling real good, and teasing wasn’t going to stand. 

He lurches up, dumping Gavin unceremoniously from his lap. “What did you say, you ass?” he calls, stumbling after Alfredo, who bursts out into laughter and flees to the dock. Gavin sits up and throws something at Geoff, who turns from the grill with amusement.

“Catch me if you can, bastard!” Alfredo laughs, dodging his attempts at capture with dexterity that no one should be capable of with so much booze inside him. But Michael has the dogged persistence of a man who loved to cause chaos, and it’s not long before he’s captured Alfredo in a tackle hold that sends the other squirming.

“God!” Michael grumbles, “You’re disgusting, you ass, so fucking sweaty! Have you gone swimming yet?”

“No!” Alfredo shouts, struggling, and they grapple for a few moments, laughing, before they lurch towards the edge of the dock.

No amount of struggling and playful yelling could stop this — Michael chunks Alfredo unceremoniously over the side of the dock. He spirals, arms and legs akimbo, until he splashes into the warm water of the Pacific with a yelp.

Everyone on board erupts into laughter as he surfaces, sputtering out insults and making sure he didn’t get water up his nose.

“Dick,” Alfredo mutters as he climbs back on deck, sprawling into the sun as soon as he lands there, spitting out water. Michael leans over him with a playful grin. “Don’t call me a whore again,” he says with his roguish grin and returns to Gavin’s waiting arms, who was giggling the whole time.

—

It’s truly insane just how much booze they get through, even if Geoff isn’t imbibing. The day trails on with a mixture of swimming adventures — Jack finds a few sets of snorkels in one of the unfortunate college student’s stuff — and launches into teaching a few very drunk boys the wonders of fish and coral. They are pretty decent swimmers even with a few bottles of booze inside them and only once does a rescue need to be made for Gavin, who is rapidly losing his ability to stand.

Geoff serves them an elaborate feast of steak, burgers, and dogs, supplemented with potato chips, potato salad, and regular salad. A true barbeque, and they eat like animals, ripping into it all.

Jeremy finds himself leaning against Jack at one point in the meal, and she gently puts more water in front of him and kisses him on the top of the head. She’s feeling good herself, nowhere near losing control but enough to be a bit more free with her affection.

She loves these idiots from the bottom of her heart. It warms her even more than the sun to see Geoff smiling so brightly, Gavin and him laughing about something foolish, Jeremy and Michael holding hands even as Michael tosses bits of bun at Alfredo to catch in his mouth, Trevor kissing him on the cheek every time he manages to catch one. Even if Trevor and Alfredo were their own little couple, they were family. They were her family.

Michael catches her smile and returns it. He looks tanner now, sunburn catching the tip of his ears and the curve of his shoulders, but it’s just great to see him so relaxed and happy.

They needed this. Summer just meant shorter nights which pushed for more intense heists with a shorter getaway period. She knew more than anyone the lengths to which they were working to be better, better, better. Geoff had said it themselves — they were Kings of Los Santos, but at what cost?

But today, it was a break from that. It was time for sun and surf, for snorkeling and barbeque dinners, for unrestrained booze (within reason, of course) and even less restrained smiles.

Her family. Criminals all, but criminals who lived and loved same as anyone.

—

As the sun sent cascading beams of color across the sky, Geoff rolls his shoulders and grins from where he was enjoying reading his book without assholes interrupting him every ten minutes. “This yacht is the best fuckin’ birthday present a guy could ask for. Better than dicks.” 

“What could be better than dicks?” Michael teases from where he was trying to see if he could balance on a surfboard in a handstand. Gavin’s request. Sometimes he wonders why he gets himself into this mess.

He drops into the water with a crash when a very sunburned Gavin turns to him. “Geoffrey, you’re going to miss the best part!”

“Best part?” He blinks, putting his book down a bit. “What do you mean? There’s more?”

Jeremy’s all grins. “Yeah. Fireworks.”

Of course there are fireworks. And not just any fireworks. Big ones, ones that are illegal all across the county and into California and beyond. Ones that could set forest fires. But for guys who play with real explosives, these are nothing.

He’s just about to ask where they are when Jack comes strolling back over to them, her Hawaiian shirt tied across her bikini top. He has to practically force himself to listen to her instead of losing himself in how pretty she is.

“I’ve rigged them,” she grins, shooting the Lads two enthusiastic thumbs up. “Alfredo helped.” His diabolical laugh when he comes out from behind them and how bright Alfredo’s eyes are is never a good sign for anyone’s safety.

“If anyone knows anything about rigging about thirty wires together in one long fuse, it’s Fredo,” Trevor teases from his place on the deck. Alfredo refuses to look ashamed, just grins like a loon. “Gonna be a hell of a show. Short, though.”

Geoff rolls his eyes, but they can see the smirk he tries to hide. “Okay, assholes, get going then. I’m not going to miss the giant fireworks show on my birthday.” The other Lads race over, following the Gents as best they can when they’re all pretty shit-faced. Michael and Jeremy need to hold onto each other, giggling as they try not to fall down, but with the help of one another they climb the stairs to the top deck and look across the way. There’s a bunch of rockets — nearly literal rockets, not fireworks — strapped to the roof of the rooftop deck across the ship, a good 100 meters away.

“Here goes nothing,” Alfredo says once everyone is assembled and looking up into the beautiful night sky. He slams his hand down on the button and watches as the fireworks erupt up into the sky, exploding in a burst of color and sound.

It’s not the most professional fireworks show. It’s loud and hot and they have to dodge a bit of flaming debris. Michael is literally whooping, jumping up and down, grabbing Jeremy’s arm. Gavin squawks, diving behind Geoff and watching with wide eyes as the leader of the Fake AH Crew watches the sheer destructive force his boys put together, just for him.

“That was awesome, boys,” he grins as it finally settles down. “Good as dicks.” The night air grows quiet and they’re left, just them, the ocean, and the sizzling debris in the water. Smiling at one another, sunburnt and heat exhausted and drunk and looking towards bed, they start turning as one towards the stairs.

#edited 2021 #mavin #ragehappy #fahc #fake ah crew #unrestrained summer fun!

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Can I have V with either Taylor or Loki or Ransom or Chris or Curtis or Andy or Sam or Dean or Bucky or ....you get the picture 😂 I love you 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

A/N- Thank you for being so patient babes, I hope I did him justice. Love you always. Also, you showed me some pictures that made me think of this the other day and for the life of me I can't find them. But your man was in ALL BLACK. and that did things to me. FML. 

Warnings- Smut. There you go, that's all you get. 

Fingers closing around the champagne flute, your other hand toyed with the pearls hanging gently around your neck, smooth little beads Under your fingertips that you played with when you were studying something.

This time you were studying the room, looking to see if the current gathering of guests were yet bubbly tipsy enough for you and Loki to slip away unnoticed. No, not you and Loki... You and Conrad. That was the code name you gave Loki for this mission, you couldn't help but think of your reasoning for Conrad at the debriefing earlier today.

“Why you so insistent on Conrad?” Steve asked as he crossed out the name on the paperwork and wrote in the one you just had to have.

You grin at Loki, who gives you an amused smile, answering for you. “Because she happened to see Kong, and got it in her head I looked like the man playing Conrad.” Lokis fingers danced in the small of your back, and you gave an affirming nod. Steve still looks lost, but not going to question it, Tony though, he’a laughing in the background. “Shes worst then Peter with her movies.”

“Your playing with your pearls Dear.” A smooth voice brought you out of the memory, Loki sliding up beside you. Crisp black suit, well fitted made him take your breath away every time, and you couldn't help but tug on those pearls of yours and bite your lip, giving an up and down glance. “What is on your mind?” His hand circled possessively around your hip, and sipped from his own champagne glass, the bubbles making him wrinkle the tip of his nose a moment. Eyes sharp as ever scanned the room, and it seemed everyone had made their way onto the dance floor.

“That you look dashing in that suit Conrad.” you tease, your fingers dancing up his chest and tilting up to nip at his chin a bit. In your ear, a familiar crackling noise penetrates the band playing.

Coast is clear for you two to extract the information. Sam's voice giving a semi gentle reminder of why the two of you are actually here. Loki glances around rather quickly, then you two start playing and teasing going up the grand staircase. Appearing as a couple lovers in a champagne drunken tease. Catching each other up against the banister for long drawn out kisses and you giggling against his lips while taking his hand. By all appearances, you two were just looking for a room.

Which you two were, a specific room.

In the midst of you two putting on a show, people sweeping around the two of you in a hurry to avoid disrupting you, Loki was pressed up behind you, kissing on your neck while you were looking at room numbers. Bingo... “Its over here.” You muttering to him and his head lifts, a subtle flick of his wrist disabled the room's security, and you pick at the lock. His hand closes around your wrist and draws you back to him, chuckling softly. “Let me Love.” a simple brush of his hand clicked the lock and you rolled your eyes at him, cautiously entering the dark office room. “You couldn't just do that before Loki?” and the man grinned as he secured the door shut.

“You didn't even give me the chance to.” He reached into his suit and took out a flash drive, handing it to you. Keeping the room dark to not draw attention, you circle the desk and get the computer turned on. Behind you was floor to ceiling windows, showing the city far below in a twinkle of traffic headlights and late-night office workers in the surrounding towers. Further off the ocean still had a tinge of purple on the horizon, night swiftly swallowing the last bit of light. Slipping in the flash drive, it showed a good 10 mins to get all the files downloaded and secured. Ten Minutes of waiting and not getting caught. You push away from the desk and step up beside where Loki is admiring the city below.

“Beautiful isn't it?” You step up closer to the glass to look down at the street 20 floors below you, people just living there lives, unaware of all that was going on around them at any given moment. Apparently, you fell into that lull, cause you never noticed the God move up behind you till his hands slid along the silken covered thighs, his long fingers bunching into your dress. “Beautiful? Although quite lovely yes, there really is only one beautiful one here tonight.” His voice a dark huskier tone, and he pressed you forward against the glass, nipping on the back of your neck while using his knee to part your thighs for him.

You reach up to shut off the com in your ear. “Going Dark Sam.”

What?! Don't you dare, Y/N- Click. Gone, just you and Loki now.

Loki chuckled as he bunched your dress up around your waist, slipping a hand between thighs, and rubbing against the cloth for a moment, but slightly impatient as they now only had 8 mins to continue, he let his fingers pull it aside to find the heat he was searching for, leaving you shuddering against the glass a moment as slick coated his fingers. Teasing you until you were rubbing into his hand, searching for more.

“Right there Loki...” You whispered with a soft moan, his fingers playing you to heights, biting your lip and crying out softly. Loki sshh'd in your ear. “Can't have you making noise and blowing out cover.” He sucked on your earlobe and removed his fingers from your fluttering channel, your eyes growing desperate in the reflection of the window. He plucked the pearls that hung around your neck, and let them stretch across your ruby red lips till you let them slide over your tongue, round smooth reigns to keep you in control, while his hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your sounds.

“Hope your ready from me Love.” And fuck you were, you pressed your ass back, but that just resulted in him pinning you tighter against the glass, his hand working his pants open enough to release his cock, and press against your channel, and powerful thrust from behind left him seated deeply, filling you in a claiming motion. You were his, he was sure to remind you. Moment like this when he fucked you against the glass for the world to see. If only they would ever look up from there lives.

Loki's hips slapped against you, your body sliding up and down against the glass slightly and he used those Pearls to hold your head back, sucking on those beads while whimpering into his palm, his lips on your neck, all teeth and tongue tasting your skin in the gentlest and hardest of ways. Your slick flowed, a fountain of arousal that he drew from you with every pulling back and snap forward of his hips. There was no modesty in the way you clenched around his cock, not when he angled to hit your sweet trigger, whimper turning into a crying moan, that resulted in him digging his fingers more into the flesh of your cheeks, his hisses against your ear. “You better cum Darling, we can't leave till you do.”

It was so hard to resist him, not that you wanted to. And when your orgasm left you gasping against his palm, Loki caging you in his hold to push you through it while chasing your own, you broke 20 stories above the city, for all of them to view, the lights turning into pinpointed array of stars in your vision, losing all focus, the cold glass offsetting the heat Loki filled you with. You were at your highest shattering bliss, and the world, all of it fades into nothing but a hazy thought in the back of your mind. Loki's hands covered yours against the window, his fingers sliding through yours in a clasp as he bit on your shoulder, muffling his own cries of pleasure.

Filling you with his seed, he took tagged breaths against your shoulder before lifting his head, the two of you catching eyes in the reflection, and he was careful to pull out, covering your neck in kisses while loosening his palm and easing your pearls back out of your mouth and around your neck, whispering. “I love it when you wear your pearls Pet.” He worked on straightening your dress, sure it was once again in place, smooth, and streamlined flowing down your legs. Tucking himself away while you grabbed the drive, he slipped it back into his pocket and cleaned any evidence you two might have left on the glass.

Rejoining downstairs, you flicked the com back on, while Loki drew you onto the dance floor, expert hands sliding in place and you two slipped into the crowd, twirling slightly with the music. “Back Sam.” you said softly enough for just Sam to hear, and immediately there was some cursing on the other end.

You two are on a mission, MISSION. Ain't no damn time for- You started to ignore the ranting of your teammate, looking up at Loki who had a satisfied smile on his face and a light press of lips against your forehead, you buried your face against his chest, and finished out the dance. Plucking the ticket from his jacket while you two headed for the exit to give to the valet, you looked up at him.

“So Conrad, thanks for showing a girl a good time.” Unable to hold back the grin that crossed your face, Loki wrapping you up in your shawl and laughing softly to himself while you two left, heading back to the compound, successful mission accomplished.

[pixelchaos00]

Tradoshan Squad

Log: 1, Day: 1

The Base

(Author's Note: Thanks to @clonewarsreturns for helping me develop my characters and beta reading the story. My first language isn't English so I apologise for any kind of mistakes.)

„Get set and don’t let your guard down. This is going to be a high qualified mission, which is why General Unduli and I have chosen you here. This is more important than any mission before and needs to be perfectly executed. We mustn’t make any mistakes. This whole battle is sitting on our shoulders to win. So, don’t lag behind. Understood?”

Commander Gree’s words were loud and clear. The booming voices of identical men rang through the ship’s hull, each of them ready to fulfil their role. The hum of the bomber ship was an already familiar background noise. The Clones in 41st Battalion’s green stood ready to be deployed. Their mission wasn’t an easy one, since their input in the battle would turn the tides around in favour of the Republic’s grand army if they succeeded. They were supposed to land behind enemy lines and slowly work their way to the centre. The main base of the CIS was their mission’s objective. It had been a pain in the ass for the Republic since the beginning, providing the droids with never ending backup and maintenance. The Clone army suffered great losses, troops dying in major numbers with only little support and even less supplies. Commander Gree was leading the assault together with some of his best men, which he chose himself. Quiet whispers ensured after the commander’s speech, giving the troops one last time to talk before the true battle began.

“I’ve always wanted to blow one of those clanker facilities up. The five-o-first always make it look so easy.”

Some chuckles escaped the other men that were checking their gear.

“Not everything can be solved with explosions”, groaned one of them.

“Then you have never met Bootleg.”

“I have met Bootleg and I regret it.”

More chuckles.

“Aw, come on Checkpoint, I’m not that bad.”

“No, you are worse. Do you know how many times I had to patch you up in the medical bay because of your shenanigans?”

“That would be eleven times only last month and those were all unrelated to battles”, announced another Clone, squishing his locks under his helmet.

“Actually, Dropkick, it was twelve times but since he literally came half an hour later in again after leaving the medical bay, they wrote it down as eleven.”, corrected another Clone who was checking his backpack.

“As always, you have my back, Backup.”

“To be fair,” said Bootleg, crossing his arms. “My methods are working.”

“I do remember when you used an explosion to fight another explosion and it worked!”

This made the others in the transporter laugh but it was silenced by the pilot’s announcement. They would soon land and arrive at their destination. Lips were pressed into thin lines and helmets got strapped on. It was time.

The ship touched down on the soft surface, avoiding the large plants and fungi that took in most of the view. Not only were the turquoise and orange flowers taking up most of the space of the planet but they also blocked many free areas. Landing was a whole lot harder. Still, the skilled pilot of the 41st wasn’t so easily shaken. The ship doors slid open, allowing the troops to peek at the planet’s fauna, while the pilot’s eyes were scanning the ground for an open space. Gree scrunched his nose at the planet they were supposed to be stationed on. While he enjoyed learning about new planets and its life, he had a distaste for this particular jungle planet. It took too many men already, leaving the troops weak and open for attacks. The wildlife here was so different compared to anywhere else they had been. It was merciless. Gree read the reports about the beasts roaming through the thick leaves. Their terrifying screeches could be heard echoing in the night and on bad days in the day near their camps. Razor sharp teeth and equally dangerous blades, that were supposed to be the creature’s spindly legs, were haunting the dreams of many brothers. Acklays. Acklays and many other creatures called the bushes and thicket their home.

Gree felt the transporter land. The doors in front of him glided open, revealing the planet’s surface. The troops jumped off the ship and their feet hit the muddy jungle ground. The pilot closed the doors again and wished them all good luck before taking off into the air again. They needed to keep the ships out of the enemies’ radar. Gree gave the men a last salute. He turned to his team and called for attention. The troops were quickly divided up into their separate squads and positions.

“Alright, men! This is it. You know the goal of this mission is to blow up the enemy’s main base. If we don’t succeed, then nobody will and this fight will be over for all of us. Is that clear?”

The troops saluted, agreeing in unison. “Sir, yessir!”

Gree nodded, holding up a holomap of their target. The base was easy to spot and their positions were marked with green dots.

“As you can clearly see, the base lies straight ahead of us. Team Alpha will attack from the south side and sneak inside to turn off the alarm. Team Beta enters the base through the westside. One of the reactors will be located there. Team Gamma, you will enter the base through the east side.”

“Contact each other when you have arrived at your location. Set the detonators and leave this place. You only have a small time frame to leave this place before the bombs are ignited and the whole place blows up.”

“In the meantime, Team Alpha will take care of all the alarm and camera footage, giving you a free pass through the base. I’ll be joining Team Alpha for this mission and support them. The other teams will work on their own.”

“Contact each other as little as possible so they won’t pick up our signals. And the most important information for this mission; Do not, at any circumstances, get their attention. Do not engage in any firefight unless absolutely necessary.”

The Clones looked at each other and nodded, understanding the importance of the mission. They saluted Commander Gree before separating into their three distinct teams. Alpha was already ahead together with Gree. Beta was equally ready, heading straight for the jungle in the west side, led by their squad leader Corry. Checkup was bringing Gamma in position in the east.

Carefully they warded through the dirt and mud that kept sticking to their shin amor. The 41st color scheme helped them blend in with their environment and kept them hidden from unwelcome eyes. Despite the cover and camouflage, they had to be careful. Their white was still sticking out and the native creatures of this planet won’t fall for their trick. Not to mention the fungi and plants or diseases that couldn’t be fooled by their training and attacked on a different basis. For now, staying low and moving carefully was their best way to reach the base.

Checkpoint glanced back at his team only to witness Clickbait, in time, pushing a huge leaf out of his way and being smacked right back in the face with it. Backup stifled his snickering, holding his hand in front of his helmet, where his mouth was supposed to be. Clickbait huffed at the plant, ducking under it.

“I would rather be in the air.” mumbled Clickbait. It wasn’t that he had no training on the ground or that he disliked it, he just felt better in the air and away from all the ground obstacles.

Bootleg kept an eye out for patrols, blaster close against his chest. “Missing your jetpack already, huh?”

“’Course! I wanna fly”

“Well, right now you were called for this mission “, reminded Dropkick his brother, nudging Clickbait’s side. “Because we are supposed to be the top men who could -positively win- this mission.”

“Very funny, Drop. I know that. I just really want to activate my jetpack and go aloft, above all the fauna and away from the mud.”

Backup, who was a bit smaller than the others joined the conversation. “I understand that you would rather do something else. I miss the workshop, too but you need to get your head out of the clouds while we are still on the mission.”

“Betrayed by my own brother!”, gasped Clickbait. He looped his arm around Backup's shoulders and pulled him into a headlock. The support trooper started to whine, struggling under his brother’s grip.

“No, no head noogies!”, protested Backup, squirming around to try and pull his helmeted-head free.

“Quit fooling around and shut it, Click.”, warned Checkpoint in a low voice, reminding them that they were still on a mission.

“Yeah, ‘Bait. Quit fooling around”, repeated Dropkick in a mocking tone. The others snickered but settled back into their positions again.

Sometimes Checkup wondered if he was working with cadets. They were good at what they were doing but they weren’t exactly acting like it. The leader of the Gamma squad shook his head in defeat, quietly accepting of the team’s incompetence. Not that he was any different. His plans weren’t any less crazy or daring. He himself has a good count of stupid stunts he pulled off and survived, but at least he was more subtle about it. Or so he thought.

That’s when the beige color scheme of the droid base came into view. It’s bulky and edgy form sticking out between the natural fauna of twisting plants and colorful flowers that reached up toward the sky to get a glimpse of more sunlight than it’s competing greens.

Just as planned, Team Alpha was doing it’s job to turn off the alarm while Team Beta and Gamma went their separate ways to infiltrate the base from the opposite side.

Checkpoint peered out of his cover, looking both ways before rolling out into the open. Confirming one last time that his team would be safe to follow he gave them the ‘ok’. Soon enough Dropkick, Bootleg, Clickbait and Backup emerged from their positions. They followed their squad leader to the beige wall and settled down against it. By now Team Alpha should have disabled the alarm and cameras, making it easy for the rest to enter. Checkpoint moved up to a small panel in the wall and removed it. Soon the whole squad had squeezed itself into the small vent, snaking their way into the facility.

Checkpoint watched the droid patrol walk past them through the vent grid. Waiting for the right moment he signalled his team to get ready with a short hand gesture. The droids passed them and Checkpoint lifted the cover up to slide out of their hiding and into the hall. Soon four more troops followed him, sticking close to the wall. Backup reached into his backpack and pulled out a small device, similar to a holopad. He turned it on and a small dot started to light up in the upper right corner.

“This way”, pointed Backup. “The reactor is on our right side and should be easily accessible.”

The others nodded, letting Backup, their youngest batch mate, take the lead. He would know where to go with his fancy little devices. He would always tinker around on new things, show them their updated new weapons with greater firepower and attached mechanics. Not that they always know what they are for but they were never dismissive of his ideas. Backup was just their little brain when it came to weapons and electronics. He would sit all sleep-cycle long in the workshop, inventing tons of new gadgets. The Kaminoans never truly understood his potential, probably because of his mutation. They dismissed whatever he found out. It was a surprise for all of them that Backup was allowed to go with them in one team. His brother’s weren’t bothered by his blonde roots or heterochromia.

Backup followed the instructions of his datapad and walked straight ahead in the hall. He knew where to go but his attention was mainly focused on the screen in his hands. That’s when suddenly a hand gripped his arm and pulled him to the side, inside another room. Surprised, he looked up and met eye to eye with another brother, Clickbait. Backup tilted his head in confusion but Clickbait held a finger in front of his helmet. Staying quiet he could finally hear it. Steps. Heavy metal feet walking in sync down the hallway they just were in. That was a close call if it weren’t for Clickbait’s hyperawareness.

He had many qualities being a jet trooper. One of them was his awareness of his surroundings at all times. It came in handy whenever he was flying or on stealth missions like this one. He would hear or see things before others. It gives the Clones an advantage over their enemy, however Clickbait’s sensitivity to sound, touch and sight also make him vulnerable. His helmet has been modified by Backup. It filters out alarm sirens; Instead of the ear-piercing blaring, there would be a specific beeping, which he would recognize. His visor was darker than others, absorbing bright light to shield his eyes. Things like this help Clickbait to stay focused and perform his tasks just as well as others, however some things can’t be filtered out. He still gets distracted in briefings because something caught his eyes or he heard a particular strange sound. Usually a brother would update him individually on the plans for the mission. That way Clickbait would always be up to date.

Team Gamma left the room after the area was clear. Clickbait confirmed there were no more patrols outside. Rounding a corner, they could see the hall had changed from a narrow way to a much larger space, indicating they were in the main hall. There was a door at the end of the hall and a smaller path that led up on the right side. There were two rooms on the left and in the middle of the hall was a corridor leading to the right. There, this is where the reactor is supposed to be.

“The reactor room is around this corner”, explained Backup. “After entering we will contact team Alpha and Beta to inform them of our progress. Bootleg will attach the detonators and we will book it from here in no time.”

“Sounds good to me. I can’t wait to blow this damn thing up already.”

“Of course, you would say that, Bootleg. Let’s just get this over with and meet back with the other teams.”

Dropkick had a point. They headed for the door and with Backup by their side the door slid open in no time. In front of them opened up a huge, purple, illuminated room. Their target was in the middle, surrounded by empty consoles. No droids just as expected.

Checkpoint pulled his comm. link out and contacted the other two team leaders. Gree immediately picked up with Corry soon following.

“Team Alpha here. What’s your status?”

“Checkpoint from Team Gamma speaks. We infiltrated the base and am standing in front of the target. Asking for permission to attach detonators.”

“Team Beta is almost ready. We are picking the lock to the reactor room at this moment. We soon should be through.”

“Copy that. We will wait for Team Beta.”

Corry looked at his team as they tried to hack the door open. His team was good at what they did but this was a battle between time and sync. They had to leave the base all together so they could blow up the reactors at the same time. It would be futile if one team didn’t make it out in time. Sticking to the plan's time limit was important. That’s when the door hissed open and revealed the same empty room.

“Team Beta is set and ready to go.” explained Corry, keeping a lookout for droids.

Gree gave the others the a-ok and Team Gamma went straight to work.

“Finally!” gasped Bootleg, setting the timer. “I can’t wait to see the kids in action. It will be spectacular for sure.”

Dropkick rolled his eyes in amusement, enjoying the antics of his brothers. Bootleg always had an interest and knack for bombs and other explosives. While he would usually disable them for the Republic, he would rather like to build his own kids. He tried his hands on all kinds of explosions from small droid poppers to heavy artillery. The thrill with bombs always kept him interested and he would try new ways to disable or build new explosions. It got so far that Kaminoans perked up and listened in on his idea. That’s how they managed to make their droid poppers more powerful, giving them a bigger radius. Bootleg was still proud of that achievement. That’s probably why the Kaminoans aren’t as nosy about his almost daily medbay visits. He can’t stop trying out new things or test reckless ideas, which result in many absurd injuries. It’s said that the medics keep an extra file about his record. Checkpoint never agrees or disagrees about the theories, leading to some wild assumptions.

Bootleg set the timer for the detonator and gave his brothers a thumbs up. They were done and ready to leave this dump. The team gathered their belongings and headed for the door. It slid open with a loud hiss, a blaster barrel greeting the clones. Kriff! The new patrol was here and they weren’t exactly happy to see the uninvited guests.

“Clones!”, yelled one of the robotic voices in shock. “Blast ‘em!”, commanded another one, pointing his three fingered hand at the clones. Sithspit, Gree told them not to engage in a fire fight and leave immediately after the detonators were set because of the time limit.

A blaster clatter on the durasteel floor, pulling everyone’s attention to it. All eyes fell on Dropkick’s abandoned weapon. Another loud thud was heard and this time the droid's head was clean cut off. It met its fate fizzling and sparking. Confused by the unusual kill the droids stepped back in fear.

“What happened?”

“How can this be? B1-2222 suddenly went offline.”

That’s when another droid went down, a Clone without a blaster or blade standing above its body. That was Dropkick’s speciality; Hand to hand combat with a special liking for dropkicks. He always liked to watch the instructors show them new movements that he could use, memorizing the best ways to defeat specific kinds of opponents. B1 Droids were simplier to defeat than the heavily armoured super battle droids or sneaky and flexible commando droids. Magma Guards were a real challenge but not undefeatable with the right footwork, training and knowledge. Still, he would always prefer to take his opponents out with a dropkick. They were his favourite way to fight, leading to Dropkick abandoning his blaster more than once in favour of his hands and legs.

He threw one of the B1 droids over his shoulder, crushing another one’s neck in the same movement. He took the arm of a nearby standing witness and pulled him into the mess, switching places. Dropkick beheaded his opponent with a kick higher than most people’s standards and ended the fight with a dropkick to the chest. In just a hot second he took down a patrol of five droids.

“Let’s move it!” Dropkick was right. Backup tossed his brother his gun and team Gamma was on their way back again. The bomb would go off soon, taking this whole facility with it and turning the tables for the better for the Republic. Checkpoint glanced back while leading his men back out and grunted.

“Dropkick, you really overdid it this time.”

The clone shrugged mid run, believing he did a good job at destroying those droids. “It did the job, didn’t it? Commander Gree told us not to use our weapons unless absolutely necessary. I had everything under control.”

The medic rolled his eyes, looking down at Dropkick’s exposed right leg. “You lost your leg armor with that last kick!”

Dropkick could only shrug. “This won’t bite me in the butt later on.”

Checkpoint could only shake his head at his brother and kept running. If they were lucky, they would not only survive that mission but get back without a scratch. Hopefully the other teams had as much luck as them.

They dashed down the last corridor, rounding the corner and jumping each inside the vent. Crawling back outside, they each let out a whoop of excitement! Checkpoint took his comm. link to contact the others about their success but could only reach Corry’s team.

“We did it, we are done!”, reported the medic in an excited voice that indicated a mission with no casualties. Corry smiled ear to ear, looking back at his own full team, knowing all his men made it out as well.

“Congrats! Same for us, vod!”

“Thanks.” Checkpoint felt his heart race looking at the fauna of Felucia. A second later the picture turned blurry and the cold blackness welcomed Checkpoint’s consciousness as it slipped out of his grasp.

That’s when Team Alpha joined the conversation. Lense took the role of talking because Commander Gree was busy counting the seconds for the detonators.

“This is Team Alpha. We made it out in one piece with no casualties and minor injuries.”

Lense could hear the brothers from the other teams excitedly cheer for the successful mission, letting him instantly know that they were in the same good mood as the team he was in. He looked back at the base as the detonators went off. The ground was shaking and bird-like creatures looked for safety in the air. The facility itself was swallowed in the explosion’s blast, leaving nothing but rubble and droid parts back. Lense and Gree shared a meaningful look, knowing their mission was done. Without further ado the teams went their separate paths back to meet up at the splitting point. Team Beta arrived first with Corry smiling and happily chatting away at his brothers. Soon after them Team Alpha followed. Gree went up to Corry and affectionately patted his shoulder in good spirit, praising him and his team. That was until he noticed something crucial.

Team Gamma was missing.

Gree quirked an eyebrow at Corry and his team, looking back at his own. “Have any of you seen Team Gamma? They should be here already.” Corry only shrugged, taking a look around and noting that their third party did not come back to the meeting point. Did they goof around and ended up coming later?

Commander Gree told Lense to contact them just to be clear. The trooper nodded, immediately getting to work. Corry tilted his head in confusion. The other troops ceased their chatter at the sudden shift in the mood, looking around them. After a few more clicks Gree started to pace impatiently in a circle.

“Team Gamma, come in. Team Gamma.”

Commander Gree spun on his heel to face Lense, who desperately tried to contact the obviously missing team.

“What are they doing? We are supposed to meet here. Their detonator went off just like it should have. What is taking them so long?”, asked Gree himself more than the others. Team Gamma wasn’t the kind of team to just mysteriously cut all comms. Not that any team would do that since it would affect the other brothers in a negative way.

“Were they still inside the base when everything exploded?”, asked Lense, hoping for a response.

“No, can’t be. We had contact right before everything blew up.”, explained Corry in a thoughtful tone.

“That’s it I’m going to look for those slackers myself.”

“But sir, they aren’t picking up- “

“What do you mean they aren’t picking up? Call each of them. At least one has to hear their comm. link!”, commanded Gree anxiously.

“No, sir. What I meant is, that they aren’t picking up, there is only static; In fact, I can’t even locate their comm. links.”

“What?” breathed Gree in disbelief.

“We are doing our best, sir but it seems they have…” The trooper painfully paused. “vanished.”

Gree’s eyes widened as the truth finally hit him. Something bad happened.

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #tcw #swtcw #stwtcw #pixelga1axy #my writing #PixelGa1axy writes #Tradoshan Squad #Log 1 Day 1 #cwacrossthestars #cwats #cwatst #Star Wars the Clone Wars - Across The Stars #fanwork #own characters #Clone Trooper #Clone Troopers #Felucia #Commander Gree #Checkpoint #Dropkick #Bootleg #Clickbait #Backup

[spunky-89]

A Very Merry Christmas

A/N: Hellloooo, so I know it’s not the weekend, but in my defense, I lost a day. I thought today was Sunday but I have been informed I was wrong. Anywho, this will be a two-parter as I wrote soooo much it felt like I needed to snip it a bit. So without further ado, here is the next part (not in story timeline) of “Domestic(ish) Life”!!!!!

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3100

The second Thanksgiving ended, you were all in on Christmas. This was not new information to Steve and Bucky. Though Bucky only had a year under his belt where Steve had five. But they knew how much you loved the holiday so even when they weren’t really in the mood, they put on the Santa hats and smiled because it made you happy. And there was nothing they loved more than seeing you happy. ---------

“Come on, come on, come ooonnn,” You whined as you tried to drag the two super soldiers into the tent.

“We’re coming,” Steve laughed.

“Not fast enough.” you groaned and ditched them to head into the tent in front of them.

“I don’t understand why we don’t do this-”

“If you say the old fashion way I swear Bucky, I will murder you.” You glared as he came up behind you.

He put his hands up and laughed, “All right, message received.”

“Good, now put these muscles to use and pull that tree out for me.” You asked as you patted his chest and pointed to a tree towards the back.

You knew that you could actually go to a tree farm in New York, but your family had always gotten them from the tents at Home Depot, Lowes, or just a stand off the main road. It was one of the traditions you couldn’t let go of. That and needing to get a real tree, even when you were alone and had to drag it up to your apartment by yourself. 

Steve came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. The two of you shared a quiet laugh as you watched Bucky fight to get the tree you wanted from the pile. 

“Thank you for doing this with me. I know it’s kind of silly, but-”

“Hey, it’s not silly. It’s something you love and something that means a lot to you. You know we’re there if it means making you happy.” He said. Bucky then let out a string of curses under his breath as he finally got the tree out. “And I can’t say I don’t enjoy myself.”

You giggled and moved forward to evaluate the tree.

Two hours and three Tree Tents later, you had found your perfect tree. The boys helped bring it up and set it in its base. You smiled, clapped, and did a little dance once it was in place. 

“I’m glad you’re happy, but I am never doing that again,” Bucky grumbled.

“Aw come on, don’t be like that.” Steve teased.

“There is sap all in the groves of my hand. That shit is never coming out.” 

“Le gasp! We do not use that kind of language sir!” You exclaimed in fake shock.

“God I hate you guys.” 

“But seriously,” You giggled as you pecked Steve on the cheek in apology, “I told you to wear gloves. It is not my fault you didn’t listen.” 

“I didn’t think they were necessary!”

“Well, you should know that I’m always right and you should really listen to me more.” You smiled.

“Whatever, let’s just decorate it.”

“Sorry hunny, but we can’t decorate quite yet. We need to give it a day or two to make sure it’s all puffed out.”

“I have no idea what you just said or why that’s a thing,” Bucky stated as he plopped next to you on the couch. 

“It meeaanns, the trees from tents are usually all wrapped up, so it takes them some time to flatten out. So if we put lights and ornaments on it now, they are liable to just fall off once the branches have adjusted.” You explained.

“I see. I still think it’s stupid and next year we’re taking you to a tree farm.”

“Oh, so you’re already planning for next year huh?” You teased.

“You can’t get rid of me princess.” He said as he grabbed you and pulled you into his lap as he hugged you tight and layed kisses all over you while you giggled.

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

The boys were extremely unhappy when a mission popped up two weeks before Christmas. They were so excited to do all the fun Christmas things with you for your first official Christmas as a couple. You assured them it was fine, as it was just a day after all. You firmly held the belief that the day you celebrated didn’t matter, as long as you were celebrating with the ones you love. So off they went.

You were almost kind of glad they were gone. It gave you plenty of time to get their gifts done. You firstly picked up some of the gifts you and Bucky had discussed for Steve and the same with Bucky’s. You had all made the decision to include each other in the gift-giving process to make sure no one got the same things. It was working out pretty good. You did decide to do something extra for both the boys. You wanted to spoil them and it was something you’d been planning for a while anyway. So you got to work. Though you loved buying gifts, you also loved making them. It made you feel like it was just a touch more personal. Luckily you had some time off and were able to put it to use. You actually made it a girls’ night. Nat and Wanda weren’t needed for the mission, so you invited them and Pepper over. You all had a ball, mixing wine and crafts. Though they were all crafty in their own right, they always said your assistance and expertise made it way easier and the product much prettier. Some of the creations were just for fun, or in Pepper’s case, a fun gift to give the man who had pretty much everything.

“So what’s the deal with that?” Nat asked as she was laser-focused on her wine glass, not the one that was full, the one she was painting.

“Well, I’ve been working on this for months, bullying Tony and even enlisting Maria’s help to gather some relics from their past and- I don’t know. I thought it would be cute.” You said with a shrug.

“Oh it’s adorable, I just wasn’t sure what it was from or where you got the idea.” She assured you.

“Oh, it’s from one of my favorite movies.” You explained.

“I see,”

“Hey (Y/N/N), how do you use this thing again?” Wanda asked, staring at the Cricut with hatred in her eyes. You laughed as you put down what you were working on and went over to show her.

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

When the boys returned only five days later, they were thrilled. There was a minor concern that their mission would mess up the holidays, but luck was on your side for this one. But they were faced with a new problem. Christmas was coming fast, and they were stumped at what to get their girl. They knew very well she wasn’t super materialistic and cared more for small gestures then grand ones. But they were just so unsure of what to do. This was the first official Christmas as a triad, and they were panicking. 

“I feel like you gotta go jewelry, my man, it’s a classic,” Sam suggested when the boys brought their fears and worries to him.

“But that’s just it, it’s classic. She deserves more than that.” Bucky said with a groan.

“I don’t know, jewelry is pretty romantic. And it can be kind of personalized for her.”

“Still not what we’re looking for though,” Bucky argued.

“Hey, you asked for my help!”

“No Steve asked you. For some reason,”

“Stop it, both you.” Steve sighed, pinching his nose between his fingers and shaking his head.

“I’m just saying, I mean, how many successful relationships has he had?” Bucky asked,

“I’ve had relationships!”

“Name two that have lasted longer than 2 months.”

“Listen here-”

“Enough.”

The three men sat in silence for a while after that.

“What about a companion?” Asked a female voice. Steve and Sam jumped a bit at the sudden appearance of Natasha. 

“What?”

“Like a pet or something. I mean she’s always sad when she’s left alone when you guys go on missions.”

“No no, that part I got.” Bucky said, “But how the hell did you know what we were talking about?”

“You guys have been struggling for a week. It’s getting really close to Christmas, I gave an educated guess.”

“You scare me,” Sam said, completely straight-faced.

“Oh, I know that.” She said, smiling innocently at him.

“I don’t know Nat, an animal is so much work.” Steve said, “And they usually end up destroying a lot.” 

“Yeah, but (Y/N) is great with animals.” She argued.

“I don’t know,”

“I kinda like the idea.” Bucky chimed in.

“Of course you would. You want a pet just as much as she does.”

“All the more reason. It’s a two-for-one gift.” Bucky said a bright smile on his face.

“I hate you.”

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

An hour later the two men were at a local animal shelter asking the kind workers for help. The receptionist freaked out for a minute but was able to get over her shock and help them. They took a picture with her but made her promise not to post it anywhere until after Christmas as to not ruin the surprise. She willingly agreed.

“So, are you looking for a dog or a cat? Or something else?” She asked as she led them to a back office to talk so they wouldn’t be seen by others out in the main area. 

“Uh, we’re not really sure actually,” Steve admitted.

The woman laughed and had them sit down to chat.

“Okay, so this is for your mystery girlfriend I assume?”

“Yeah, we want to get her a companion for when we’re gone, but we’re not sure what would be best,” Bucky explained.

“Alright, does she have a preference for one type of animal?”

The two boys snorted. 

“Anything that has fur and four legs.” Bucky laughed, 

“Well, that’s not true, she also loves birds and bats.”

“Oh true, can’t forget the bats.” 

The woman looked at the two icons in front of her, fond smiles on their faces as they spoke of their lover. She hoped she could one day find someone who would look like that when they talked about her. “I feel that I'm the same way.” She laughed, “Unfortunately, we don’t rescue bats here but we have lots of furry friends.”

“Do have any animals that have been here for a while? Or any animals that you guys don’t think anyone is going to take?”

“Well, we have quite a few that have been here for a year or more, a few senior animals which are less popular, and then animals who have some form of illness or disability.”

“Not one with an illness or disability. Though I’m sure she would love it unconditionally, I think a healthy animal would be better.” Steve said.

“So judgmental Steve,” 

“Shut it punk,” Steve said as he glared. He turned back to the woman who was smiling as she watched the two men.

“Come on, I’ll show you a few different critters and you can see what you think will complete your family.”

She led them out the door and down a hallway. Immediately they could hear the barking. 

“So, these are some of the dogs who need special attention or are small enough we can fit them in the kennel. We have bigger dogs and healthy ones outside in big pens so they have room to roam.” The woman explained. 

She led them to a cage with a small shaggy terrier. It started yapping as soon as the boys walked up.

“So this is Nancy, she’s 3 years old and she’s been here for 8 months. She had some heartworms but she is finally done with treatment and is ready to find her forever home.”

The two boys shared a look.

“She’s cute but I don’t think we want a tiny dog,” Steve said.

“Specifically no yappers,” Bucky added.

The woman laughed and nodded, “I don’t blame you. But that will help our search a little bit.”

She then led them outside where they could see a number of fenced-in areas with dogs of all kinds running, sleeping, or playing with their toys.

“So, first we have Pluto, he’s a 6-year-old Lab/Pit mix. He’s a sweetheart but people get scared with him being part pitbull. He’s active but not so much that he’s too much to handle. He does enjoy going for walks and playing with his ball. He also loves tug-of-war, but I usually warn people about hurting their shoulders due to his strength, but I get the feeling you two won’t need to worry about that.” She smiled as she crouched down to call over the dog.

“Yeah, I think we’ve got that covered.” Steve laughed.

Bucky got down right next to the worker and started petting him through the fence.

“Oh, aren’t you a cutie. Oooh, you’re so sweet.” Bucky cooed.

“I’m gonna live to regret having you here aren’t I?”

“Listen, these cuties need someone to love them. Let me live my life.” Bucky snapped playfully defensive.

Steve laughed and they all moved on to the next dog, then onto cats, and finally the birds and small critters like hamsters and ferrets.

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

Their next stop was the pet store. They talked to the woman at the shelter about what supplies they would need and she gave them a detailed list with some things that weren’t necessary, but might be good to have.

They never realized how many toys you could get for animals. Needless to say, they were extra glad for the instructions as they would have been lost without them. They had put their new family member on hold to be picked up on Christmas Eve and somehow figure out how they were going to smuggle it into the apartment. But they would worry about that later. Right now they were arguing over colors.

“We should get the pink or purple, they’re girl colors,” Steve argued.

“Did you really just say that? Do you know what (Y/N) would say if she heard that?” Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Steve nodded, realizing his mistake.

“Obviously,”

“Don’t get smart with me punk.”

“Whatever, we still need to pick a color.”

“What about (F/C)?”

“No, that’s a weird shade. She would hate that.” 

“What about this one?” Steve asked, holding up a sparkly red/orange one with little brown flecks in it.

Bucky tilted his head. “It’s very fall, but I think she’ll love it.” 

“My thoughts exactly.”

“One thing down, a hundred to go.” Bucky sighed looking at the list.

“I don’t want to hear it, this is all on you pal. You wanted to do this.” Steve said.

“Oh I know, I have no regrets.”

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

Once they had all of the stuff, they made a quick stop to get bags, boxes, and wrapping paper. They knew they would have to wait until tomorrow to wrap their gifts as by now you were bound to be home from work and they had too much stuff to hide effectively. 

They were so glad they had figured this out because they were down to the wire. It was only five days till Christmas.

With it being so close to Christmas you were practically glowing and floating on air. There was constantly a Christmas candle burning and music playing. After all the stress of the year between missions and dealing with telling people about your relationship, the boys were glad to see you let loose and be happy. You were only minorly stressed out because you had offered to host a small Christmas Eve get together with a few of the team who didn’t already have plans. Though you would all be gathering at the Tower for Christmas dinner. But on Christmas Eve it was just going to be Sam, Wanda, Vision, Natasha, and Bruce.

You had grand plans of making all sorts of delicious baked goods for both meals, but on top of it, you had to make an actual dinner for Christmas Eve. But you were thrilled. You loved hosting events and you were ready to hold a holiday in your own space. The boys helped you clean everything and make sure all the presents for the team were wrapped, as well as the presents for each other. You managed to wrangle Steve into assisting you with some of the cooking and decorating of the desserts. Bucky had long been banned from the kitchen because he infamously ate everything and you would end up having to make more. So he was stuck on cleaning duty and doing other minor jobs for you. 

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

After a whirlwind of activity leading up to the big night, it was here. You all had discussed it and decided to get a bit dressed up, especially since Tony had decided that it was going to be a pajama dinner. So while the food was finished cooking, you got all dressed up in a dark red, sparkly, knee-length dress. You did your make-up and put on some jewelry before topping the look off with heels you knew you would take off within half an hour. Each of the boys stuck with a nice pair of jeans and a button-up. Both looked absolutely delicious. Not long after you all finished getting ready, you heard the first knock at the door.

As everyone arrived, wine and mixed drinks were served and you all gathered at the table for the meal. As they all sat, you stayed standing.

"Before we all enjoy this meal, I just wanted to say, thank you. This has been a rough year between missions gone wrong and huge fallouts. I want to say thank you for being my family when my family was being dicks. I firmly believe that family isn’t defined by blood but by love. I feel so incredibly lucky to have wonderful people like you surrounding me and trying to keep my dumbasses safe." Everyone laughed a bit, but your eyes had started tearing. "I love you guys. Thank you for accepting me into your family and for understanding that love comes in many forms. Merry Christmas." You finished, raising your glass, tears trickling down your cheeks. 

Everyone chorused a 'Merry Christmas' and you sat between your boys, who both squeezed your hands and kissed your cheeks. 

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve x reader x bucky #stucky x reader #stucky #christmas fluff #christmas #Domestic(ish) life #Winter Solider #winter solider x reader #captain america #captain america x reader

[j-j-ehlby-writes]

Meet Me at the Chalet || bonus.

Eventual pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Jenessee Borosi)

Word count: ~3.4k

Summary (I suck at these): Jenessee goes on a solo vacation after the release of her first novel. She got a little more than she bargained for when she gets snowed in with her biggest celebrity crush.

Warnings: Fluff but what’s new?

A/N: Because I have slight OCD, I decided to write just one more chapter so this series can be an even 10 parts. Now I can put this story to rest at last. Thank you for reading this series. It means more to me than any words could say.

night one. || day one. || day two. || day three. || day four. || day five. || day six. || last day. || one year later. || epilogue. || bonus. ||

three years later…

Light buzzing of the airplane’s engines fill the air as it flies us through the air to an unknown destination. My wonderful man has refused to tell me where we are currently flying to, ever the lover of surprising me.

The last five years have been the hardest but most rewarding of my life. After my relationship with Tom became public, my life changed overnight. Suddenly, everyone wanted to know who I was, where I came from, and everything that was happening in my life. My followers and book sales skyrocketed after the Late Late show which thrilled my publicist to no end. Every media outlet wanted to interview me and do a story of “the woman who snatched one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors.” I had interview after interview having to repeat our love story countless times for everyone who asked. It grew tiring but I was also exhilarated. I finally got the opportunity to boast about how amazing Tom truly was. The fans got a glance at the man behind the mask, so to speak.

Wherever I went, people would follow me and want to take pictures and ask me questions about Tom. At first it was overwhelming. There were a lot of difficult days following. Especially when I read the negative comments and reactions. I knew there would be and I tried to brace myself for the worst possible thing anyone could say about me but nothing could have prepared me for the real thing. Faceless people calling me a gold-digger among other comments on my appearance, saying I’m using Tom for fame and how we made up the story for publicity claiming that since I’m a writer I could “spin anything to make it sell.” It seemed to be never-ending. Every time I tried to focus on the positive, supportive people one of the negatives would pop up and ruin any sense of confidence I had built.

Tom would try and distract me from it as best as he could, but when he wasn’t physically there with me, nothing could shake the depression it would send me into.

After a few months, I had had enough. I disabled the comments on my Instagram posts and turned off all notifications for all social media. I no longer wanted the negativity to take over my life as it had.  It was also having an adverse effect on my relationship. That was our first hurdle that we faced together. He didn’t want to tell me what to do, knowing I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself no matter how much he wanted to protect me, but he finally drew the line. He made a statement on his social media, telling the fans he loves so much to stop with the outrageously false comments, to consider my feelings and how their words affect me when they start typing, and that if they weren’t going to be supportive of the woman he is choosing to spend his life with then they are not true fans of his. Following his statement was when I disabled everything. From that moment on, our relationship went back to how it was before we went public.

A pair of lips awoke me from my daydreaming. “How’s our littlest flier?” Tom’s baritone whisper invaded my ears but not disturbing the smallest passenger on the private plane.

I glance down at the sleeping 7 month old with my dark hair and Tom’s curls. “He’s sleeping like a champ as usual.”

He smiles proudly as he sits next to me, reaching for my hand. He plays with the rings that adorn my ring finger that he gave me 2 1/2 years and 1 1/2 years ago. “And how’s my beautiful wife?”

Memories of those two magnificent days always bring me the greatest joy.

Seeing him slowly go down on his knee in front of the fireplace at the Chalet, him declaring his “everlasting love” and how much his life has felt “more fulfilled since meeting me at the chalet,” how big of a surprise I’ve been to him, how much he’s loved every minute of our lives together, and how he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me. The pure love and joy he exhibited on his face the moment I said yes will forever be etched in my mind, making me fall in love with him that much more than I already was.

Hearing the words “I do” in the most confident manner with the biggest smile on his gorgeous features will also remain a constant memory of one of the best days of my life. The tan suit he wore, the stunning dress that I still love to this day, the warm sand under our bare feet, the sun setting behind us as our family and our closest friends watched us begin the next chapter in our lives.

A kiss to the back of my hand brought me back to the present, “She is confused as to where her husband is taking all of us.” I raise my eyebrow in question towards him eliciting a chuckle from his lips.

“You trust me, darling?”

“You know I do.”

He squeezes my hand in affirmation, “Then will you please believe me when I tell you that you will not be disappointed?” He places another kiss on the back of my hand, ending this discussion in the most gentlemanly way possible. Damn him.

I decide to trust him as I have since the day we met, resting my head on his shoulder, careful not to wake our most precious gift and catch some much needed sleep before we land in who-knows-where.

Upon the pilot’s message about our upcoming decent, I was instructed to put on a blindfold by my husband, adding to the surprise he has in store for us. I was hesitant, skeptical of being robbed of my site for the time being but I trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t let anything bad happen.

He took an anxious Bobby and our gray cat Sadie out as soon as the door to the plane was opened and put them in the awaiting car. Listening to him coo at our son who was undoubtedly upset about being removed from my lap melted my heart. I wish I could have seen it instead of just heard it.

“Alright, my darling, your turn.” He guided me down the steps of the plane into the chilly atmosphere before he gently placed me into a car. He hopped into the drivers seat and we began the second leg of our journey.

The drive was peaceful. He had soft music playing so it wouldn’t wake up the baby in the back and he probably thought I would want to sleep a little more, too. I happily accepted the heaviness again, taking full advantage of not having to fuss over my son.

I was awoken by his soft whispers, “you can take the blindfold off now, darling.” I sat up in my seat before untying it. In front of the car, I see a gate. Tom sticks his arm out the drivers side window, inserting a key into a keyhole effectively opening the gate. I look around and see the bright snow covering everything around. As he drives through the gate, I recognize the area immediately.

“When did the Chalet install a gate?” I ask Tom who has a shit-eating grin on his beautiful weathered face.

“Actually…” He trails off as we pull up to the Chalet and into a brand new garage built off to the side.

“Is this why it was under construction for so long?” I exit the vehicle, putting Bobby on his leash and grabbing Sadie’s carrier before rounding the car to the side Liam is on. Tom is already working to take his car seat out. Tom had told me right before we got married that the Chalet was under construction and would be for a few years. It broke my heart to know we couldn’t go there for our honeymoon, but where we did go was the most wonderful experience. Malaysia, Australia, and Bora Bora… the most fun and relaxing three months of my life. It was a God-send after the stress of planning a wedding and reception. We had a small ceremony with just us, our family, and our closest friends followed by a big reception a week later inviting everyone we know for a night of fun.

Tom ushered us up to the front door, unlocking the door with another key.

“When did Sal give you a key?” was my last question before we entered the building. My jaw dropped. 

Everything looked completely different. There no longer was a front desk, but a foyer with benches and cubbies for coat hooks like a mud room. It opened up to the grand living room that Tom and I have made many memories from sitting together while reading and writing to when we sat by the fireplace after my midnight breakdown the night before to when he proposed to me right in this very spot. 

The view of the mountain below still took my breath away even after all of this time and the many visits we’ve paid since that first time. As I took in the room I loved, I noticed the small details that weren’t there before. Pictures of us- me and Tom- from our first time here to our wedding day and our first family of three photos, solo pictures of Bobby, Sadie, and Liam I’ve taken over the course of the last few years. 

I also noticed a few pieces of furniture that weren’t here before. A papasan chair was placed in the corner just like our home in London had. It’s the best place to sleep when I have a headache and Liam loves sleeping with me in it. There’s a picture of one of those occurrences hanging above it as to remind me of the first few weeks he was born.

Tom appeared next to me, having Liam in one arm, he wrapped the other arm around my waist pulling me closer and whispered in my ear, “Welcome home, baby.”

“Wait, what?” I gasped as the realization hit me. I turned to meet his eyes, “You bought it?!”

“Sal was looking to retire and I said I’d take it off his hands. He gave me a great deal considering we were his favorites.” He kissed me tenderly before pulling back again. “I wanted this to be our home; a place we raise our family, make memories in. What better way to unveil the finished renovations by bringing us all and spending the holidays here?”

I wrapped my arms tightly around his waist, squealing in excitement. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I could call this place “home.” It’s always been a home away from home. Every time I would have to leave, I’d feel like I was leaving a piece of myself behind. But my wonderful, thoughtful husband made it happen. He made this place that holds a special place in both of our hearts into our dream home where we will raise our son and our future children, where we will start family traditions that will be passed down to our children when they have children of their own, a place where our families can come together for the holidays, birthdays, and vacations… a place to call home.

“Do you approve?” He purrs into my ear.

“Do I approve?” I ask incredulously. I pull back to face him, “This is one of the best surprises I could have ever asked for.” I place a quick kiss on his lips. “Thank you.” I turn my attention to our beautiful son who was wide awake now, “did Daddy buy us a new home?” My baby voice came out, “did he?” I took possession of him, kissing his scrumptious chubby cheeks repeatedly. Tom chuckled at how ridiculous I sound but he’s gotten used to it now. “We’re going to be so happy here.”

Tom brings us on a tour to show me all that was done to make it work for us as a family home. Two of the rooms were combined to give us the most incredible master suite I’ve ever seen, including a spa-like master bathroom and a see-through fireplace that connects the two.

Two of the other rooms were redone into bedrooms for Liam and a future child with closets and their own bathrooms. Two other rooms was changed into guest suites for family or friends who want to come stay with us.

But the most amazing surprise out of all of this was the last room was my dedicated writing space. A serene room including a desk, a bookcase that contained all of my books and my unfinished works, cups filled with my favorite kinds of pens, plenty of loose-leaf printer paper, other notebooks I’ve yet to use, anything I could possibly use or need. The real kicker was in what looks like a wardrobe was a Murphy bed. I had always said that my ideal office would include a Murphy bed because I do my best writing in bed. I spend most nights up until the wee hours of the morning writing and I didn’t want to keep my future partner awake with my habit. I couldn’t wait to get started.

The kitchen was converted into a beautiful chef’s kitchen with quartz counter tops with a gorgeous chevron backsplash, normal-sized stainless steel appliances, white cabinets and cupboards and a banquette that was build into the large island that could fit our growing family. It opened up to the living room and dining room now which made the space seem so much bigger than it already is.

I could picture Tom at the stove, making breakfast for us on Saturdays while I watch from either the island or on the couch in the living room. I could imagine both of our families flying around the room busying themselves with whatever dish they were in charge of for the holidays. I see Tom and I enjoying quiet midnight snacks while sitting on the island or on the floor and mid-day food fights like we had during our first encounter.

The gym was also revamped and the laundry room was scaled down to accommodate a family instead of a hotel. It was all so perfect. It felt like a dream, but it wasn’t a dream. It was our new reality.

As we start this new chapter in our lives in Colorado with our little family, I can’t believe how my life has turned out…

In six years, I went from a single, aspiring writer who just released her first book going on a solo vacation for solitude and inspiration to a best-selling novelist, the wife of one of England’s finest gentleman who also happened to be one of my biggest celebrity crushes, and the mother of his unbelievably adorable son.

Never in a million years would I have thought this was where my life would end up after being stuck with him in a beautiful secluded Chalet. Our time in seclusion would be the catalyst for the ride of a lifetime. Half a dozen years later with a painful, but eye-opening year separation, five more published books and book tours for me, five movies and long press tours for him, a long awaited wedding plus reception, and a beautiful baby boy later… here we are in the same Chalet we met converted into our dream home with our son, dog, and cat. Life couldn’t be better.

The holidays in our new home were better than I expected. Our moms fussed over Liam as much as they possibly could when they weren’t concerned with cooking for all of us. When they weren’t all over him, Tom’s sisters were. It gave us some much-needed alone time in our brand new master suite. To say we took full advantage of our built-in babysitters was an understatement.

Thanksgiving came and went far too quickly. Our moms stayed after wanting as much time watching Liam discover something new every day and spoil him as much as they can since neither of us live close to our families with his in England and mine in the states. Our busy schedules don’t allow for us to see them as often as we’d both like. But ever since Liam was born, we’ve both taken tons of time off- no movies, no press tours, no auditions, no publication meetings- and we’ve gotten the opportunity to see them more.

By Christmas though, Tom and I were ready for it to be over so we could go back to our normal. We love our moms, more so now that we have our own child, but they were beginning to become “smothers.” Thankfully by Christmas Eve, Tom’s sisters were back and they could focus on more than just us. That night we decorated the tree with ornaments from our respective childhoods and the ornaments we made to commemorate Liam’s first Christmas and our first as a family of three. We drank cider and eggnog around the fireplace as we watched the snow fall, sharing stories of our favorite memories and our most memorable present. Christmas morning was full of excitement with our nieces and nephews tearing open their presents and Liam wanting nothing to do with his. For dinner my mom’s famous Swedish meatballs were made and devoured by everyone. Our family’s Jell-O dessert with strawberry Jell-O with strawberries added, whipped cream and pretzels was a big hit with the whole family, even Liam had a small taste and he continued to suck on Tom’s finger trying to get every last morsel of flavor. It truly was a day of merriment.

The next day the chaos had ebbed. We finally got back to our quiet household with our routine. We spend New Years Eve watching the fireworks through the multi-story, floor-to-ceiling windows. A picture perfect site made for the best New Years I had ever had.

By the time we were leaving in mid-January because Tom was due on set for his first movie after the baby, we discovered our family was going to gain another member.

When the holidays came around again, our daughter Julia was the apple of everyone’s eye who met her, completing our already-perfect family. She has Tom’s ginger locks and her blue-turning-green eyes are like mine but so much more to die for. She has the sweetest temperament, just like her brother. I can tell already that they completely adore each other. I can’t wait to watch Liam be the protective big brother I always wanted growing up. With a father like Tom, I know he will be the best man- sensitive, caring, soft- everything I love about him. Julia will be the most headstrong and stubborn woman just like me. For now though I’m good with them staying my babies.

As I sit in the papasan chair in the corner with my sweetest little girl sleeping in one arm, I have a pen in the other hand. Words were flowing out of me as if a levee had just given way. Finally getting some peace and quiet after the busy holiday season, I’ve had time to come up with an idea for my next book.

“I see some things never change.” I look to see the love of my life standing where the doorway used to be, where he said those exact same words to me after our year separation. This time however, he was holding our son on his hip, matching smiles on both of them. My handsome boys.

I can’t hide the smile that seems to be a constant on my face nowadays, “But would you really want them to?”

His smile grows bigger as he makes his way over to me, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss on my lips. He pulls back a hair and whispers, “Never,” in the huskiest tone instantly reminding me of the God of Mischief. 

I can’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl when he talks like that. This man still gives me butterflies even after all these years. He still makes my heart race every time he looks at me or touches me. I still get goosebumps when he tells me he loves me, which is multiple times a day. I still love him- I’m still IN love with him- even more than I was yesterday but less than I will be tomorrow. I sigh in complete and utter contentment.

Meeting at this Chalet was the best decision we both could have ever made. The blizzard that stranded us here was the best thing in the world that could have happened to us. I can’t wait to see what the next chapter of our lives has in store for all four of us.

.

the end.

.

Taglist: @the-marvel-wars​ @elusive-beauty​ @drakesfiance​ @im-a-slut-for-an-accent​ @fantasy-is-my-reality​ @hiddlephile​

#meet me at the chalet #tom hiddleston #Thomas William Hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x female!reader #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston series #mmatc

[ryder-s-block]

Jaig Eyes (Ch 43)

Jaig Eyes (42/?)

Summary:

Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she’s involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?

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Chapter Forty-Three: The Monastery

The only word I could use to describe the structure I was currently climbing was ‘monastery.’ I wasn’t sure if that’s what it truly was, but the feeling was there. The grand halls and towering staircases. The solemn sense in the air. 

And the power that dwelled there.

I scaled the last staircase to find myself in a long room. At one point, I might have called it a throne room. But I’d seen enough temples in the past months of traveling and learning that it was a greeting hall...as well as a meditation room.

The looming figure of an old man rested at the far end of the blue tinted room. He was kneeling on a raised pedestal, two statues of creatures I’d never seen on either side. His eyes were closed, but I felt his presence. He was incredibly strong with the Force. Almost...made out of it entirely. 

I drew a pistol slowly, carefully moving down the long hall towards the figure. He didn’t open his eyes, but I knew he felt me there. He let me get to the edge of his pedestal before his eyes opened, revealing bright blue eyes that almost seemed to be glowing. 

“I did not call you here,” he said. He wasn’t incriminating, nor hostile. He was just making a statement in a gentle tone. But power resonated behind it, his voice sounding almost layered.

Slowly, I let my pistol drop to my side. I did not feel threatened by this man. “I’ll assume you’re the Father,” I mused aloud. “Your daughter already told me that you didn’t call me.” After a beat of silence, I allowed myself to sit down across from the man, my legs folding together.

To my surprise, the Father gave me a small smile. His face was covered in wrinkles, a long grey beard falling down his chest. His garments were extravagant and expensive looking, but something told me he didn’t purchase them. 

“You are very young, considering the knowledge you have attained.”

My eyebrows lifted. “What do you mean?”

“You hold an understanding of the Force many of your world no longer possess.”

I watched the old man closely, feeling him out with both my eyes and the Force. Before answering, I let my senses stretch to the world itself, my gaze examining the pedestal he rested upon better.

“Your daughter,” I thought aloud, glancing up at one of the statues, the stone a bright white. “She follows the Light, but within you, I sense both.”

“As there is within yourself. Still, you have yet to call me a sith.”

I glanced down at my hands as I holstered my weapon. “Things are not always so rigid. A friend taught me that.”

“Another force wielder, I assume. Like myself.”

I smiled to myself, thinking of the massive being I’d found on Atollon. His teaching methods had been...interesting. But they produced results all the same. “Yes. He was old. Ancient, even.” I regarded the being before me again. “Though I feel you are even more so.”

“Yes,” the Father allowed, giving me a smile. “I am the balance between my daughter,” he gestured to the white statue before turning to the one on his other side--an imposing figure of black stone. “And my son. My children and I can manipulate the Force like no other. We withdrew from the temporal world and live here as anchorites.”

I looked away. “I wouldn’t like that.”

“It’s a sanctuary. And a prison,” the Father allowed. “I suspect your abilities in the Dark Side drew my son to you.”

“Your son? Did he call me here?”

“He must have,” the Father thought aloud as he stroked his beard. “His power is only growing as mine weakens. When I used my abilities to call out to the Chosen One, he must have reached out to you.”

“Why me?”

“My son, as he is tempted more and more by the Dark, yearns to escape this world.”

I tilted my head. “Why can’t he? Why must he stay here? Why must any of you stay here?”

“Because the very Force of the universe flows through this place,” the Father explained, rising slowly with incredible grace. “If balance is lost here, it is lost in your world as well. Should my son leave, he would wreak havoc on your world.”

I found myself grateful that I thought to disable my ship before leaving it. “I still don’t understand what that has to do with me. Wouldn’t he need this Chosen One?”

“Yes,” the Father agreed. “Though your connection to ancient Dark powers surely piqued his interest. Should he fail to coerce the Chosen One, he may resort to you.”

I lifted my eyebrow. “He won’t be getting anything from me.”

“Do not underestimate my son. He is clever and incredibly powerful.” The Father’s eyes lifted to the doorway I had entered through. “The Chosen One is arriving with his friends. They will be here soon.”

My breath hitched in my throat, my nerves setting ablaze again. “I would leave,” I offered. “But my ship is missing.”

The Father watched me a for a moment, thinking. I could feel him searching my thoughts. “No. While I did not call you here, your connection to the Chosen One and your views of the Force may help him realize his destiny.”

“Why do you think Anakin is the Chosen One?” I asked, trying to deter the whole situation. 

“You do not?” He seemed genuinely curious about my viewpoint, though I decided I was unlikely to change his mind.

“Someone tried to offer me a prophecy before. Tried to get me to fill a role I didn’t want.” I looked sideways, avoiding his intense gaze. “I don’t think prophecies are real. They’re stories that we do our best to abide by.”

The Father hummed in mild amusement. “Perhaps. But it was foretold that the Chosen One would come here. That he would bring balance. He must take my place and control my children.”

“Take your place? Anakin won’t stay here. I know him well enough to say that.” 

“If he realizes his destiny, then he will.” I knew that the Father would be disappointed when Anakin inevitably told him to go screw himself. The old man watched me for a moment before sighing. “Whether or not my son brought you here, the Force is what willed you to be here. All will take place as it should. The Chosen One will arrive by nightfall. Until then, please,” He gestured to a doorway leading from the meditation room. “You are my guest.”

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

“Your imbalance is terribly loud,” the ancient creature said from where he sat amongst the coral-like landscape of Atollon. “You must be empty. There is only the Force.”

I grunted as I sat before him, meditating as he instructed. “Except there isn’t. There’s other people. And my club. And my work. My ship. The war.”

Bendu hummed, his voice reverberating on the quiet world. “Yes. But I do not speak of the imbalance in the universe. I speak of that which is within you.”

I opened my eyes, sighing. “How can I balance myself when I have to consider all those things?”

“When you are fighting as a hunter, do you fear for your life?”

“Of course I--” I stopped myself, thinking. “No. I don’t.”

“Where does your focus lie then?”

‘On…surviving. On keeping both myself and others alive.”

Bendu hummed again. “You find a balance.”

“That’s still motivated by fear, though. Fear of failure. Even if death doesn’t frighten me...losing others does.”

“Perhaps,” my friend allowed. “All creatures fear death, save those that are assured in the Force. This jedi that you learn from, for instance,” he explained, referencing Qui-Gon, who I had told Bendu about. “Has experienced death, but found a new life through the Force.”

“Not everyone can do that, though,” I argued.

“No. Though we are all connected through the living Force, not all can wield it.” 

I breathed slowly. “So how do I really find a balance? Live in the Bendu as you do?”

The ancient being smiled at me, shifting in his massive form. “You have eyes and scanners, but cannot truly see.”

I arched my brow. Having been on the planet for a few days, I’d learned that while Bendu was rather blunt, he had good intentions. “And what does that mean?”

“When you first arrived, did you scan the planet?”

“Of course I did.”

“And what did you find?” Bendu leaned forward, his deep grey eyes alight with interest. 

I shrugged. “It’s not inhabited by any sentient beings, besides yourself, of course. There’s plenty of fauna, both above and below ground.”

Bendu hummed. “What of the creatures below ground?”

“I don’t know.” I was struggling to follow what he was talking about. “There were tunnels beneath the stones with massive creatures inside. I decided not to look into it.”

“And why not?”

I leaned backwards, letting my spine relax. “In my experience, most creatures that live underground just try to kill me.” I felt Bendu watching my mind as I thought of Geonosis and Vanqor. 

“Tell me, did I appear on your scanners?”

I thought for a moment. “No. I only found you when you called to me.”

“Because your imbalance woke me from my slumber. Don’t you see? Your scanners did not see me. Even your eyes betrayed you when you first answered my call. Only through the Force did you truly see me.”

He was right, of course. As he so often had been the past few days. When I had first heard his voice in my mind, I pursued it. Part of me was just curious. Another wanted to be sure I wasn’t walking into another situation like I had with Darth Bane. 

“So...are you saying that these creatures below ground are sentient like you?”

Bendu smiled. “No. But like me, they are not what they first seem to be. You must truly see them to be able to understand.”

I watched him carefully as he pointed to a hole in the ground not far from us. “Go in.” I sighed lowly, breathing out through my nose. I rose slowly, my fingers tapping restlessly on my blaster as I walked into the cave. “You will not need that,” Bendu called after me.

I hummed, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Whenever someone says that, I usually end up needing it.”

Bendu frowned at me, but allowed me to walk into the cave with my weapon anyways.

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

I shot upright not because the memories stopped flowing within my dreams, but because I felt a presence in the room. I rolled immediately, finding my pistol and training it on the dark corner of the room. 

After being fed by the Father, he had led me to a simple bedroom with a tall window that looked out over his domain. The room was dark at the moment, save for the dim light streaming in past the rain.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, revealing a familiar looking helmet and beskar armor. Every part of me screamed to pull the trigger. But I couldn’t. The blue and silver armor were exact. Enough to make me believe that just maybe...it was possible.

“You’re...you’re dead,” I whispered hoarsely, my hand shaking as I gripped the pistol.

“Nothing ever really dies, ad’ika.” The voice, though modulated through the helmet, was identical to that of the man I once called father.

“J-Jango?” I breathed, my pistol falling to my side. The bounty hunter before me removed his helmet, revealing the scarred face of Jango Fett. His expression was sad, but his eyes were warm as he regarded me. “Buir?” 

“Kida,” he greeted with a small nod. “I have a secret to tell you.”

When he spoke those words, something shifted in my gut. Something felt wrong, his speech almost echoing as the Father’s had in the monastery. My hand curled a little tighter around my pistol, but I kept it at my side. “Then tell me.”

“Everything you’ve done. Everything you’ve been through. Has brought you here. To this moment.”

“And what moment is that?”

“Where you decide your role in the fate of the galaxy.” I took a half step backwards as Jango tried to come closer.

“Who are you? Jango is dead.”

“As is the jedi you spoke with before.”

“That’s different,” I argued, squinting against another flash of lightning. “He was a Force wielder. Like whatever you are.”

Jango hummed, watching me. “You once blamed yourself for my death.”

“I don’t anymore.”

“Did you avenge me?”

I hesitated, watching his face. I knew it wasn’t Jango, but seeing him. Hearing him ask that question...it almost broke me. I took a long breath. “There was nothing to avenge. Your actions and involvement in the war brought you to your death. Not me.”

“Yes, this war,” Jango mused. “Don’t you want peace? A galaxy without war?”

“Of course.”

“Then there is something you must do.” I stared at him, my knuckles turning white around the grip of my gun. “The Chosen One is here, but he resists his role. You once did the same, did you not?”

“I am not the Sith’ari,” I declared firmly. “And you are not Jango.”

“No,” the being allowed, pacing the room. As he moved, I saw the face of my mentor melt away to reveal pasty white skin with red eyes and a black robe. “But you could still tip the balance in my favor here.”

I lifted my pistol, aiming it at his chest. “Who are you?”

The being glowered at me before hissing, “Your fate!” The room flashed with lightning, the man morphing into a horrible creature with wings. He looked like the statue I’d seen in the Father’s sanctuary. I screamed, pulling my trigger. But by the time the bolt illuminated the room, the man was gone.

I rushed from the room, pistol still in hand, but he was nowhere to be found. Disturbed and no longer wishing for rest, I donned my gear and headed back through the halls where I knew the Father was still meditating. As I walked, I felt another presence. One I knew.

Anakin.

I was silent as I entered the meditation hall, my stomach lurching when I saw the young Jedi Knight. He had drawn his blue saber, holding it daringly close to the Father’s nose. Yet, the Father had yet to react, his face placid in meditation.

“Cannot sleep?” the Father asked, never even opening his eyes. “To strike an unarmed man is hardly the Jedi way.”

“You’re a Sith Lord,” Anakin returned, growling the words. I began to step into the room slowly, my hand relaxing away from my holstered pistol.

I knew the Father felt me, but he continued to address Anakin as if I wasn’t there. “You have a very simple view of the universe. I am neither sith nor jedi.

The Father opened his eyes. “I am much more...and so are you.”

“I see through your spells and visions, old man,” Anakin declared “Tell me what is going on here!”

“Skywalker, enough,” I called from the shadows, stepping forward as Anakin became more aggressive. The man turned my way only briefly, unsure what to believe. He seemed confused. 

I had to admit, I looked different. The same scars still littered my face, but now it was framed by hair that reached my chin. Most of it was pulled back in a small ponytail, but some had fallen out during my restless sleep.

Before Anakin had a chance to respond to my presence, the Father reached up, curling his gnarled digits around Anakin’s lightsaber. He stood, still holding the blade easily. “Some called us Force Wielders,” he explained, pushing the top of the blade to disengage the weapon.

Anakin glanced at his lightsaber hilt in confusion before declaring, “The Jedi have never spoken of this.”

The Father hummed as I stepped further into the light, Anakin glancing at me warily. “Few still know of our existence.”

“In that room,” Anakin said, pointing towards the dormitories I had emerged from as well. “My mother came to me. But it was not her. It was something else.” He seemed angry, his emotions in turmoil.

I decided to enter the conversation again. “I had a visitor as well,” I announced, crossing my arms to look at the Father. “I assume that was your son?”

The Father stroked his beard. “I suspect. We can take many forms. The shapes we embody are merely a reflection of the life force around us.” He glanced at me. “You both carry great sadness in your hearts.”

Anakin glanced at me briefly, but I refused to meet his gaze, instead watching the Father descend from his meditation platform. He launched into an explanation as he had given me earlier that day, describing their power and how they chose to live here, instead of living as part of the galaxy.

“As a sanctuary?” Anakin asked, calming down slowly.

The Father looked sad. “And a prison. You cannot imagine what pain it is to have such love for your children and realize that they could tear the very fabric of our universe.”

“I don’t...understand.” I stepped forward to stand a bit closer to Anakin. Maybe it was the confusion in his words. But something within him called for comfort. I wasn’t sure I could provide it, considering how long it had been since we talked. But Anakin and I had left on good terms. At least, I felt that way.

“It is only here that I can control them,” the Father explained. “A family in balance, the light and the dark, day with night, destruction replaced by creation.”

Anakin glanced at me, earning a shrug. “Then why reveal yourselves to us? And how did you get here?” The last question was for me.

“Your friend was drawn here, same as you. The Force has willed it to be so.” The Father turned away for a moment, getting solemn. “There are some who would like to exploit our power. The Sith are but one. Too much dark or light would be the undoing of life as you understand it.”

“The Bendu,” I muttered, earning raised eyebrows from the room. Still, what the Father said made sense. My friend on Atollon had said similar things.

“When news reached me that the Chosen One had been found,” the Father continued. “I needed to see for myself.”

All eyes were on Anakin now. “The Chosen One is a myth.”

The energy in the room shifted as the Father seemed almost amused. “Is it? I should very much like to know. Why don’t we find out together? Pass one test, and I shall know the truth.”

The Force rippled with a sense of foreboding. I hoped Anakin felt it too. 

“Then,” the Father explained, waving his hand to me. “You and your friends may leave.”

I frowned, remembering the Father’s wishes for Anakin to stay and take his place. While I appreciated the man’s view of balance, I also knew what living in the gray meant. It meant that while things were often done for good, bad things could happen in order to maintain balance. Thus, the being before us may very well have sinister intentions.

While I felt no real threat from him, I felt anxiety for what was to come. The Force whispered in my ear, telling me to get Anakin and get out of there.

The Father turned without another word as Anakin silently conceded to participate in this test. He glanced at me as he moved to follow, his eyes expectant. I sighed lowly, falling into step with him as we followed the Father through the labyrinth of halls. 

“You certainly took my words to heart,” he commented out of the blue, earning a raised brow from me. “I told you to be careful,” he clarified. “You haven’t been seen by nearly any Republic informants.”

“Nearly?” I asked, glancing sideways at him with a small smile. “Could have sworn I avoided all of them.”

“Not all,” Anakin said, returning the smile. “We heard about your doing some work on Nal Hutta, Cato Neimoidia, and even Naboo. Daring of you to go to Republic planets, by the way.”

“I was on Coruscant, too,” I commented. “I do have a club there.”

“Yeah, but you were never seen in it,” he grinned. “Clones still go there, you know.”

I hummed. “So, are you going to try and get the bounty on me, then?”

“Bounty?” Anakin chuckled. “The Republic removed the bounty on your head a long time ago.”

That nearly made me trip over my own feet. I looked over the jedi in blatant confusion. “Removed it? But Hondo…” Then again, I’d last seen Hondo back when I was training under Darth Bane. That had been months prior. I breathed slowly. “Who lifted it?”

“Well, Padme fought pretty hard for you in the Senate. But the Council proposed it.”

My heart lifted, just a fraction. “I’m...glad to hear they don’t want me dead.”

“They never did. Obi-wan and I never would have let that happen.”

I gave Anakin a genuine smile now. “Thank you. You look good. I like your new robes.” I earned a chuckle from the jedi.

“Yeah, you too. You seem...different.”

I shrugged. “I am different. I’ve learned a lot.”

“Did you figure out what you had to? What was speaking to you?”

I hummed. “All in good time, Skywalker.” Despite trusting the man I once called a friend, I didn’t want to immediately jump out and disclose my dealings with a Sith Lord. Not after learning the bounty was lifted. I sobered slowly as the Father led us towards a huge door, the morning light beginning to pour through. “Anakin, I have to warn you. I don’t understand what these beings are, but they want you to be the Chosen One.”

“It’s a myth,” Anakin assured.

“Believe me,” I sighed. “I’d be the first to tell you that prophecies can be wrong or misplaced...but the Force’s will rings true. And everyone knows you’re incredibly strong with the Force.”

The jedi hummed to himself, determination rippling from him. “I just need to take this test and then we can all go.”

“Maybe,” I commented as we exited the sanctuary into what looked a bit like an arena. “But I sense something coming, Skywalker. Something dangerous.”

He didn’t have a chance to respond as the Father turned to look at us. “You must stay here,” he said, pointing to me. He then turned and carefully floated down from the platform to enter the arena.

Anakin glanced at me at the edge, ready to follow. “Be careful,” I called after him. He gave me a nod before leaping down after the Father.

I watched from above as they moved to the center, the floor decorated to portray balance between light and dark.  I knew better than to follow. I’d just watched the Father grab a lightsaber without flinching. What could I do against his wishes?

“It is time you faced your guilt,” he said to Anakin, his voice reverberating up to me. “And know the truth.”

A screech drew our gazes skyward, showing two terrible creatures flying above us. One glowed with light, the other darker than the night sky. They were the statues that rested beside the Father’s meditation platform.

The Son and Daughter. In the form of these...creatures.

And in their talons, were Obi-wan and Ahsoka. The children set themselves and their prey on the ground on opposite ends of the arena, each facing Anakin. 

The Son let out a terrible screech, the hair raising on my arms. “Whatever it wants,” I heard Ahsoka yell from the Son’s grasp. “Don’t do it, Master!”

“Let them go,” Anakin demanded. “I will not play your games!”

The Father chuckled. “Oh, but I think you will. I have ordered my children to kill your friends. The question is…” The Father disappeared from the arena, making me jump as he appeared beside me again. “Which one will you choose to save? Your master? Or your apprentice?”

I moved up beside the Father, hand touching my pistol again. “This is insane,” I declared, teeth grinding. “You said they could go free!”

The Father ignored me and I knew I stood no threat to him in that moment, weapons or not. “You must now release the guilt and free yourself by choosing!”

“No!” Anakin screamed.

“Their powers are too strong for us, Anakin,” Obi-wan called. “Save Ahsoka!”

“Let them go!” Anakin demanded.

“Only you can make my children release them,” the Father responded adamantly. I stepped forward to the Father, training my weapon on him.

“This is ridiculous. You will not murder these jedi.” The Father waved his hand dismissively, my pistol flying from my grasp to clatter across the hall. With a growl, I moved to jump down into the arena, my fingers reaching back to draw the lightsaber. While wielding it felt wrong, the kyber screaming in my mind...I wasn’t going to let them die for this sick test. I couldn’t.

But just as my feet left the platform, I was thrown back onto it, my breath pushed from my chest. “Stay here,” the Father demanded, his voice bellowing. I felt his power over me, keeping my in place, my pistol having flown from my grasp.

“Anakin!” I heard Obi-wan scream from below. “The planet is the Force. Use it!” Perhaps Kenobi believed his former padawan was the Chosen One, too.

It only took a moment for me to feel the power resonating through Skywalker. I felt him focus himself, his signature rippling through the planet’s very core. When he spoke, his voice was layered, as the Father’s had been.

“You will let them go!” he yelled, thrusting his hands outwards to send a shockwave through the ground. He lifted both children in the air, forcing them to drop their prey, before throwing them hard against the arena walls. Above us, the sky shifted rapidly between night and day, the wind howling. The designs on the arena floor began to glow, sparkling like the night sky.

The Father’s grip loosened on me, but I was no longer trying to leap into the arena. If anything...it seemed like Anakin had things under control. As the creatures found their footing again, they returned quickly to stalking their prey.

Anakin would have none of that. “Down!” he screamed, dragging both of the children away from his friends. He pulled them before him, forcing them to the ground. “On your knees!” The arena shook with power, lightning flashing. The creatures melted away, revealing their humanoid forms, both panting and kneeling in defeat. 

As Anakin calmed, the sky stopped shifting, returning to the early morning sun. The Father floated down the the arena, my own feet leading me after him in a moment. “Now you see who you truly are,” the Father expressed as he approached Anakin. “Only the Chosen One could tame both my children.”

Anakin was out of breath, everything about his demeanor showing how exhausted he was. “I’ve taken your test. Now fulfill your promise and let us go.”

“Ah, but first, you must understand the truth,” the Father argued, earning a frown from me. “Now, all of you, leave us.”

My frown deepened, watching as Ahsoka leaned closer to her master. “Do not trust him.”

Skywalker gave his padawan a look. “You think?”

“I said leave us,” the Father repeated with more power. I gave the Force-wielder a once over before conceding to the command, following Ahsoka and Obi-wan from the arena. The Son and Daughter were right behind us.

We entered the next room in unsure silence, my gaze sliding over the horizon, watching the plants receive new life with the morning. I could feel eyes on me.

“I told you to leave,” the Daughter said finally, her expression angry.

I glanced her way. “I tried, princess. But someone moved my ship.” I growled my words at her, but she seemed nothing short of surprised. Her eyes cut to her brother, who was doing his best to stick to the shadows of the room. My own gaze moved over to the young Togruta. I could tell she wanted to say something, but was unsure. We hadn’t seen each other since she’d saved me from Aurra. 

She’d grown over the last year. Her montrals and head tails had grown longer, resembling more of what her species was so well known for. She’d changed her outfit--thank the Force, really. She looked good. More sure. Strong.

“I heard you took down Aurra,” I said finally, my voice as light as I could make it. “Good job.”

I wondered briefly if I was going to get a sassy remark from her. She was always good at those. Instead, after a brief moment of thinking, she met my gaze with her piercing blue eyes...and smiled.

“You would have loved how surprised she was to lose.”

I chuckled lowly, crossing my arms. “You look good, Tano. I like your new look.”

Her gaze trailed over me. Apart from some upgrades to my armor, nothing was really changed. Beskar--what I had of it, at least--didn’t fade in quality much over time. Her eyes flitted over my face, taking in the scars that still decorated my skin. My hair, now grown to about my chin, was pulled back in a ponytail. Still, some had fallen loose to frame my face while I slept, so it was obvious how much it had grown.

“Thanks,” she smiled. “I like yours, too.”

Finally, Obi-wan felt the courage to jump in. “Kida,” he greeted formally. “You’re looking well.” He had donned new robes as well, but looked otherwise the same. Tired, though. 

“Nice to see you, Obi-wan.” I sighed lowly. “I was pleased to hear from Anakin that the bounty from the Republic was lifted.”

The jedi looked uncomfortable. “Please understand, Kida. I never wanted to endanger you. I was only concerned--”

“I know, my friend,” I cut him off with a raised hand. “I understand you had your duties. And you had a right to be concerned. I was worried, myself.”

“You seem…” he struggled to find the words. “At peace.” 

I chuckled, taking them both off-guard. “No one is truly at peace in this war but the dead, Obi-wan. But I’ve found my balance.” I fixed him with a more serious look. “I’ve sorted my issues. I hope both you and the Council understand that I respect your Order, even if I don’t follow it. I’m no threat to you.”

Obi-wan watched me quietly for a moment before nodding. “I know. How did you get here?”

“Pulled here, same as you. They might have sensed my connection to Anakin and thought I might be useful.” I could feel that I was wrong in that sense. The Son was watching me closely. He felt the conflict in Anakin as I did. He even felt my own conflict. The constant pull of the darkness that I fought each day. It was so easy, under Bane...to give in to power. To feel unstoppable.

Living in the grey...the Bendu...I had power, but also restraint. Sometimes...as my powers grew...restraint grew...harder.

“Why did they make Anakin take these tests?” Ahsoka asked aloud, glancing over at the Son and Daughter.

I dropped my voice lower. “The Father wants Anakin to stay. To take his place and maintain the balance.” I looked to Obi-wan. “That is what the prophecy says, doesn’t it?”

Obi-wan seemed surprised that I knew it, but brushed it off. “Yes, it says he will bring balance to the Force. But staying here…”

“He won’t do it,” Ahsoka clarified, glancing over as Anakin began to walk towards us with the Father. “Right?”

“No,” I agreed. “But even if this is all over...this will stay with Anakin forever.” I hoped he wouldn’t feel guilty for leaving. This wasn’t his burden to bear…right?

“Time to go,” Skywalker said as he joined our group. I could feel his confusion. His unsurity. It made my chest ache for him. 

Our group, including the Father, followed us back through the monastery, climbing to a landing platform. To all of our surprise, both of our ships were there, waiting patiently to leave this place.

“So...with the bounty lifted,” Ahsoka started gently beside me. “Will we be seeing more of you?”

I hummed lowly, giving her a smile. “Maybe. We’ll see. There’s still some things I need to finish sorting out.”

She gave me a grin and a nod before ascending the gangway after Obi-wan. I glanced at my ship, then back at the Father. There were some questions I still held. Maybe he could help me understand what Bendu was trying to teach me better than I did.

“Ready to get out of here?” Obi-wan asked Anakin, who was standing contemplatively at the bottom of the gangway.

Skywalker glanced at his friends before looking back at me. “What will you do?”

“I think I’ll stay for a bit longer. There are some things I’d like to understand. Maybe the Father can help me.” He gave me a nod, obviously still unsure about his choice to leave. I forced a smile onto my face. “I’ll see you around, Skywalker.”

He entered his ship, the jedi shuttle lifting away easily to begin their exit from this strange place.

“You have questions,” the Father said, his voice sounding tired.

I looked over my shoulder at him, taking in his elderly form...and the dying life force within him. “Yes. I do.”

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

MANDO’A

Ad’ika-- little one

Buir-- father

#Clone Wars #star wars the clone wars #The Clone Wars #clones #Clone Troopers #captain rex #captain rex x oc #rex #star wars #star wars oc #oc star wars #fanfiction #Fanfc #fanfic #mortis

[nataliejoyart]

Unit Zero: Chapter One

This is chapter one of a story of mine: Unit Zero. It’s about a group of kids brought together by people who once protected the universe so that the honorable duty can be passed to another generation. It’s kind of long, but read it, and I think you’ll really like it.

“There’s a disturbance in sector nineteen, sir!”

“We’re in the middle of a siege, Felicia, I need you to be a little more specific.”

“The radar is picking up traces of a portal that opened up just long enough to throw some kind of mechanical device through. The heat signatures are high, and it’s the size of two horses.”

“It doesn’t sound like a pressing issue right now,” a man with dark skin and greying hair remarked, brown eyes flicking across the holographic battle statues littered across a large map. He moved a large, muscular arm as a robed servant sneaked up to the table with a glassy, glowing tablet and pushed some of the statues around the board. They also added a glowing red, rectangular object in the sector of the board marked “11”.

Another man, far leaner with pale skin and a thin face, argued, “Sector eleven is practically vacant of both the Tarantulas and our own forces! It could be an ambush. That could be a way to knock a hole in the wall!”

“The castle walls are far stronger than any mere explosive could knock through.” Another well-dressed delegate said. “Besides, something of that size without anyone to maneuver it won’t get very far with all those trees.”

“It could be remote-controlled.” The pale man retorted. “How do you think we lay siege on other kingdoms, Gregory?”

“Calm down, both of you.” The dark-skinned man said with a glare. Twisting around, he stared at another man’s back. A man draped in the finest forest-green robes, illuminated by the ginormous projection which he stared at, shifting things across it with diligence. His chocolate brown hair was ruffled, and his foot tapped with tired agitation. “Alexander?”

Without turning to address him, the robed man said shortly, “Send a small squadron. Whatever from nearby forces you can spare. Make sure they have a mechanic to disable whatever it is. Lucinda, do you have the report from Marcos yet?”

“Not yet, sir.” a woman called across the room, “He’s still silent.”

The dark-skinned man turned back to the holographic board. “Well, you heard him. Send a squad. Helena in sector twelve should be able to spare six for a short time.”

“Look. There.”

Six scorpions, each only as large as a quarter, lined themselves along a tree root, staring past the dense foliage. They stood mere feet from an accordian of burning metal painted black and white, red and blue flashing across the trees around them.

“Proceed carefully.” One of the scorpions said, climbing over the root and skittering in a wide circle around the metal. The others followed behind.

“Wait.” one said as they circled. “I know what this is. It’s a very old form of transportation. One of the first. I didn’t recognize it at first because it’s smashed.”

The scorpion wasn’t wrong.

A police cruiser singed everything around it, its front end smashed against a now-crooked tree. The windows had shattered and the doors were flung wide. It was a terrifying scene and the acrid smell of blood wafting from inside the cruiser, adding a morbid chill to the air. As the scorpions drew in closer, they could see the deflated forms of airbags in the driver and passenger seats. The dash was unrecognizable. But there were no bodies in the vehicle.

Rather, they were some seventy feet away.

The scorpions, hearing shuffling, came around the other side of the cruiser to find-

“Humans…” one of the soldiers chattered. “But what are they doing out here?”

There were two. A woman, with long brown hair and olive skin, hung over a man with short copper hair and a muscular build who lay unmoving on the forest floor. The woman lifted her head from the man’s chest, beginning to fumble with a roll of gauze. Both were beaten and bruised badly, the man with a now disfigured, bloody left leg and sticky, crimson hair. The woman continued to ignore a shard of shrapnel in her hip and the glistening piece of glass in her arm as she fussed over the battered man.

She twisted her head around, peering into the black forest.

“Is anyone there?!” she hollered. “Someone, please! I need help!”

Without waiting for a reply, she tore a section of the gauze from the roll and began tightly wrapping it around the man’s leg as it oozed with thick, crimson blood.

“Come on, Jeremy. Open your eyes…”, she muttered, looking around the forest again.

One of the scorpions chattered into a thin wire near its head, “This is the party for sector nineteen. A pair of humans crashed an automobile. What should we do now? Over.”

There was silence for a few moments, then a voice replied, “Do not engage. Return to sector twelve. Over.”

“Copy that. Over.” The scorpion gave the humans one last glance before turning and starting back. “We’re heading back.”

The scorpions turned their backs on the humans. They returned to the pressing war, ignoring the woman’s cries for help.

But the woman wouldn’t give up without help.

“Come on, Jeremy.” she hissed, lifting her shaking hand from his leg and watching in horror as blood gushed out, pooling out and soaking her knees. Ripping her belt from around her waist, she wrapped it around his thigh and pulled it as tight as she could, not waiting to see if the tide would ebb. She bandaged him tightly, glad to find nothing else was nearly as serious.

“SOMEBODY HELP!”

The woman stood, ignoring a pounding headache. Coughing up a clot of blood, she peered around her, past the trees. As the wind died, the rustling of the leaves hesitated and the faintest sounds of… something… drifted around her.

“What in the world is going on…?” she asked the trees, turning in lonely circles for a clue.

The man - her partner - shifted on the ground, shocking the woman from her trance. Crouching next to him once more, she sighed.

“You aren’t going to die here, Jeremy.” she grunted, beginning to heft him onto her far smaller figure. But the police academy had trained her for this. She would be fine… She could do th-

“Agh!” The woman crumpled, pain shooting through her right leg. But she grit her teeth and stood herself up again. You could see the pain in her wet, grey eyes as she threw everything behind her one last look before beginning to struggle forward into the black of the trees.

“The two humans from sector nineteen are moving inward towards the battlefield.” Felicia commented plainly.

The men surrounding the holographic board flicked their eyes over two red dots, watching as they made barely visible process away from the reportedly crashed automobile towards the castle.

“We should just eliminate them while Helena’s party is still nearby.” The pale man said.

“That could cause unrest if they don’t return from where they came.” Gregory commented with caution.

“Where did they come from, Felicia? Could you trace that portal’s signature?” The dark-skinned man asked, blinking sleep from his eyes.

“It was only open for a moment,” Felicia replied, “but it left traces from Dimension 90502.”

“Turn Helena’s squad around.”

The three delegates looked up in surprise at the sudden comment. A young man stood nearby, dressed in a black military uniform lined with silver. He appeared to be barely twenty, but carried a grand air around him. His eyes reflected his short-cropped brown hair and his face didn’t appear at all threatening. But the silver medallion of a dragon that hung from the pocket on his chest earned him the respect he deserved.

“But, sir.”, the pale man argued, “We are already stretched thin and-”

“Send Helena’s squad back and collect those humans.” The boy commanded sternly.

The dark-skinned man scowled, “Ambassador Tenney. You do not make decisions on this war council. Mind you place.”

“And you mind yours, Cadwallen.” the ambassador retorted. “The Scorpion kingdom is on good terms with Dimension 90502 and trust me when I say this war will last far longer should you not follow my orders.”

Cadwallen frowned. “We are in the middle of a war, Ambassador. We do not have the time nor the resources to deal with two wayward humans.” Before the boy could argue, Cadwallen continued, “However… I will compromise. Should they make it to the edge of the forest without dying… I will send a party to collect and take care of them.”

Ambassador Tenney seemed ready to argue again, but a call came from across the room for him. “Fine.” he agreed, walking away, “I will hold you to that.”

The delegates watched him walk away, Gregory commenting, “That was odd.”

“Yes…” The pale man narrowed his eyes, “He has never shown such concern for humans, let alone from other dimensions.” Shaking his head and turning back to the board, he chuckled, “He’ll be disappointed to learn in a few hours they were both found dead.”

“No one would be able to make it that far with the injuries they have.” Cadwallen agreed.

“Well, we could always clean up this mess early while Helena’s squad is still nearby.” Gregory suggested eerily. “No one would be surprised by two human deaths not far from their vehicle’s crash…”

“Gregory…” Cadwallen cautioned. “I will not agree to any such dirty behavior. Just let them bleed out as they walk. We have more pressing issues.”

But apparently the humans hadn’t bled enough.

They stumbled their way through the forest, the man nodding back to consciousness some twenty or so minutes into the woman carrying him. The pair stopped for some time when he did, but continued onward again.

“And what now, Cadwallen?” Gregory furrowed his brow, leaning with weary arms against the edge of the table. “They didn’t bleed out like you had hoped.”

When the dark-skinned man didn’t respond, the toll of the endless day’s work showing, Gregory scoffed and waved over a messenger.

“I want a squad out in sector eighteen as fast as possible. There are a pair of humans that need eliminating before any more trouble arises.” he grunted, watching as the messenger nodded and turned back. They had barely begun to rely Gregory’s order before turning back to him.

“Sir, a squadron is already making their way along there. They will reach the humans’ location in about three minutes should they keep their current pace.”

“Fine!” Gregory was becoming impatient. “Send them then, I don’t care!”

“But sir-”

“What?!”

The messenger swallowed. “It’s King Carl’s squadron.”

Gregory’s face fell, the color diminishing from his face. But he blinked and replied calmly, “Then please relay the information to them. And should they not be able to complete the task, send another group.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re almost… there…” The human woman heaved, her knees knocking as she struggled forward. The man leaned heavily against her, half-asleep but alive. His bandages were crimson now, not a fleck of white on them, and lines of blood ran down from them. But his wounds were no longer gushing.

The man didn’t respond, limply hanging onto his partner as she dragged him more than support him as they walked. But he did lift his hand as the distant sound of hooves pounding against the forest floor echoed through the trees. The pair stopped, turning in the direction of the sound, watching and waiting.

Suddenly, flashes of movement between the trees appeared, slight and hard to make out through the red haze of blood in their eyes. Just as the calvary descended upon them, riding on chestnut war horses and wearing dark green robes and polished silver armor, the humans had the sense to stumble out of the way. The woman gasped as a sword’s sharpened tip clipped her shoulder, and she almost dropped her partner. Looking up, her eyes flashed as she spotted a royal crest welded into the horsemen’s armor: a resting scorpion with elegant details but clearly recognizable.

The woman watched as one of the soldiers looped around again on their horse, sword still drawn. Her wide, grey, bloodshot eyes traced over the crest again, and just as the swordsman was crashing down upon them again, she held up her hand, shouting desperately, “I demand an audience with your king!”

The sword stopped, mere inches from her disheveled head. One of the calvary had his hand in the air, staring down his nose at the pair of humans.

“I am this land’s King, human.” he grunted, despair flashing through the woman’s eyes. The little bit of life left drained from her face as she turned to look up at him. “Truly, I do apologize. But sympathy does not belong in war.”

He nodded, bringing his hand up to his ear where a practically invisible communication device sat.

The swordsman’s blade reared back to strike once more. But the human man grunted, watching the soldier with swollen eyes. He shoved his partner back, almost collapsing as his weight returned to his crippled leg. He hissed through his teeth, but kept the pain in, grunting, “Go!”

Tossed into a bush, the woman’s vision spun, but she lifted her head to watch as the soldier brought his sword down towards her partner. Just as he did, she played her last, most desperate, vain card yet.

“Alexander Kokona!” she cried from the ground, her breath catching in her chest as she watched the sword halt again, this time with an aggravated jolt.

The King’s hand was up again, fiery eyes boring into the woman.

“I know… Alexander Kokona…” she gasped, swallowing hard.

There was brittle silence as neither person blinked. Only when the human man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he crumpled to the forest floor did anyone move.

The woman moved to help her partner, but froze as another sword was drawn.

An irritated snarl fell over the King’s face and he dropped the hand held to his earpiece.

“We’re taking them in.” he snapped, lurching his steed around as though in refusal to look at the pair of humans any longer. The soldiers hesitated, but as their king made off through the forest without them at a slow trot, they scrambled to follow his orders.

The two humans were rushed into the hands of some of the finest medical caretakers any dimension would ever see. Stretched thin by the war, methods were loose at the moment and practically everyone emitted needed ICU level treatment. The woman dropped out of consciousness shortly after watching as her partner was whisked away on a gurney, waking up some time later to the suffocating sounds of a quiet hospital room.

No one spoke to her about the words that had saved her and her partner’s lives. And she didn’t ask, either. It wasn’t until some thirty hours later that she was allowed out of her bed to check on the man she’d dragged to a now thin fence of safety. And it was as she stared through a window into his room that things started to brighten.

Ambassador Tenney made a point of following through with promises he made, whether to himself or others. However, he had learned quite a while ago that if he didn’t write those promises down, they likely wouldn’t ever come to fruition. Hence the leather-bound notebook clasped in his hands.

He trekked down the unusually silent hospital halls, his uniform feeling tight as the day’s end neared. He supposed it was more fitting to say his day was nearing an end, rather, as the clicking hands of a clock above him read 11:52PM.

“I already told you, this one isn’t anyone we know.” he groaned.

He wasn’t alone at this unsightly hour of the night. Another man walked next to him, a perfection reflection of the chocolate-haired man from the hall of the war council. However, unlike that man, his oval face held no square glasses and his broad shoulders bore barely a fiftieth of the responsibility that his brother’s did. That didn’t stop him from leafing through a pair of thin files with a mildly concerned frown.

“Perhaps not someone you would know.” he chaffed, “But I have more faces in here,” he tapped his temple, “than you’ve seen in seventeen lifetimes.”

The ambassador rolled his eyes. “You haven’t been outside the kingdom in nine years. And you’d barely been a member of modern society four years before that. No one you knew before that is alive now.”

“My brother is.”

“That is a special case, Steve!”

The vexed glare of a nearby nurse silenced the pair as the walked, speeding up their steps as they neared their destination.

“Either way, it’s little business of yours what I do in my spare time.”

“I never said that.” Tenney sighed, “But your brother did ask for you a little more than an hour ago.”

Steve waved a dismissive hand, “All he wants is to make sure I’ve stayed within the castle walls during this dull siege. He couldn’t care less about my advice.”

They turned another corner, stopping as a now wheelchair-bound man was rolled past them.

The ambassador nodded down the hall, saying, “They should be just down here.”

The pair turned into the dimly lit hall, the grim atmosphere becoming far heavier. Their pace slowed and they watched as several around them, whether in the hall or through windows into rooms, numbly sit and stare off into the distance at nothing in particular.

“This is him.” Tenney mentioned quietly, stopping in front of a room. A woman sat across the hall in a chair, bent over with her arms propper on her knees and long, bronze hair blanketing her face.

Only one man was inside the room, lying peacefully in the bed as monitors glowed around him, proving he still hung onto life. He had dusty brown hair that was sticky with blood and grime and a square face that was riddle with bruises and scrapes atop now-minor swelling. He was muscular and seemed to be healthy, besides his current condition. They stared at him for a couple minutes in silence.

Then Steve frowned as he looked through the window.

“I told you.” the ambassador sighed.

“No, it’s not…” Steve said, words trailing off dismissively. He looked up and down the hall, rolling out his shoulders uncomfortably. “I just thought…”

Tenney gave him an odd expression, “You’re freaking me out, man. What?”

The woman behind them shifted, and the pair glanced behind them, having forgotten about her, ducked their heads. They hadn’t meant to wake her.

She lifted her head, sitting up in the chair and brushing her hair back to reveal a round, freckled face. Misty grey eyes blinked a few times as they adjusted to the light, and she looked up at them, puzzled. As her sight cleared, her eyes flashed as she watched the two men.

“Sorry, ma’am.” the ambassador apologized sweetly. She stood, leaning on crutches and only coming up about five feet and looking even smaller in her oversized baby blue hospital gown. A patient. And one the pair recognized from her file. She was the other human from dimension 90502. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, that’s alright.” she replied quietly with a small smile, voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t be sleeping down here anyway. You’d think being in and out of hospitals I would know the basic rules.”

“Are you a nurse?” Tenney asked, already knowing the answer.

She shook her head, “I’m a police officer.” she let out a devastated laugh, gesturing to the solemn hall they stood in, “Although, obviously not from around here.” She scoffed in reference to the strange world she and her partner had been thrown into.

Ambassador Tenney glanced at Steve, who hadn’t said a thing which wasn’t exactly in character. He was staring at the woman with an odd expression, like he couldn’t figure her out.

Ignoring Steve, the ambassador held out a hand, “I’m Ambassador Kyle Tenney. Might I ask your name?”

The woman took it, her face dropping for a moment. But a genuine smile slid across her face as she replied, “I’m sure you already know it.”

Kyle’s face became puzzled. But before he could say anything, Steve answered.

“Natalie Smith.”

#UZ #story #fantasy #unit zero #writing #nataliejoyart #nataliejoystories #chapter one

[lordraveondagooseofdolallytap]

I assert ownership over this work

David Kitchen. March 24th 2020

 Working the line

I’m going south-east on the A14 to a municipal park on the far side of Ipswich. I get an info text a few days ahead from the events company but it’s only the core stuff: working hours, type of event, where it’s at and who is in charge. And a reminder if your fifteen minutes late, the company call it a no show.

After delays at every junction and crawling traffic in between, I make it to the park gates for twelve. Maybe 20,000 Ricky (Soul Man) Palmer fans will be showing up shortly. Who the hell pays a £100 to see him?

Just about all the jobs on-site are for day workers who, like me are on zero-hour contracts. They were somewhere else yesterday and won’t be here tomorrow. It’s pointless asking any questions because they will know nothing beyond the confines of their remit. So I show my ID and drive into the park looking for clues as to where I should go. The fans will be parking up here to catch buses to the concert location in town. My job is to get them parked and then point them in the direction of their onward transport. I figure if I can see a double-decker bus then I should head in that direction. My job will be nearby.

And after a couple of false starts, blocked roads and a lot of frantic driving that’s what happens. I find a hole in a fence, drive my car through and park up in line along with the others.

The ‘Event Manager’ calls me over. He is The Somebody in overall charge of controlling car movement for this event. I worked with him at the Grand National back in April when it rained solidly for all three days. I don’t expect him to recognise me but he does. I’m old, I’m tall and I’m fat and I live in Norfolk and look a little like Mussolini so maybe I stand out. He gives me an orange Hi-Viz jacket which won’t fit across my belly. Its ten minutes to ‘gates open’. He points me on to another supervisor who is organising the teams. It’s good to be remembered. This game is transient. Every day another crowd of people to work with and another boss but reputations stick.

There are five thousand cars about to come through the gates of this park. Our job is to guide them, slot them into a fast-moving queue, direct them into one of four fields, and then park them up with their front bumper just hanging over the white paint line in the grass and with enough space either side of the car for the doors to open. Not an inch more. We place the cars in doubles: that is a front row which will pull out forward at the end of the day, and a backline which will reverse out. Either way, there is just enough space for a medium-sized family car to pull out, straighten up in one go and drive away before they hit the next set of doubles. Mobile homes and vans go at the end of the row and we don’t like them. They make our lines messy and take up scarce free spaces

Speed and flow are what it’s about. Moving wheels mean happy customers. Stop-wait-go gets them tetchy.

The last bus from here into the city concert venue is at 7 pm. At just after eleven the same buses will bring the people back but it’s a simpler task: we just man the channels and deal with blockages. I tell my boss it’s a lot like plumbing. His eyes light up. I tell myself the man is shocked that someone else gets it. That’s how I think of it. A large occupancy building with tanks and pipes to be supplied, filled and empties. No mistake there is a science to this. We are not just men and women in Hi-Viz. We are your secret heroes. Working at the job I get nice remarks shouted out through car window. “Thanks for getting us out so quick”. Things like that.

Twelve men of us line up alongside the company van. We will be at the centre of the operation today. Tasks are allocated, it’s a little like picking teams for sports. They need someone at the gate, someone at the junction, then two teams of three for the actual parking, then two more workers to cover disabled parking and drop-offs plus two for break cover. That’s twelve, no spare capacity for now but there could be a lad coming in later for a 2-8 shift. “It’s going to be hell-of-a hot day, we will get you extra breaks out of the heat”. Welcome words that lift us a little.

I’ve only known the people around me for a short time. I know who I want to work with and who I don’t. Its instinct. Your day can be hell if you stuck with a weirdo or thick bastard, or somebody with a bad attitude. And it makes you look bad. And the heat will compound it, its forecast a high of 34c and it will feel like a lot more out on this shade-less dusty field. I’m wearing my floppy white bush hat. The interior has a brown-yellow sweat line running all around the middle of the crown. Disgusting. And its smells. I get nobody I wanted.

Three of us start in the direction of Field Number One. We sort out jobs along the way. Director, Pointer, and a Parker. In time all will get a turn of each but its best for the first in as a parker to do it for a while. The pointer is important but the parker is king. It all rides on their speed and skill.

Coming over the field at a half gallop is the old half Indian guy I met when we're both doing Stonehenge Summer Solstice parking. Then I saw him at Santa Pod Raceway for a few days. Stan’s his name. Works as a pair with his wife. Both are in their seventies. Got a great big motor home. He shouts over at me, “Hey it’s Septic. I’m on Disabled Parking. God, I thought you were from up north”.

I holler back “Twenty years in Norfolk now. Try and keep up. Catch you for stories later”. Stan’s a great storyteller. Travelling types him and his wife both. They call me Septic. I’m a Patrick but they misheard it the first time.

We, the people who do this job term the field a ‘panel’. That’s the phrase used. A panel is divided into two halves, left and right. Our group go to the endpoint of the first white line, in the upper outer corner of the right panel. This will be our beginning point for the day. Our parking line is fifty yards long. We will fill that and then do a second line directly behind that first row of cars, then jump and repeat as the new drivers pick their way in our direction. This we will repeat all day long till the stream of cars slows, becomes a trickle and then ceases.

For now, I will be The Pointer. A late-middle-aged man called Tim, with a very tentative way about him will be The Director. He goes back to the feeder track which is marked out down the middle of the panel by cones and plastic tape. As the cars roll toward him over a dirt track he will direct them with an (emphatic) arm gesture to make a diagonal route across the grass in the direction of where we will be filling the parking line. Drivers are sneaky. They try and park in the wrong places. Seeking some imaginary advantage for the end of the day. Tim the Director Man has to spot these delinquents, these black sheep and like a good shepherd get them back to where they should be. Tim seems lacking in life force and I wonder if he has the neck to manage the task.

I am The Pointer Man. At the approach of a driver, I raise both arms like a flag to signal my presence and progress to ‘come-hither’ movements with outstretched hands. Drivers panic and go blind sometimes but I am their keeper. When the target is fifty yards out I drop one arm and make a precise pointing gesture with the other. The cars take a ninety-degree turn and at that moment see they are on a straight-line approach to a perfectly presented parking space and I hope they get the feeling that a pilot might get bringing his plane into land. I like to think like that when I am parking cars.

Our ‘Parker’ for now is ‘No-Nonsense Sue’, a big girl in her early twenties with fleshy arms. She stands on the line and as a car approaches raise a finger and sternly points at her feet. I will soon wonder why she does not smile.

These automobile pilots give themselves away. Some have overly generous ideas of themselves and like to do their own thing, and at speed. One must be careful of them. Others are smooth and precise. Their cars glide in, front wheels exactly on the line and front bumper hanging over just as they ought to. They lean out and ask “am I right” and I say “yes that’s great” or “you’re a champion” or something but I know that Sue will just grunt and step along to the next space along. Then you have the drivers who panic and forget how to drive and come close to running you over. They are the reason for standing to one side when the car is ten yards out. Some drivers turn into headless chickens and their feet lose all memory of which pedal to depress. These are the people who can break your legs or crush your feet.

Our little team are all in place and ready: knowing once the first car comes in sight that will be the beginning and we shall not rest again today without permission. I get on the radio and in my most confident voice say. “Norfolk Boy to control, Team A in position and ready, over”

Five minutes pass and then Car Number One appears from behind a row of trees half a mile away. Even from this distance, it’s possible to sense the driver’s hesitancy until they spot The Panel Man at the first right-angle junction, and pick up speed. It’s like the layout becomes suddenly clear and they proceed confidently point to point to point. It’s so like the game where silver balls roll through channels and drop into holes.

Then there is a second car, this driver watches the first and follows suit, and then a third and so on. In a minute or two it’s a stream. At the endpoint, we accept the flow and take it in. Fluidity is the aim. They move like a stream but when they arrive the cars present to us like a tilting wave and only the smallest of hand gestures are needed to bring them in. No delays and as they say, a frictionless experience.

Our team of three moves down the panel like an old fashioned teleprinter then switches across to the left side and starts over.

Two hours later it’s up at 34c and feeling hotter and we are sweat-soaked and caked in dust. Weary legs of course, but our brains are feeling fried. The Supervisor Man has been around with bottled water. It shifts the dust in your throat but we are working flat out and need a respite from the sun most of all. The boss gets this and over the radio drafts in the six-hour chap, Ronnie to replace each of us in turn for half an hour so we can get into the shade and have a break: eat some energy foods and rehydrate.

Tim is most exposed to the heat and dust so he is sent off first. This allows a switch around. Sue goes out to Tim’s spot and Ronnie becomes The Parking Man. He wanted it.

I know his face. He did the heritage drag-racing event at Santa Pod but worked on a different panel. There was some kafuffle involving him but I am struggling to remember details and dismiss the mental alarm, then drift onto other thoughts. Men called Ronnie should not look like him. They should be in their mid-fifties, five feet ten, broad in the beam and be fans of Rugby Union and time in the bar. Ronnie’s that age but the rest is wrong. Spindly, excessively thin, angular and jerky of movement and everything a little too fast and intense. The sight of him made me uneasy. The tingling alarm in my brain is active again.

The Supervisor Man rolls over in a company van. One of the younger ones, an easy manner, burly, ruddy face, thick tufty red hair, looks like he should have been a hill farmer. His backstory, I find out later is the army and being unable to settle to anything afterwards. I learn this and more bits over the next few hours.  He goes from one event to the next all summer, working seventy hour weeks and sleeping in his motorhome. There are a wife and kids in Cheltenham. I ponder on how that might work.

He leaps off the front seat of the van like a latter-day cowboy “Hi how’s it going? I know.  You’re doing great. Everything flowing easy. No back up on the A14 or even at the roundabout outside the gate. The police are happy and that means the promoters are as well. It’s bloody hot so one of the girls went out and got us Ice-Pops. Put them in your pockets, till you have a chance. They will cool your balls off”.

All this is said while the cars are flowing, I’m a man that needs a hearing aid but this man’s voice carries and can be heard over anything else. “It’s just turned 2.30, between now and five is the peak, then by seven it’s all done with those going in. Then we rest till ten when they all come back and fingers crossed we get them all out easy”.

Ron bawls out “we are the team skipper, we shan’t let you down”. We all cringe and sense immediately we are no longer a team. Supervisor Man looks ill at ease, hands out the ice pops and gets away.

Ron shouts over at me, “I used to be in food and pharma process technology. It’s all the same. Keeping the shit moving hey?” Ron proves to be pickier than most about the positioning of the cars and is not your man for banter and rapport with drivers. The idiot is passively rude to people and that puts my teeth on edge. Part of this job is Show Business. Moving along, giving it some spiel, getting a laugh from the punters and keeping people on side… and happy. A bit of all that and the punters will do anything for you. Ron is odd and I am thinking about how to get rid of him.

It’s just then that an Indian lad, possibly a college student and his friends, in tiny three-door leaves too big a gap between himself and the previous car, a Merc and rolls well over the line so his bonnet is a clear metre ahead of all the others. Ron barks at him “back up my friend and come in again, and this time watch and follow my instructions, hey?” The driver is looking like he has been zapped with a stunner and in his incomprehension puts a foot on the wrong pedal and almost scuttles Ron, who curses obscenely, waves his arms and shouts “back! Back! You stupid twat”. The lad finds reverse and backs up a little too fast in my direction. I jump out of the way and he almost hits a Bedford van coming in. Ron directs him forward again and brings him in too close to the Merc. The passenger door won’t open but Ron ignores this and moves on with a dismissive gesture.

That mess up has caused a delay and given us a problem. I scream over at Sue to stop the cars at her point on the track. I have ten cars all askew in the field and two are driving off in their own chosen direction to find a spot. I shout at all my drivers (if they are on my panel then they are mine) and tell them to stop and there you have a snapshot of human nature. The ones who instinctively think of the common good and the other lot who hate self-important fat old bastards in Hi-Viz jackets like me telling them what to do.

I call over at Ron, “Hey mate, are we good to go again?”

And he bawls back “everything under control here. Roll ‘em big fella”.

I hate Ron…

Supervisor Man comes over on the radio. “Is there a problem? The cars aren’t moving down here at the gate?

“Ron here, no problems skipper, just some Western Oriental Gentlemen who cannot drive. On track now”

Supervisor Man snaps back, “Ron we cannot talk like that, please stay professional on the radio”. Reggie’s face fills up red. Starts at his neck and rises. He is the colour of beetroot.

I glance back over at ‘No-Nonsense Sue’ on the access track. She is bent over a car window. I can just see a young woman shouting at her, and then the driver pulls hard right and speeds at ninety degrees to the middle of the panel entirely ignoring us. Other cars break out of line and follow suit and in a second this insubordination has spread and maybe half of the hundred cars in the queue break out and drive off in every direction…something that reminds me of one of those starburst fireworks.

I turn back and see the most astonishing thing, Ron is aiming punches at the face of an old man in an ancient Morris Traveller who is using his forearms to shield his head. “Ron, Ron what you doing man?”

“Norfolk Boy to control. We have a problem. Could you stop all traffic at the gate until we sort this out? We have lost…” And that’s when Ron punched me on the chin and I fall to the ground like a felled tree. He leaps onto my body, places a knee ether side my torso, and then puts his hands around my neck. My denture plate has snapped with the punch and has fallen into the back of my throat. I’m choking but manage to grab Ron by his ears, fold my right leg and push off with that so we roll over and I spit my teeth out. Ron scrambles back on top of me so I kick off against the ground some more and we roll again. Cars and vans are treating us like a traffic island and driving to the left and right. Ron’s is screaming something about standards and trying to push his thumbs into my eyes.

2 am. The whole site is empty apart from our cars and a couple of wind up, illumination towers. Stan and I are the only ones left on the site apart from Mark, the Supervisor Man who is down by the gate talking with the police about Ron. Our timesheets need signing before we head off so we wait.

I’m having some problems swallowing, there’s grazes on my back and head, and a black eye is coming out. I ache rather than hurt. Ron was pulled off me by Sue who then decked him with a head butt. I am grateful. I suspect his time in food and pharma process technology had not been without issue.

Stan’s day has been quiet over in disabled parking. No more than twelve cars all day and all very civilised and social. Drivers and passengers spread themselves out on the grass for picnics. Stan sat in, chatted and shared their sandwiches. Of course all the shouting and the sound of car horns and revving engines had drifted over on the wind but at his age, he felt it best to remain at his post.

“Me and my wife are having a crisis”. Their youngest daughter: a first-time mother at forty has just had a baby. “Septic, the wife wants to settle. Rent a flat somewhere near our daughter and help with the baby. I want to see the kid… of course I do, but don’t see myself in a pokey flat on an estate in Barking. I thought she would keep with me but seems this is it. So it’s going to be good friends and past good companions and I don’t know what else if anything. I’m flying off to Toronto tomorrow night. This game and bar work will fund my doings all the summer”.

I tell Stan I’m flying out to Samarkand in September and joining the Silk Road all the way back to Istanbul. Backpacking, trains, buses and cheap smelly hotels. “If the company has not been doing their criminal records check, I could be in for a bonus”.

Stan puts on his wistful philosophical face, this man could turn a watering can into an object lesson about life, and “Who would have known it Septic? Looking at two old buggers like us in our Hi-Viz, who would credit it? We are like modern day cowboys. Battered but undefeated. Riding till we drop. Yes, I’m telling you, we are modern-day cowboys…who park cars”.

#Short Story #creative writing #Latterday #cowboys #event car parking

[cockiestmageeorzea]

Khasar Oronir #1

This was his chance.

His hand tightens around the glass vial of blow-darts he had managed to steal from the stores of a merchant in Reunion the other day. His heart beats wildly in his chest as he watches the tall Oronir warrior wash his face outside of a yurt. Most of the tribe had gone to sleep, leaving the surrounding area quiet and deserted.

His other hand grips the bone pipe he had stolen from the same merchant equally tightly, its ridges digging into his palm. The child had planned this months in advance all by himself, telling not even his friends about his grand scheme. The Naadam was to happen the day after tomorrow, and Gansukh was currently bloated on food and drink from the last night of the feast. His reactions would be slower due to the alcohol in his system, and he would not be expecting an attack coming from within the tribe - much less from someone who was too young to even challenge Bardam's Mettle.

His plan was perfect. He had spent weeks spying on the movements of the merchants in Reunion in order to pull off the theft of the blow-darts and pipe. The darts were from the Mankhad tribe, reknown for being covered in the poison of the pufferfish. He had overheard the merchant boasting about obtaining them from a tribe who traded with the Mankhad. The coast was far and the tribe preferred their isolation. Of course, the child had also spent a month training with a pipe and regular blow-darts to ensure that he would not miss. Gansukh was a large man, but a fast one. After all, he was one of the Oronir's best.

His eyes follow the tall, muscular figure as it straightens. He carefully inserts a blow-dart into one end of the pipe and put his lips on the other, then takes aim. Gansukh was shaking the water out of his hair.

"I know you are there, boy. You have been watching me since I left the feast."

He freezes at this. Gansukh had not yet turned. His posture was relaxed, with no weapons nearby. Did he not think of him as a threat? Of course not. He was just a boy. Gansukh was one of the best.

He lowers the pipe from his mouth, then tucks it into the back of his belt and steps out from the shadows. Gansukh turns to face him, a smile on his face.

"Your movements are exceptionally careful and silent. You will be a skilled tracker one day, Khasar."

Khasar's eyebrows come together at this comment. "I seek to be a warrior. Not a tracker. Do you think me only fit to hunt down escaped sheep?"

Gansukh laughs at this comment and the scowl on the boy's face. "Only sheep? There are many greater things to track than sheep, boy. You do not know yet. But you will if you prove yourself in Bardam's Mettle."

"If?" Khasar scowls even more at this and his hands clench into fists. "Have you not seen my skills in battle? Overcoming Bardam's Mettle will not be a challenge. In fact, I do not even need to do so to prove myself. I am the best among my peers!"

"The best?" The Oronir warrior raises an eyebrow. "Such confidence from a boy of only thirteen summers. You are most definitely skilled, Khasar. I am unsure about the 'best'." He gestures at him. "For one, your arrogance is astounding...although a warrior does need a bit of arrogance to be great. So, why have you been tailing me, boy? Did you wish to ask me something?"

Khasar smirks at Gansukh. His hand casually moves behind his back, fingers touching the bone of the pipe. Then, he retracts his arm and walks forward until he is in front of the tall man. Gansukh's shadow loomed over him; great was their height difference. "Yes. I wish to know what your first Naadam was like."

Gansukh lets out a long sigh at this. "My first Naadam? It was so many moons ago." He looks down at the green-haired child, then beckons for him to follow. The man takes Khasar over to two piles of hay, and they sit next to each other. "My first Naadam was when I was eighteen summers. I was thrilled to be a part of it and. Bringing glory to the Oronir tribe was my dream - as is the dream of every warrior born and bred of the Sun. Yours as well, I assume?"

Khasar nods. He listens intently as Gansukh continues.

"My blood rushed through my body faster than the rivers of the Steppe when I first stepped out onto the battlefield. I remember leaping from my Yol and driving my blades into the back of a Sagahl. He was my first kill. It had been so easy, and I was strongly emboldened by my victory. The enemy had not even been able to put up a fight." Gansukh looks out, over the Dawn Throne. "I ran into the throngs of warriors with my blades. Red, blue, black, orange...the colors of the different tribes blended together in my vision. It did not matter who was from which tribe. All that mattered was killing as many enemies as possible to create a path for the most resplendent brother to the ovoo. And they were all enemies in the Naadam."

"Ah, but the screams. My first kill had not been given the chance to scream. But my second kill was not as easy. It was messy. She was of the Qerel, and her armor made her a difficult foe. When I thrust my blade through a hole in her helmet and pierced her eye, her scream brought me out of my bloodlust. The sight was one I had never seen. I watched as she moved her head from the pain and my blade slashed down her cheek. I pulled my sword back to free it from the flesh, and her eye splattered across my face. Blood was pouring from the socket, and her screams rang through my head."

"And then I heard them. The screams of the fallen around me. Everywhere I looked was the same. Warriors mortally injuring other warriors. The screams of the dying. You see, Khasar...nothing prepares you for the Naadam. Even if you have killed before, nothing prepares you. Seeing one or two Xaela die is not the same as seeing death in every direction. Knowing that the next corpse on the ground could be you."

Gansukh smiles at Khasar again. The boy was completely captivated by his story, his red eyes staring intently at the warrior. "We Xaela live to battle. The Naadam takes many lives every year. But it is the way of the Steppe. It is how we settle our tribal differences, or there would be constant war in the Steppe. It is our duty as descendants of the Sun to be victorious every year and watch over the children of Nhaama."

Khasar remains quiet for a while after the story. "I wonder how my first Naadam will be. Will I feel the same as you? Or will it be different?"

"Everyone experiences it differently. But you will have your chance in a few years. I have seen you sparring with the other children. Your skills will make you a formidable opponent." He puts his hand on Khasar's shoulder.

"Thank you," Khasar says. "But you are wrong. I will have my chance very soon."

Gansukh's arm stiffens at this. His eyes slowly look down at his leg. Khasar was holding onto a bone pipe tightly, having driven it into his leg. The boy removes the pipe, revealing a dart.

Khasar smirks at Gansukh. "Do not fear. It is Mankhad poison. It will merely disable you for a few days. Enough for me to take your place in the Naadam, when the Elders see how I have defeated the great Gansukh."

Gansukh's arm falls to his side and he keels over, his body thudding on the ground. "Y-you...you fool..." He shudders, and begins to froth at the mouth.

Khasar's smirk quickly disappears from his face when he sees this. "W-what is it? You are supposed to be disabled. Why...why are you acting this way?" He bends down to turn the warrior over and his heart nearly stops when he sees that the man's face had turned blue. "I...I-I..." Khasar releases him and stumbles backwards. He looks around at the deserted area around him, then begins running towards the nearest yurt. The boy pounds his fists on the door desperately, crying out for the ones inside to hear.

---

"Khasar Oronir."

Khasar was kneeling on the stone floor of the Dawn Throne in front of the Khan, his head bent low. His wrists were tied behind his back and the Council of Elders sat in their seats around the room. All eyes were trained on him. His heart lay heavy in his chest, the knowledge that the tribe would soon be forced to leave the Throne upon him.

"Your crime is poisoning Gansukh Oronir, one of the Sun's greatest warriors, a mere two nights before the Naadam. Removing one of our greatest assets from the battle and hence contributing to our loss of the Naadam this Tsagaan Sar. You are guilty of treason."

"No!" Khasar shouts at this, and is backhanded by the Buduga standing next to him. He lies on the ground, glaring up at the Khan defiantly. "It is not treason...it is a mistake!"

The Khan stares down at him impassively. "Attacking Gansukh with a poisoned dart was a mistake?"

The young Oronir grits his teeth, fighting back the tears that were gathering at the corners of his eyes. "It was Mankhad poison...pufferfish poison. It should have only disabled him. I-I meant to disable him and show the tribe that I could defeat the great Gansukh, so that I could take his place in the Naadam! I wanted to fight for the Sun. I did not betray us!"

"It was poison far worse than pufferfish poison," the Khan responds coldly. "If not for our skilled healers, Gansukh may have been paralyzed for life. He will recover in several weeks' time. But our loss in the Naadam cannot be recovered."

"We lost to the Dotharl, of all tribes," an Elder remarks in an bitter tone.

"A great loss indeed," the Khan says. "Khasar Oronir. You are a fool whose arrogance has gone too far. You are an Oronir - a descendant of the Sun. Yet, you shame our tribe with your antics. Did you think that we were not aware of all the trouble you have caused within the tribe? How you dared one of your peers to venture out into the desert and he was nearly shot down by a Dotharl lookout as a result? How you coerced another to steal multiple times from the Reunion, until the Qestir had to be involved? And now, you have crossed the line."

Khasar could not hold back the hot tears that trickled down his face. It should not have gone this way. He should have been a hero - the youngest in the history of Oronir to help the tribe win yet another Naadam. Not a child bound and thrown before the Council of the Elders and the Khan in shame.

"We must decide on his punishment," one elder speaks up. "He should be confiscated of all weapons and made to work menial tasks for a year."

"Two years," another says. The room fills with voices, each suggesting a different punishment.

"Menial tasks? Everyone here is growing soft," another elder scoffs. "He should be cast out of the tribe!"

The room falls silent at this. Khasar could not believe what he had heard. One had to commit a grave sin to be cast out of the tribe. The Oronir were family. It was unheard of. No one had been banished for three generations. His heart pounds even harder in his chest, and he struggles against the overwhelming desire to break free from his bindings and fight.

The Khan finally speaks after a long moment. "He has committed a great crime. But he will be an asset to the tribe in the future, when his skills in battle have been honed. However, his behavior must be corrected if he is to continue living in the tribe. We will put him in the cells in the caves, once we have vacated the Dawn Throne."

"The cells? And what will be done to him there?" an elder asks.

A dark smile crosses the Khan's face. He looks down at the defiant face of the child in question. "He will be corrected," he repeats once again.

---

Khasar's stomach was growling fiercely. He had spent several days in the dark cells of the caves with only a bowl of stale water while the Oronir moved from the Dawn Throne to the area nearby. The boy sits up from his position when he hears footsteps echoing down the corridor. He had not seen a single soul since being thrown into the cells, and this would be his first visitor. Perhaps they would bring food.

A tall figure approaches the bars, and he soons makes out the figure's identity. Khasar's face falls and he collapses back onto the floor when Gansukh stands before him, on the other side.

"Khasar Oronir. You fool of a boy," Gansukh says quietly. He was leaning against a tall cane made of larch, clearly not having recovered from the poison inflicted upon him. In his other hand was a small loaf of bread. He tosses it through the bars and it lands on the dirt-covered floor in front of the child. He watches as the latter grabs the bread and devours it greedily.

"Do you have more?" Khasar asks once he finishes. He looks around Gansukh, but does not see anything. His face falls once more in disappointment.

"You still have not learned your lesson." Gansukh stares at Khasar, who still looked obstinate. "Of course you have not. The punishment has not yet started." The man turns around, but pauses. "You should have eaten the bread more slowly. It is all you will be receiving for a while."

Khasar watches the older man walk away, using his cane as support. What did he mean? Was the Khan planning on starving him? Although the hunger pained him, he could handle being starved. He knew that the most radiant brother would not kill him. He was too valuable for that. The tribe would not do anything too terrible to him. He smirks to himself. It paid off to be skilled at a young age.

He hears footsteps again and looks up. Was Gansukh coming back? His eyes make out a taller, leaner figure, and the face of a Buduga soon came into view.

"Are you planning on starving me? I can handle it," Khasar comments when the Buduga stops in front of the cell. His eyes move up and down the Buduga's body, looking for anything that could be used on him. However, he does not see any weapons.

"Really now?" The Buduga opens the cell, to Khasar's surprise. "The Khan of the Oronir was kind to not banish you from the tribe. But I see that I will have my work cut out for me with an arrogant child like you." He reaches behind him and pulls a whip off his belt that Khasar had not been able to see.

The young Oronir's eyes widen at this. The whip was made out of matamata hide and covered in small spikes. He had never seen nor heard of a child being punished with a whip. He flinches when the Buduga cracks it, but does not back away. However, he could feel his skin prickling in fear.

"A brave child. Or foolhardy? Perhaps both." The Buduga's face remains impassive and he steps towards Khasar, who holds his ground. They stare at each other for a moment. Then, the Buduga hits Khasar across the chest with the whip.

Khasar screams and falls to the ground, his body writhing in pain as he clutches the wound. It had ripped his clothing apart and torn the skin it came into contact with. The boy barely has time to react as the Buduga hits him on the chest again. The whip catches his forearm this time and he screams once more.

The Khan stands outside of the caves, listening to Khasar's screaming coming from within. His advisor furrows his brows at the sounds and turns away.

"How long will this go on for?" he asks quietly. The Oronir could be cruel in their punishments, but even this was a lot for a boy of thirteen summers.

"...as long as it takes." The Khan walks away from the caves with Khasar's screams still echoing behind him.

---

His body was slumped on the ground, propped up only by the two walls of the corner. The outline of his bones pushed against his skin and floor was littered with his broken scales. Even the tip of his tail had broken off. His hair was matted with blood and his eyes dulled of any emotion. He did not stir when foosteps sounded from afar.

Gansukh stands before the cell, looking at the boy that had put him out of the last Naadam. His eyes travel down the body, then around the cell. "By Father Azim." He is quiet in his words. "What did you do to him?"

The Khan stands next to Gansukh, looking at Khasar as well. He remains silent.

"It has been forty-five days. How has his body been able to stand the whipping? Unless...you had the healers..." His face hardens at this when the Khan nods, nearly indiscernible. "He is a child."

"His will was impressive," the Khan replies. "I gave him a choice after the first week. He could continue being punished, or admit to his wrongdoings and repent for his crimes. He refused to repent. And so it continued."

Gansukh stares back at the lifeless body. He could tell that it was still alive by the chest's faint movements. "So your plan was to torture him into submission. And? Did you succeed?"

"I did." The Khan takes another moment of staring at Khasar before continuing. "He finally caved yesterday. I doubt he will cause any more trouble in the future."

"Indeed. Not only did you beat his defiance out of him, but his soul as well. Look at him. He is a shell of a boy."

The Khan turns his attention to the warrior beside him. "Taking pity on a traitor?"

"He is no traitor. You know this." Gansukh frowns deeply. "I question whether he will even be able to fight after."

"Batzorig was careful not to cause any permanent damage. He will have scars, but he will heal."

Gansukh makes a scathing noise. "I do not mean physically."

"He will be fine." The Khan turns to leave. "I will have someone pick him up and bring him to the healer's yurt soon. He can resume training once his injuries are gone. You may continue to stand here and pity the boy if you wish. He is deserving of his fate."

The taller Oronir remains in the caves, still staring at Khasar, who had not stirred at all despite his open eyes. Gansukh did not know if the child had even heard their conversation. "Sometimes, the way of the Steppe is cruel." The Khan was confident that Khasar would recover, but Gansukh had his doubts. A man who had his will beaten out of him was no man at all. "It is indeed a pity, boy. Soon, the Khan will see his error. And it will be too late."

#khasar #stories #ic

[susanmichelin]

Wanted to take a minute to thank @sorokinalina for spending her puppy-sitting time creating photos of the Echolls family as featured in my fanfic. From experience, I know how much work is involved in not only finding the right photos, but also doing the actual photoshopping. As a small way to show my appreciation, I thought she might like a sneak peek at the first chapter of the next story, Same Old Song.

The full fic is months away from being ready to post so I’ve hidden most of the chapter under the cut since it ends on a bit of a cliffhanger (read at your own risk). 

CHAPTER ONE

Veronica pulled open the front door to reveal a tall, leggy redhead. “Can I help you?” 

She hesitated, looked at the paper in her hand and then back to Veronica. “No, I don’t think you can. I’m sorry, I…” Her face crumpled and her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. A quick shake of her head and her composure returned. “I must have the wrong house.” 

“Veronica, do you want—” He froze, jaw slack with surprise.

“Logan?” The redhead rushed past her into the house and threw herself into Logan’s arms. 

Instead of pushing the strange woman away, Veronica’s husband actually pulled her closer, a smile crossing his face. One of the rare smiles- easy and unguarded, imbued with genuine warmth and happiness. His eyes flicked to Veronica and the smile faltered. 

“It is you. I was afraid…” Redhead started crying and Logan gently stroked her back, soothing and comforting her. What the hell was going on? “I’m in trouble. I need money fast and you’re the…I need two-hundred grand.” 

He gripped her shoulders and leaned back to see her face. “Whoa, slow down. What kind of trouble requires two-hundred grand?” 

Redhead took a deep breath. “It’s—” She stopped talking and glanced back at the door. “Did he call you Veronica?” 

Yes, because it’s my name. She kept the snotty thought to herself and just nodded. 

“The Veronica?” Redhead was staring at Logan waiting for an answer. 

He nodded. “I sent you a wedding invitation, but I didn’t hear from you.” 

Stunned was the only way to describe her expression, but then a wide grin split her face. “I knew it! I told you if you stopped being a fuckup she’d come back.” She shook her head. “Married? Holy shit, I’m sorry I missed it.” Her smile died and the tears started flowing again. “I’m not in Vegas anymore.” 

Pam Mitchell. Leggy redhead, wedding invitation, and Vegas were all the clues Veronica needed to put together the mystery woman’s identity. Turning away from the two of them, she closed the front door and briefly rested her forehead against the jamb. Dealing with her husband’s ex who was both in trouble and needed money was a radical change to her afternoon plan. She kissed her nap goodbye and moved away from the door.

Logan wasn’t holding her anymore, but his hands were still resting on Pam’s shoulders. “When did you leave Vegas?” 

Pam’s eyes clouded and a slight frown puckered her brow. “Right after I saw you and Carrie in Chicago?” She laid her head on Logan’s chest. “God, I’m so glad you’re here; I was afraid you’d be deployed.” 

They made a striking couple. At almost the same height, their bodies fit together; her lush curves molding perfectly to his hard muscular frame. Veronica felt like an interloper. 

“I left the Navy.” 

Dropping her arms from his waist, Pam took a step back and then another. Her gaze moved beyond his shoulder and landed on Veronica, a hostile expression on her face. “Why?” 

“Long story.” Logan dragged a hand through his hair as he glanced at Veronica and then back to Pam. “Uh… do you want to have lunch with us?” 

Not waiting for her answer, Veronica stalked from the room. If she was lucky the baby would sleep for an hour and she wasn’t going to spend that time being glared at by Pam. She frowned. It was learning that Logan left the Navy that earned Veronica the nasty look. What’s that about? 

Plates and glasses for two were already set out on the kitchen table along with a spinach salad. She took down another set of dishes and ladled out a generous serving of black bean soup. Logan sidled up behind her, slid his hand under the bowl and lifted it from her hand. “I’ve got this, you go sit.” 

Veronica titled her head back to see him and he kissed her nose. His eyes were troubled and his brow was furrowed with worry lines. Probably thinks I’m jealous. To alleviate his fear, she smiled at him before taking her soup back and turning to Pam. “We’ve got lemonade, juice, or water.” 

Opening the fridge, she took out the Brita water pitcher for herself and waited on Pam’s response. 

“Water’s fine.” 

With her hip, Veronica closed the fridge and went to take her seat at the table. Pam lingered in the doorway. She was hugging herself and staring at the floor. Finally, she raised her head and spoke to Logan: “I’m not really hungry.” 

He dished out a bowl of soup for her anyway. “At least sit down and tell me what’s wrong.” 

Her eyes tracked his progress from the counter to the table and then focused on Wyatt’s booster chair. Crossing the room, Pam brushed her fingertips across the green turtle’s head. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She swiped her hands over her face. “Boy” —her voice cracked— “Or girl?” 

Uneasiness descended over Veronica and she paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth to study Pam. The other woman was watching Logan, waiting for his answer. A grin split his face and his eyes brightened. “A girl. Actually, we have two girls.” 

His words knocked her back a step and she practically fell into the chair next to him. “I don’t… wow, you as a Dad? Shit, I’m impressed.” A lopsided smile spread over Pam’s lips and Veronica relaxed. “You don’t waste any time do you?” 

“Not when I know what I want.” As he spoke, Logan’s eyes were locked on Veronica. It was the intense stare that made her want to crawl across the table and do bad things with him. The smug uptick at the corner of his mouth said he knew exactly what she was thinking. She rolled her eyes and he chuckled. 

To get her thoughts under control, Veronica filled their water glasses and served the salad. It was made with warm bacon dressing, hard-boiled eggs, and gorgonzola cheese and was her new personal fave. She held out the plate for Pam who shook her head. Your loss.  “Two hundred thousand dollars,” Veronica prompted. 

Her husband was used to her bluntness, but Pam was not. She blinked and looked at Logan for rescue. Instead of changing the subject, he asked: “Do you owe it to somebody?” 

“No.” With an unsteady hand, she picked up her water glass and took a long sip. “When I left Vegas, I rented an apartment in Santa Monica and started waiting tables at a diner.” 

“Why did you quit the casino?” 

Pam fiddled with her glass, dragging a finger up its side to catch the condensation. “It was time for a change.” 

She’s lying. It wasn’t outright- more evasion than lying, but there was some piece of information she was withholding. Veronica’s general feeling of unease returned. Maybe I’m being paranoid. Logan didn’t look concerned and he knew Pam better than she did. “Big pay cut,” was all he said. 

“No shit” —a wry grin— “And the rent was crazy.” 

“Was? You’re not there anymore?” 

Veronica was losing patience. She wanted Pam to get to her reason for coming here and why she needed the money. The question ‘why Logan’ almost made it past her lips and she swallowed it down with another spoon of soup. Come on, Veronica you know the why doesn’t matter- Logan’s not going to say no. There was no way her husband would turn down a woman in distress. 

“There was this guy.” There always is. “A customer at the diner and he asked me if I’d ever danced before. I told him about Reno and Vegas and he offered me a job.” She didn’t make any excuses for her decision and Veronica admired her unabashed attitude. “It was a great deal; I didn’t have to pay stage fees or share tips. It was a fifty-fifty split for lap dances though, but I was an employee so,” she shrugged. 

Curiosity engaged. Veronica sighed and asked: “Stage fees? They make you pay to dance?” 

Pam nodded. “Some clubs charge a hundred bucks just for you to work. They take cuts from your tips, make you buy a set amount of drinks during your shift and some places even charge you fines- for being late, chewing gum on stage, not smiling enough.” 

“Seriously?” Veronica was surprised and a little appalled at the way the clubs were taking advantage of their dancers. 

“It’s their way of claiming you’re an independent contractor instead of an employee. This way they don’t have to pay you a minimum wage, or provide disability insurance or worker’s comp.” 

“That’s against the law.” 

Pam grimaced. “A lot of what happens inside some strip clubs is against the law.��� 

Logan was being very quiet. His head was bowed and he was eating his soup like it was his last meal. Veronica rubbed her foot against his leg making him jump. “Cat got your tongue?” 

Bailey’s crying saved him from having to answer. “I’ll get her.” He practically sprinted from the kitchen.

Veronica gave him the benefit of the doubt -attributing his eagerness to leave the room because he wanted to quiet Bailey before she woke Wyatt and not a desire to escape a discussion between his wife and his ex about illicit activities inside strip clubs. 

“How long has he been out of the Navy?” 

“Almost a year.” Conversations about strip clubs and money troubles were preferable to this discussion. 

Pam was a walking and talking embodiment of the nine years of radio silence. She witnessed Logan’s drinking and drug use and sketchy behavior. Helped him through withdrawal, attended his college graduation, and watched him get his wings. Even though Logan let her read his journal, Pam still knew things about her husband that Veronica didn’t and it made her uncomfortable. 

“How is he?” 

Too many layers to that question. 

“Happy.” Standing, Veronica carried her dishes to the sink. “Are you sure you don’t want anything? Coffee?” Gracious hostess was an easier role to play. 

“Coffee works.” 

Logan chose then to return, asking: “Can you make that two?” Bailey was nestled against his chest wide-awake and sucking on her fingers. 

Veronica cupped the baby’s head. “Hey, Rabbit. How was your very short nap?” At the sound of Veronica’s voice, Bay smiled around her fingers and gurgled. “That good, huh?” Lifting the baby’s foot, she kissed her toes. “Did you check on Wy?” 

He nodded. “Still sleeping.” 

“Ah, sleep, I did that once back in the day.” She pulled three mugs from the cabinet, set the first cup to brew, and went into the living room to get Bailey’s bouncer seat. When she walked back into the kitchen, he was in the process of transferring the baby to Pam. 

Her grip tightened on the bouncer and she frowned at the two of them. Their chairs were pushed together, shoulders touching and heads bent over the baby. Bailey was gripping Logan’s finger and cooing at Pam. 

“She’s beautiful, Logan.” Pam cuddled the baby closer and brushed her fingers over Bailey’s cheek. 

Veronica slammed the bouncer seat on the table a little harder than intended and all three of them startled at the sound. “How do you want your coffee, Pam?” 

“Black is fine.” 

Turning her back on them, she concentrated on making the coffee. By the time she carried their mugs to the table, Bay was on the floor in her bouncer trying to catch the stuffed giraffe. She swatted at it and kicked her feet making the seat bounce and her squeal. 

After handing them their cups, she got her own and rejoined them at the table. “So are you still dancing at this club?” Veronica sipped her coffee and stared at Pam over the rim. Time to finish your story and go home. 

“Yes and no. Joey, he’s the guy who owned the club, started me on the day shift during the week, and then I moved to nights and weekends. After about a year, he made me manager.” 

The upward mobility of stripping. “You work there, but don’t dance.” 

Pam shook her head. “I still dance —Friday and Saturday nights mostly— plus I fill in for girls who call out sick and we do private parties.” Her coffee cup suddenly demanded all her attention. She traced the rim, nudged at the handle, and finally picked it up to take a sip. 

It was the mention of private parties that rattled her. Veronica glanced at Logan. In between drinking his coffee, he was making funny faces at the baby trying to make her laugh. She knew he was paying attention to the conversation; yet he wasn’t asking any of his own questions. If I wasn’t here would he have just given her the money by now? Veronica frowned at the thought. “Did something happen at one of the parties?” 

Her eyes widened in surprise at the astute guess. This ain’t my first time at the rodeo, Pam. “Yes, but… I thought Joey owned Shenanigans so last year when he approached me with a deal, I…” She banged down her mug. “Fuck.” 

Reaching across the table, Logan placed his hand on hers and gave it a soft squeeze. “It’s okay, Red.” A fleeting smile at his use of the nickname. “We’re going to help you.” 

Thanks for making that decision alone, Echolls. Veronica stared at their touching hands. “What was the deal?” 

Pam followed her gaze to their hands and slid hers off the table, tucking it into her lap. 

Logan’s head swiveled in Veronica’s direction, a frown on his face. Adopting an innocent expression, she gave him a one-shouldered shrug: beats me what that was about. His eyes narrowed with suspicion and she turned away. 

“Joey knew I was saving money; I make five, six hundred bucks a shift —five shifts a week— plus whatever I earn in the VIP room.” She looked away and Veronica wondered what else Pam was doing in the VIP room besides dancing. “I was banking most of it; thought I could open my own club.” It was said with a wistful tone like that dream was gone. 

“What did Joey—” 

Logan cut her off. “Take your time.” Her husband was no longer looking at her or the baby, his focus was on Pam’s story. 

Guess he’s done with me taking the lead. Veronica finished her decaf and went to put the mug in the sink. She glanced at the clock. The baby would probably be looking to nurse right around the time Wyatt got up from her nap. If Pam didn’t wrap up her story soon, she’d be telling it to just Logan. Maybe that’s what he wants. 

“He offered to make me a partner. I gave him what I had for a twenty-five percent stake in the club. What he didn’t tell me was that he already had a partner.” She planted her face on the table. “God- I’m such a fucking idiot.” 

Logan rubbed her shoulder. Does he have to keep touching her? Veronica started to load the dishwasher fully aware that she was being catty. Her husband was a very tactile person. Touch was something that was missing from the early part of his life and it was important to him. 

Without lifting it from the table, Pam turned her head. “Sam Carlucci is not somebody you want to be partners with.” 

“I figured that much out all by myself.” 

Another one of her crooked smiles- the kind that reached her eyes and lit up her face. “Logan Echolls, boy genius.” 

“Hey now, I’m well past boy.” 

“Yeah, I remember.” She sat up and tilted her mug. “How ‘bout you make yourself useful and hook me up with another cup of coffee.” 

“Pushy bitch.” 

Pam tossed her head back —sending cascades of auburn curls over her shoulders— and laughed. “Asshole.” 

Chuckling, Logan got up and fixed her another cup of coffee. “Do you need the money to pay off Sam?” 

She immediately sobered. “I wish it was that simple.” Reaching for his hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’ve made a really good life for yourself here; I’m proud of you, Logan.” 

“You helped.” They stared at each other and once again Veronica felt like she was intruding on something. “Now let me help you. I can write you a check or I can make a call and get cash.” 

Relief washed over her. “I’ll pay you back, I swear.” 

He waved away her offer. “Don’t worry about it.” 

That’s it? Have the money and don’t worry about it? Veronica shut the dishwasher. “Are you being blackmailed?” The two of them turned to stare at her. “What? If she’s being blackmailed they’re not going to go away because she pays them. In fact, if she pays them this easily, they’re going to think they didn’t ask for enough and they’re going to make a new demand. A new demand for more- it’s never going to stop.” 

Pam’s face crumbled and Logan looked annoyed. 

“You know I’m right.” 

A solemn nod from Pam. “She is right, but it’s… it’s not blackmail.” 

“Then there’s no problem.” The words were for Pam, but Logan’s eyes were on Veronica. “Right?” 

Now she was mad. “It’s your money- do what you want with it.” 

“I will.”

“Good. Glad that’s settled.” Tugging open the refrigerator, she pulled out a bag of breast milk and poured four ounces in the Mimijumi bottle. Unlike Wyatt, Bailey was not happy if she wasn’t actually nursing. Trying to feed her from a bottle was an unpleasant experience at best, but these anatomically correct, very expensive bottles made it at least sufferable. She stuck it in the bottle warmer. 

“I don’t want to cause any problems for you.” 

Logan said: “You’re not” at the same time Veronica responded with “No problem at all.” 

Pressing her hands flat on the countertop, she took a few deep breaths. If she tried feeding the baby while she was angry, Bailey would only fuss and cry more. 

“Before you decide to help, I think you need to know the rest of the story.” Pam held up her hand to keep him from protesting. “Once I bought into the club, Sam came around to introduce himself.” 

The way she said the word ‘introduce’ had Veronica’s head spinning around to look at her. Pam’s composure was a little shaken, but she pushed back her shoulders and plowed ahead with her story. “He started using the club to conduct his business. Sometimes up in front, sometimes in the back office or VIP rooms. Then he started having private parties.” 

All the color leached from Logan’s face and he shook his head. “You don’t need to tell me anymore.” 

The warmer shut off and Veronica plucked the bottle from its warm water bath. She couldn’t wait to feed the baby; Bay was already fidgeting in her seat and gnawing on her hand. Veronica scooped her up, sat at the table and got as comfortable as she could in the hard chair. 

As soon as she realized it was a bottle, the baby clamped her mouth shut and started rooting around for the breast. “Come on, Bay.” She gently tapped the nipple against Bailey’s lips until she opened her mouth and started to drink. She leveled Veronica with a baleful stare. 

Pam was watching them and her earlier tears returned in earnest. “Last week Sam had a party. It was him and two of his associates, plus three guys I’ve never seen before. I was there along with four other dancers.” She dragged her eyes away from Veronica and the baby and took a large gulp of her coffee. 

“It was a drug buy; I think Sam was looking for a new supplier so it was a small deal- five kilos at twenty grand a piece.” 

One hundred thousand dollars cash and one hundred thousand dollars worth of coke- two hundred grand total. “Did you steal it?” 

“Veronica,” he barked. 

Logan’s angry tone made Bailey start to whimper. “Ssh, it’s okay Rabbit.” She bounced the baby and gently started to rock. “I wasn’t accusing her; I was asking.” 

“Maybe you should go—” 

“I’m not leaving.” 

Pam’s gaze swung between them. “I didn’t steal it.” 

“I know you didn’t,” Logan reassured her. “But they think you did.” 

“Boy genius strikes again.” This time it was said without any humor. “Both the coke and the money went missing and they think one of us has it.” She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. “It’s bad, Logan.”

She dropped her hands. “They’re at the club all the time now; watching us- threatening us. One of the dancers… Karen, she called me, said they came to her house. She was whimpering and talking to herself. They… they terrorized her.” Tiny beads of sweat popped out over Pam’s upper lip. “She hasn’t been at the club and she’s not in her apartment. I tried calling her, but her cell phone’s disconnected.”

“It’ll be okay, Pam; you’ll give them the money and you’ll be fine.” 

Veronica was shaking her head. “It won’t work.” 

“Aren’t you just Little Mary Sunshine today?” 

“And you’re the King of Wishful Thinking- they’re not just going to leave her alone because you ask nicely. They think she stole from them and if she gives them the cash it’s as good as confessing.” 

She could see the exact moment the truth of her words hit him by the expression on his face. “Take the money and use it to disappear.” 

“I can’t.” Pam slumped in her chair. “If it was just me- maybe, but… I have a son, Logan. They’re threatening to hurt my son.”

#veronica mars #vm fanfic #cmfics #sorokinalina

[ofstormsandwolves]

Project Nova

Sequel to best-laid plans, second in the nevertheless, she persisted verse

Eighteen months into life in Pete's World, Rose finds herself being kept in the dark about a new threat to the universe. As the stars start going out, can she convince Pete and herself that an injury sustained when she first arrived in Pete's World won't hinder her ability to help find the Doctor?

Dimension-hopping Rose, Jackie Tyler, Pete Tyler, Mickey Smith.

Teen (though mostly for trigger warnings rather than content)

Trigger warnings for amputation (happens in the previous story, but obviously the after-effects are still going on)

AO3 (account needed)| Whofic 

The stars were going out.

That much, Rose knew. She’d heard her parents talking about it at night when they thought she was asleep. She’d tried asking Mickey and Jake but they were oddly evasive, no doubt due to her dad threatening bodily harm if they were to reveal the extent of the problem.

Because it was a problem. It was obviously a problem; stars didn’t just vanish without cause. While Rose had never exactly been great at astronomy, she’d learned enough travelling with the Doctor to know that stars did not simply vanish. They burned up, burned out, died, but never just ‘vanished’.

But that’s what Pete was saying was happening, that’s what the whispered conversations in the dark were about, the hushed tones of her parents as they argued whether or not to tell her. They’d had the same argument every night for the past week, and every night Rose had listened from the stairs. It made her feel like a little kid, sat on the stairs in her pyjamas, listening to the quiet arguments of her parents from the sitting room.

Pete wanted to keep her in the dark, Rose had gathered, while Jackie felt like Rose might be able to shed some light on the situation. Rose wasn’t sure if her mum saw the irony in that statement or not, but regardless of that, Jackie had a point. Clearly those at Torchwood didn’t know what to do, the small team Pete had quietly assembled clearly at a loss for what was causing the problem. Rose knew that Mickey and Jake were part of that team; she’d seen them talk with her dad quietly in hallways, or hurry to confidential meetings with him, and had heard her dad tell her mum that fact too.

But they had yet to turn to Rose for help.

And Rose knew why. It wasn’t that they thought she couldn’t help them, it wasn’t that she wasn’t experienced enough, or that they wanted to deliberately exclude her out of spite. It was because they thought they were doing the right thing.

Ever since she’d been brought to Pete’s World, and suffered the life-changing injuries the dimension hop had caused, things had changed. Yes, she’d gained a father, and a baby brother who was currently asleep upstairs. Yes she now lived in a mansion, and had her best friend Mickey back. But she had also lost a leg. She was an amputee, and that, Rose knew, was the reason they were keeping the information from her. Although she worked for Torchwood, she was on a desk job only, working with research and development and aiding cases from the safety of Torchwood tower.

It had been eighteen months since she and Jackie had arrived, ten months since she’d said goodbye to the Doctor on that god-forsaken beach in Norway, and every time she had tried to bring up the possibility of transferring to a field team Pete had evaded the conversation. He had thought that keeping Rose in an office job was for the best, for her own safety. That she needed protecting, from the aliens, from the hazards of field work, from the outside world, from herself. She knew it was because he had readily taken on the role of her father, and that he loved her too dearly to risk losing her, but Rose couldn’t help but be frustrated with Pete’s actions. Particularly when there seemed to be a universe-wide crisis and Earth was in the middle of it.

“Why don’t you ask Rose?” Jackie asked, voice rising enough to make Rose sit up and take notice from her usual spot on the grand staircase. “You said yourself, you have no idea what the problem might be, and neither do Jake or Mickey. Just ask Rose, she might be able to help!”

Pete sighed, and Rose could almost see the exasperated look on his face even though he was the other side of a wall. “I don’t want to involve Rose in this, Jaqs, and you know why. I don’t want her out on the field, and if I involve her in this case...”

There was silence, unsaid words hanging in the darkness of the house.

Then, Rose heard Jackie snort softly. “And you really think a prosthetic leg is gonna stop our daughter? She’ll find out what’s going on at some point, Pete, and you can’t keep her in the dark forever. Just because... Just because Rose is physically disabled doesn’t mean she’s not the same person who travelled with the Doctor. And considerin’ we don’t have the Doctor right now, Rose is the closest thing we’ve got. You need her help.”

“Jaqs, I know that. But how do I even ask her? She’s not the Doctor, and we can’t expect her to be. But if she could shed some light on the situation...” Pete sighed again. “I’d just really like some insight on this problem, but I don’t want to burden Rose with it. She’s been through enough.”

At Pete’s words, Rose frowned from her seat on the stairs. She glanced down briefly at where her prosthetic leg protruded from the bottom of her pyjama bottoms, and then she hauled herself to her feet and made her way down the stairs. As she made her way down, she heard her parents freeze in the sitting room, whispering to each other like they knew they were about to be caught.

As she opened the door and found both Pete and Jackie blinking guiltily at her from the sofa in front of the fireplace, Rose just quirked an eyebrow at them, folding her arms across her chest.

“Was there something you needed my help with, Dad?”

~0~0~

Within two weeks, Rose was deep into Project Nova, the codename for the project researching the strange disappearance of the stars. It had been obvious a codename was needed considering just how small the number of employees at Torchwood was- they now had more than when Rose had just arrived, but were still barely pushing 150- and they didn’t want anyone knowing about the project who didn’t have to. The codename allowed them to discuss certain elements of the project among the company of others without breaching any sort of confidentiality or risking important information being leaked.

The Project Nova team was small, with Pete overseeing the whole thing, along with Mickey and Jake, a handful of Torchwood employees, and now Rose. Already there was a lot for Rose to catch up on, and some of it made her head hurt. She tried her best to keep up, though, because she knew that if Pete got the slightest hint she might not be physically or mentally fit enough to be on the team he would put her back behind her desk. Her dad hadn’t wanted her on the team, had wanted to shield her from anything that meant field work. Even after over a year he had concerns about her prosthetic; she’d been off the crutches for ages, but she knew that Pete worried, and that her mum thought she overdid it some days. And some days she did, but she was learning. She was learning to gage how far she could push herself, how far she could go before she regretted it the next day, with aches and pains and blisters from the prosthetic. But she didn’t want to let that get in the way now, not when she was finally involved in a Torchwood case that reminded her of her adventures with the Doctor. She could finally start making a difference at Torchwood, help out on cases, and prove herself to her parents.

So she forced herself to focus on how the information coming in from space stations and satellites were helping them build an image of what they were up against, how Torchwood technology aided that and allowed them to scan portions of space light years from Earth. Rose listened as Mickey explained about their latest technologies and the readings they’d got from the spaces the missing stars should have occupied; she made notes as scientists talked about the life span of stars, and how the disappearances seemed random and in a pattern that did not indicate a natural end to the stars’ lives. Some of them were relatively young, it had been explained, too young for them to die so soon, and that only heightened the suspicion something was wrong. They just didn’t know what.

All in all, it seemed that there was a lot for Rose to catch up on but very little in the way of progress.

“So what you’re saying,” Rose asked finally when her second Project Nova meeting drew to a close, “is that something seems to be... Taking the stars. Killing, or destroying them somehow?”

“Well, yeah,” Jake nodded with a frown. “It’s not just that they’re dying, they’re completely vanishing. At least, the ones in nearby solar systems are. If they were naturally dying, they’d leave some sort of residual image on our scanners, but we’ve got nothing. It’s like they’re being erased.”

At Jake’s words, Rose frowned, and looked around the table at the rest of the group. “Well, how’s that possible?” she asked.

She was met with no answers. Pete became fascinated with some paperwork in front of him, Mickey looked away, and many other agents shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“We were hoping you could help with that,” Pete admitted eventually. “We’re at a dead end. We don’t know what else to do."

Rose blinked at that, and sat back in her seat, considering the situation. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted slowly after a long moment. “I mean, I’ve never come across anything like this before.” She sighed. “We need the Doctor, Dad. I can’t help.”

There were looks from other agents then, all as if they were having a silent conversation of ‘I told you so’. Rose bristled slightly. Yes, she was the boss’s daughter, and she’d been brought in on a case it seemed she couldn’t help, but then many of these people were scientists and they were just as clueless as her.

“Believe me, love, if we could get to the Doctor, we would,” Pete told her. “But right now, you’re the best we’ve got.”

She frowned, processing her dad’s words. “So if we could get to the Doctor...”

“But we can’t, babe,” Mickey reminded her from the opposite side of the table. “No way back. Remember? We took a risk getting you here, there’s no way we’re trying that again.”

“No, but that’s only because of the dimension hopper,” Rose argued, only half paying attention to what she was saying. The other half of her mind had wandered, back down the corridor to her usual office and the black leather-bound notebook in her desk drawer. “The dimension hopper wasn’t stable enough to carry two people, that’s why me and Dad got hurt. An’ it only worked once the Cybermen had broken down the Void because it wasn’t powerful enough. If we could build something bigger, somethin’ stronger, then maybe we could cross the Void again.”

A tall bloke Rose wasn’t very familiar with snorted from the other end of the table. “And then what? Everything collapses into the Void?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Well, no, ‘cause we’ll stabilise it, obviously.” She shook her head. “Look, even if it’s only to send a message through the Void, to reach out to the Doctor, maybe that will be enough.”

“And this Doctor of yours,” a woman asked with an arched eyebrow and sceptical expression, “does he often come running when you call?”

Rose and Pete both fixed the woman with a glare but Mickey smirked.

“Killer Christmas trees on Christmas Eve,” Mickey reminded Rose with a grin. “Babe, that bloke woke up from a coma to rescue you.”

Rose pointedly ignored Mickey’s words, as well as the sceptical looks from the woman who’d first asked about the Doctor, and instead gathered her notes as everyone started to leave the boardroom.

~0~0~

“I’ve got these sketches.”

Pete looked up in confusion at the sound of Rose’s voice. He was working in his home study, something that was normal for him even on weekdays, and while he always tried to put some time aside to spend with Jackie, Rose, and baby Tony, he found himself in his study more evenings than not.

“Rose,” he began uncertainly. “What’s this about?”

Rose shifted uncomfortably, a leather-bound notebook in her hands as she hovered just inside the study doorway. “It’s about what I said in the Project Nova meeting, three days ago. About the new dimension hopper. I’ve got some drawings.”

She made her way across the study, almost uncertainly, and held out the notebook to her dad. He took it, idly noting that it was the notebook he and Jackie had bought Rose in with her Christmas presents three months previously. Still somewhat confused, he flipped the book open, and saw that it was already nearly half full with notes and sketches. And all the sketches seemed to be of technological devices, one that resembled the dimension hoppers they’d since retired, and a new, much bigger device that Pete hadn’t seen before.

“You’ve... You’ve designed a new dimension hopper,” he said after he’d looked through the notes and drawings and processed everything.

Rose nodded, biting at her thumbnail. “I don’t know how accurate some of it is,” she told him quietly. “And maybe some of the materials aren’t great. I don’t know, you might wanna get the tech team on the project to look over it, see if it’s any use.”

She was backing towards the door as she spoke, almost as if she were expecting it all to be completely useless to the project, like she was withdrawing herself before Pete could tell her that it was a waste of time.

“How long have you had this?” Pete asked, holding the notebook up to Rose as he spoke. “Not the notebook, but the idea.”

She shrugged, looked a little embarrassed. “On and off for a while,” she admitted softly. “Only started thinking of it as a serious, possible thing in the last few months, though.”

There was a long pause. “Before you were assigned to Project Nova?” Pete asked even though they both knew the answer.

Despite that, Rose nodded in confirmation. Pete nodded back, and dropped the notebook to his desk. Somewhere several doors away, they heard the sound of Tony beginning to wail, and they shared an exhausted smile. Pete pushed himself to his feet, making his way around the desk.

“I’d better go give your mum a hand. Think it’s my turn to be on nappy duty,” he said as he moved across the room.

Rose nodded again, and together they made their way out of the office together. Rose began heading to her room, while Pete made for the nursery, but halfway there Pete paused.

“Rose?” he asked, causing her to turn around. “I’ll pass those drawings on to the Project Nova tech team. I think they might be of some use.”

~0~0~

Within a month, the techs on Project Nova had decided that Rose’s new dimension hopper was worth a shot. While there were still concerns about what would happen should they use the dimension hopper to cross the Void again, yet more stars were disappearing and it was becoming clear that they had to try something.

So they set to work on assembling the new dimension hopping system, using Rose’s idea of a larger device to act as the hub for the hoppers. The plan was that the large device would be the one to power the hoppers, rather than just using the Torchwood computers. With a designated device with the sole purpose to power the hoppers and stabilise the breach between universes, they were hoping that it would make the trips a lot safer than when they’d travelled with the dimension hoppers over a year and a half previously. The tech team had actually been very impressed with Rose’s idea to build a central hub to control the hoppers, and one of them had even ribbed Mickey about not thinking of it himself.

But even after the new dimension hopping system was assembled, and even after all the praise from everyone on Project Nova, they couldn’t seem to get the device working. By the time Rose had been on Project Nova four months, they were both so much closer and so much further away than ever before. The promise of the new hopping system put them so much closer to a breakthrough than all the meetings and research they’d been doing, and yet with no way to get the system up and running, it seemed they were back at square one.

And to make things worse, they had an angry Jackie to contend to at home.

“You know Tony’s crawling now?” Jackie asked Pete angrily over dinner. “Our little boy started crawling nearly a month ago and you’ve hardly been around to see it! He’s eight months old, Pete, an’ you hardly spend any time with him! You’re missing so much!”

Pete sighed, setting his tea down and taking a breath. “I know, Jaqs. And believe me, I’m no happier I’m missing all of Tony’s firsts than you are. But Rose’s dimension hopping system gave us a breakthrough, and we just need to get it up and running-”

“And that’s another thing,” Jackie started up again. “You’re pushing our daughter too hard! Look at her, Pete! She’s exhausted! And have you even stopped to ask why she’s not wearing her prosthetic?”

Pete blinked, and chanced a glance under the table at Rose’s legs. He blinked, when he saw she wasn’t wearing her prosthetic, and only then did the crutches beside her chair register in his mind.

“Is everything alright?” he asked worriedly, already moving to get to his feet. “Rose? Do you need to go to hospital?”

“Dad, I’m fine,” Rose sighed, gesturing for him to sit down again before rubbing her forehead. “I just got a bit hot today at work, and with the heat wave my prosthetic ended up rubbing. I’ve got a couple of blisters, an’ I’ll probably have to take my crutches into work tomorrow, but I’m fine. Mum’s just overreacting.”

Jackie frowned at that. “Overreacting?” she echoed. “Rose, you can’t wear your prosthetic! You’re exhausted from all the long hours you’ve been pulling on this silly project of yours, and now you’re going to be on crutches too. I’m not overreacting!”

“But you can’t blame Dad for the fact my prosthetic rubbed,” Rose pointed out calmly. “He didn’t make London have a heat wave!”

“No, but he is the one making you work so hard at work!”

“We need to finish the dimension hopping system,” Pete interrupted calmly. “Without that, we’re at a dead end.”

Jackie huffed at that, before scowling. “If you’re going to keep talking about it, can’t you at least come up with a better name for it than that?”

Pete and Rose shared a baffled look at Jackie’s words, while baby Tony cooed to himself in his highchair. Almost automatically, Pete reached out to offer his son his hand as the baby strained to reach him.

“And can you think of a better name for it, then?” he asked, sounding a little disgruntled.

Jackie shrugged. “I don’t know,” she replied. “But anything’s better than ‘dimension hopping system’.”

Rose blinked, unsure whether to laugh or not. “But that’s what it is, Mum.”

“I know, but can’t you call it something else?” Jackie questioned. “Like, I don’t know, a dimension cannon, or something?”

At Jackie’s words, Pete sat up a little straighter in his chair, attention drawn away from baby Tony and back to Rose and Jackie. Jackie blinked as her husband and daughter stared at her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Pete shook his head, “but it’s just, that could actually work.”

Rose nodded in agreement as Jackie sniffed.

“Don’t know why you sound so surprised,” she told them before stabbing at her dinner with her fork.

~0~0~

Three weeks later, everything changed. The Torchwood monitoring systems went mad; Pete and Rose found themselves called in to work in the dead of night, along with Mickey and Jake, and within moments of their arrival at Torchwood tower they were informed that the newly-dubbed ‘dimension cannon’ had seemingly fired up on his own.

“It’s like the dimensions are collapsing,” Mickey observed once they looked over the data. “I don’t know what’s causing it, but I don’t think it’s just this world, boss.”

He glanced up at Pete then, who shifted warily.

“What do you mean? How do you know it’s not just us?” Pete asked in confusion.

Mickey shook his head. “I can’t say for certain, but according to these readings... According to these readings, the whole of reality is collapsing. We’re not gonna stop this on our own. We don’t have the technology.”

Rose frowned from where she’d been stood in the corner of Pete’s office, watching Jake pace and Mickey look over data and Pete panic. “But the cannon’s working,” she reminded them. “Can’t we use it to find the Doctor? If it’s not just our world, maybe he’s noticed something too. Maybe he knows how to fix it.”

At her words, Mickey sighed. “Babe, it’s not just universes that are collapsing. I had Jake run a scan...” He shared a look with the other bloke then, and didn’t continue.

“And?” Pete pressed, frowning.

“And even the Void’s dead,” Jake completed calmly. “We’re getting no readings from it. Before, when the Cybermen opened the Void, we got some residual readings, and it’s what made the hoppers work. When the cannon fired up, the first thing we did was scan the Void. We thought maybe the breach had opened again, that something had gone wrong. But there’s nothing. No data whatsoever. Whatever it is that’s destroying the stars, it’s destroyed the Void too.”

Rose swallowed, before chancing a glance at her dad and the various other Project Nova agents who’d been called in at the crack of dawn. “We need to contact the Doctor. Even if it’s just a message. We need the Doctor.”

~0~0~

By the time the two year anniversary of their arrival in Pete’s World rolled around, Rose had sent several messages across the now-dead Void. None of them had been picked up, certainly not by the Doctor, but also it seemed not by anyone else.

So they’d decided to step everything up. Stars were still disappearing, the Void was dead, and whatever they were facing, it was becoming clear Torchwood couldn’t face it alone. Just as Rose had said, they needed the Doctor, and there was one person the Doctor would follow anywhere.

They needed Rose to do a jump.

Jackie had been furious when the idea was first suggested, and had been even more furious when she’d discovered that the dimension cannon had been designed by Rose even before she’d joined Project Nova. After everything they’d been through in the last two years, Jackie had known her daughter was unhappy, but to have been actively designing a time travel device to take her back across the breach, and then keep it secret, had really angered Jackie.

Maybe that had been why she’d put Tony into the Torchwood nursery and started working at Torchwood herself. She’d taken it upon herself to be one of the supervising agents for Rose’s jumps, ready to elbow anyone and everyone out of the way if she had to, just to check her little girl was safe.

But they’d not even done a jump yet. Mickey and the other techs were still fine-tuning it. Rose had been checked over by Verity, had been advised on safe landings so as not to damage her prosthetic upon landing, and had even been told to get new clothes to help with the travelling through the Void. It had to be comfortable, and not too bulky, and something that would offer at least some protection from both hot and cold climates.

So Rose had gone shopping, and with the help of Jackie had returned with a new outfit to help complete her jumps. Black jeans and sturdy boots had been a must, but the blue-purple leather jacket had been somewhat of an indulgence. Jackie had encouraged her to buy it, and Rose hadn’t been able to help herself.

When Mickey saw her in it, he grinned. “All you’re missing is big ears and a northern accent,” he teased when he saw what she was wearing.

Rose flashed him a tired smile at his words, but said nothing. Instead, she turned her attention to Pete, who was watching everything in silence.

“Are we ready, then?” she asked quietly.

“Ready when you are,” Pete confirmed with a small smile. Then he paused, almost like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to speak again. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

But Rose bit her lip. “I have to, Dad. We need him. I need him. An’ I’ll be fine. It’s just a test jump, yeah?”

Her voice wavered, though neither of them mentioned it. It was almost cruel irony that it was virtually the anniversary of their arrival in Pete’s World that Rose was once more expected to make a jump. She’d hardly slept in the nights leading up to it, a phantom ache in a limb that was no longer there and a headache behind her eyes at the thought of all the things that could go wrong.

She had to do it, she knew. But that didn’t stop her from being afraid. She hadn’t done anything remotely similar to this since arriving in Pete’s World. She’d been on desk duty, had never officially been trained as a field agent, and her time spent running with the Doctor seemed so long ago now that a very small part of Rose was terrified. Just a few years ago she’d absorbed the time vortex without a second thought, and now she feared a routine dimension hop. If only she was nineteen again, if only she’d never been injured on her arrival in this new world, if only she wouldn’t let the fear dominate her...

A hand on her shoulder then, turning her, and she found herself staring up at her oldest friend with wide eyes.

“I’m scared, Mickey.”

He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I know. And that’s fine. It’ll go fine.” He glanced over their shoulder at where Jackie was watching everything with her arms folded across her chest. “I reckon if you go silent on us your mum will be the first to grab a hopper and go after you.”

Rose nodded slowly at that, trying to force herself to calm. “Yeah,” she agreed softly. “I just feel stupid, I suppose. I don’t know why I’m so scared. After everythin’ I’ve done...”

“Hey, it’s not stupid to be scared,” Mickey interrupted. “Last time you did something like this, you lost a leg. You’ve been out of action ever since. You’ve just gotta find your feet again.”

Rose arched an eyebrow at his choice of words, and Mickey cursed under his breath as he processed what he’d said.

“You know what I mean,” he huffed. “I bet once you get out there it’ll all come back to you.”

Rose nodded again, distractedly, as she stared at Mickey’s shoulder rather than his face. “The Doctor wouldn’t be scared.”

“You’re not the Doctor, babe,” Mickey said gently, hands on Rose’s shoulders, squeezing gently. He was smiling though, that soft grin that had made Rose fall in love with him all those years ago. “You’re not the Doctor. You’re better than that. Alright? Like I said, you’ve been through a lot. But I bet it’s just like riding a bike, yeah? You just need to get out there again.”

Before Rose could respond, Jake was calling for her across the room, and when she turned to look he had the dimension hopper and required gun in his hands. She sighed, and felt Mickey squeeze her shoulder once more.

She took a breath, pulling away from Mickey and making to cross the floor, but found herself grabbed by Jackie halfway to Jake. Rose barely registered the worried expression on her mum’s face before she was pulled in for a tight hug.

“Be safe, sweetheart,” Jackie mumbled into Rose’s ear.

Rose nodded, pulling away from her mum and forcing a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

If Jackie saw that the smile didn’t reach her eyes, she said nothing. Instead, she nodded back, squeezing Rose’s hand one last time. Upon releasing Rose, Jackie watched as her daughter crossed the room, took her hopper and her gun from Jake, and took her position.

The countdown started, one of the techs calling out the numbers aloud as they counted down, and in an instant Jackie saw the look of fear that flashed across her daughter’s features.

Across the room, Rose’s and Jackie’s eyes locked, and Jackie gave her daughter a reassuring smile.

“Go on, love,” Jackie said, and she watched as Rose shakily returned her smile. “Make the Doctor proud.”

And Rose vanished in a flash of light.

#nevertheless she persisted verse #ficandchips #amputation tw #rose tyler #dimension hopping rose #Jackie Tyler #pete tyler #mickey smith

[nonochuday]

|And Stupidly, Us| 1

Yoongi x reader Part One

PROLOGUE || 1 ||

Genre: Gang!au, action, smut, angst Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Language, sexy coverall Jeon

A/N: Honestly this is wAy overdue and I’m terribly sorry for taking so long but I appreciate all of you that waited for my lazy ass <333 also this has barely been edited so if you find any mistakes or something that doesn’t add up, don’t be afraid to let me know!

Thank you to @boymeetsfiction for always hyping me up, I love you Tam x

"I didn't know it was him, Tae," you could not prevent the scoff from escaping your lips as you watch the man pace back and forth in front of you, "I wasn't given his file, I just got told what to do and was thrown in there."

You wish you were exaggerating, the information given was immaculately brief for someone of your stature. It was expected you'd receive a file, details on the target, what the plan was and who you were working with to ensure it wouldn't fail. At least that's what you should have expected but instead, you were up the creek without a paddle.

Taehyung did not seem too happy about the newfound information either. Since getting back to base, the carob haired man had paced from one side of the room to the other. He mainly talked to himself during his seesaw journey in the room, sometimes pausing to ask you a question which may as well have been rhetorical. How the hell were you supposed to know why you weren't told anything?

"It doesn't make sense," he rubs at his temples as if to massage the answer out of him, "Why would he throw us in the dark like that?"

"I don't know." you repeat through gritted teeth.

Just when you were about to go on another tangent on how little you knew on the subject, the door creaks open behind you as two familiar faces poke through.

“You two are in so much shit,” Jimin pipes as he closes the door behind them, clearly amused by the situation, “I’ll be surprised if he lets you keep all your fingers.”

Jungkook looks up from cleaning the chunk of metal in his hands and shoots you and Taehyung a comforting smile, “You know he's just kidding,” he wipes at a particularly oily spot with the now dirtied rag, “But he did sound pretty upset.”

Yourself and Taehyung glance at each other, brows furrowed and lips pressed firmly against the other in skepticism. Surely, he'd explain why there was no file.

“What has he got to be so upset about? I didn't even know the face of the guy I was stealing from,” a soft scoff drags from your lips.

“Yeah,” Jimin muses, “But you didn't hear him. He didn't sound too happy.”

Jimin had known Yoongi for the longest around here and you would most definitely trust his word when it came to reading the cold and candid Min Yoongi. If Jimin said he was upset, he undoubtedly was. They had this strange friendship you didn't know much about, not that you were particularly interested. You had learned that sticking your nose in business could get you into serious trouble.

Supposing that it would be a terrible idea to be petty about the situation and go against a rising mafia boss, you shut your mouth. It was probably safer that way.

“So then,” your partner intervenes, “He wants to see us, I assume?”

Taehyung had been in this circle of people for a handful of years now, just a few more than yourself. Being his crazed, childish self, he has had his fair share of encounters with Yoongi. Most of them never really being positive reinforcement. He would know what to expect. But you on the other hand, what happens to someone who’s been caught mid-mission?

“Right now, actually,” Jimin answers grimly.

“Now?”

“We're so dead.” Taehyung deadpans, completely giving up on worrying for his life.

“He's not so bad,” Jungkook replied with a slight snicker, “You just need to say the right things.”

“Yeah, but he actually likes you!” Taehyung attempts to argue back.

You observe as Jimin itches to tell your partner to grow up and take his job more seriously, flicking his blond hair away from his eyes as his tongue traces the pillow of his bottom lip in a sarcastic smirk. It was always this way.

Pushing past Jungkook and Jimin with a small sigh, you mentally prepare yourself for your boss’ drilling words. Taehyung and the others followed without a word as you all journeyed to Yoongi’s study in which you would be required

Reaching the end of the hallway, you step into the grand foyer where your boot-clad feet kiss the white tiles. The marble staircase curves its way upwards to the next level of the manor, its wrought iron balustrade curled in an elegant design. Looking at the stairs from below made you realise how quiet the house was. The foyer was the biggest room in the manor and you could usually hear almost every conversation due to the incessant echoes that bounce between the walls. Silence.

A gentle hand found a spot on your right shoulder, “Stay here, I’ll go first,” Jimin forces a smile, “Check on him, you know?”

A meek nod was all you could respond with before you watched the blond ascend the stairs.

Time seemed to move a lot slower while waiting for Jimin to return. You couldn’t help but replay the events in Jung Hoseok’s mansion and how different this talk with your boss would be had the mission been a success. Both you and Taehyung might have gotten a praising, or maybe he would have cut you some slack for a little while. Your thought was interrupted when a blur of black crosses your vision.

“Taehyung, what are you doing?” you whisper-yell as your brows channel together.

“I’m going to see how bad the situation is,” he points with his thumb to the door at the top of the stairs.

“It’s things like this that get you into trouble.”

The carob haired man either didn’t hear you or didn’t like his life enough to care. Instead, he continues up the stairwell.

“Tae, no—” you hiss.

Trekking up the stairs after him in a hurry while trying to make as little noise as possible was harder than it looked. Taehyung may have been on the taller side, but he was definitely vigilant. Much like a fox; sly and quick on his feet. Your partner’s longer legs naturally made it easier for him to take three steps at a time with little to no effort, while you struggled to take a step without its sound resonating through the room. Damn this house and its amplifying everything!

He stops you when you reach the top, a single finger pressing to his lips wordlessly. The door to Yoongi’s study was a mere ten feet away, making listening a little more feasible.

“They’re downstairs right now.” you hear Jimin say.

“Both of them?”

“Yessir.”

The door opens shortly after and out steps Jimin with a blank face. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the sight of you and Taehyung, not quite expecting you two to be right outside the door. Surprisingly, he doesn't question as to why you were there.

“He’s asked me to bring you both in,” Jimin scratches at the corner of his lip gently, “He has calmed down a fair bit too. It's kinda scary.”

A pregnant pause hangs over your head before you step in front of the door and timidly grasped the handle. You wait a few seconds before looking back at Taehyung, who looks equally nervous to go in.

The familiar light creek of the office door hinges distracts you long enough to enter the room without having a complete panic attack. You weren’t too sure what to expect. A yelling and raging Min Yoongi was hard to predict on its own, but a calm and monotonous Yoongi was even harder. Jimin said it himself, he had calmed down. From what the blond described in the common room, Yoongi was a furious mess. Who knows what he’d do to you?

Taehyung closes the door behind him with a soft click and joins your side where you wait for Yoongi to speak. Yoongi was where he always is, at his desk, and he had yet to look up from the pages he was scribbling on. His raven hair lightly curtains his eyes and you could tell he was lost in his work. Did he even hear you come in?

“Taehyung. Y/N,” Yoongi places his pen on the wooden desktop and lazily meets your gaze, “What a pleasant surprise.”

Now, you weren’t certain, but something was telling you this wasn’t going to be pleasant at all.

Jimin was right, he was calm. Unusually so. You wanted to explain what happened, explain how your task was a failure and why you were caught, but your tongue was tied, stuck in your throat in fear of speaking out of turn and being scolded. If you said the wrong thing you could be dead.

“I’m well aware of what has happened tonight.”

“Sir,” Taehyung tries but was cut off when pale fingers raise themselves in a halt.

Yoongi stands up from his place behind the desk and maneuvers around his chair before taking slow steps in your direction. He refastens the singular button in the middle of his blazer and you notice his eyes training in on your partner. Taehyung must have noticed too because he looked as if he had a metal rod shoved up his backside.

“I can’t say that I’m too happy to hear it either. What happened?”

Your throat tightens at his question, “Well...Everything was going fine at first, we breached and disabled his security border within a matter of minutes, then we got in, and it was like nobody was there,” you steal a glance at the boy next to you, “Taehyung and I decided we’d split and check different wings of the property. We found nothing.”

Yoongi’s face appeared indifferent, almost like he didn’t believe what you were telling him. What you wouldn’t give to know what he was thinking. “You were caught.” he put bluntly.

There it is. You knew what had happened, what your mistake was, but hearing it out loud made the chagrin you felt multiply to the thousands. The bitter taste of failure lingered on your tongue as he waited for you to further elucidate the situation from only hours ago.

While Taehyung was busy touching up on his side of the story, your thoughts occupied you. As much as you felt of a disappointment, the fact that you had been kept in the dark regarding knowing about your target had your teeth grinding into nothing. Not only did not briefing the file complicate things, it made it much harder for when you got caught. The question was: is it wise to speak up about it?

“You had the simple task of retrieving something of mine. I can’t fathom how that could be so difficult for you both.” Yoongi rasps, his voice laced with irk.

It could have been easier.

“Sir, in all honesty, it’s not all that bad,” Taehyung said, “Yes, we made the mistake of getting caught, but we got in just fine and we were able to escape safely. Besides, we have the money back in our possession.”

Yoongi didn’t seem happy at all with your partner’s reasoning and frankly, neither were you. You could understand where he was coming from, but you didn’t think it was the best approach for this type of conversation; one that may or may not hold your lives. He could get himself into a huge amount of trouble, and you’d sooner walk through the fiery pits of hell before you backtalk Min Yoongi, or let Taehyung drag you down with him.

“It was careless.”

“A careless mistake, yes.”

“You’re honestly trying to tell me that this whole thing isn’t a problem?” Yoongi scoffs and lets out what seemed like a chuckle, but it couldn’t have been because Min Yoongi does not chuckle.

Taehyung only nods with a blank look on his face, as if that would be enough to get his argument across. “And what of Jung Hoseok, how was he handled?”

“He’s been taken care of. We did everything you asked.” your carob haired partner ensured.

Except Yoongi wasn’t happy to hear that. Far from it. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and his mouth opens a fraction, uncharacteristically. “The one thing I asked was to have you not kill him!” he hisses through his teeth.

Taehyung waves his hands in front of him dismissively, “N-no, he’s not dead. I didn’t mean it like that. We left him tied to the leg of his pool table.”

“So he’s alive, then. You’re fucking idiots. Both of you.” his eyes flicker between you and Taehyung. Before either of you get a chance to open your mouths and ask why he was interrupting, “It’s been a few hours since you’ve both returned. Let’s say he’s summoned a little help, he has this place surrounded, and we’re not the least bit prepared for it. You’ve killed us all here.”

That definitely shut you both up.

“So forgive me Kim Taehyung, for not seeing this through your eyes, or understanding as to why this is not at all a problem. Now get the fuck out of my office.”

You didn’t dare blink or open your mouth as you listen to the newly chastised boy retreat out the door behind you. He knew better than to speak up anymore. Releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your eyes drift over to the intimidating figure of Yoongi, who was already looking at you with an unreadable expression. Was he mad at you? He had to be. There was no way he would be civil with you after lashing out at Taehyung like that.

Yoongi’s rigid figure paces back to his desk where he pages for Jimin, “Jimin, I’ve sent Taehyung down, keep him with you until I get back to you with further instructions.” The blonds anodic voice was heard seconds later with a firm yessir.

Yoongi heaves a fatigued sigh and leans his hip against the desk's frame, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his eyes tiredly. When he finally looks up, he just resembled an average exhausted man, not some power-hungry, gun-wielding gangster. However, his next words wipe that image right out of your head:

“He’s lucky I don’t kill him.”

And he was right.

But you'll be damned if you don't find out why you were sent out there with minimal knowledge on Mr. Jung Hoseok. It was bold, and frankly, foolish, of you to even think of asking let alone actually speak out. But you had to know. Yoongi owes you that much, at least.

“There is some truth to what Taehyung said.”

Yoongi’s face doesn't flinch when the words reach his ears. Instead, remains silent with a passive expression while waiting for you to continue.

“About the mission, I mean,” your eyes flick up to meet his cold ones, “I believe we did well enough, given the unfortunate circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” he cocks his head ever so slightly with a hint of a smirk painted over his lips, his eyes never leaving yours, “Pray tell.”

You would definitely feel more confident if he wasn't staring at you like he was going to impulsively draw out his gun and spray you all over his office walls like they do in the movies. His unmoving eyes send a chilling tingle up your spine and rattle your bones to the core.

He was totally unpredictable and that's what scares you the most.

“I want to know why I was kept in the dark,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “We both know how much easier it could have gone if we followed standard procedures.”

Yoongi remains unresponsive.

“Why wasn't I given a file? A briefing?” you finally ask. Now all you had to do was dodge whatever he was likely to throw at you.

The ebony haired man pushes himself off from where he was resting on the desk’s edge, hands burying into the navy pockets of his slacks. Yoongi uncurls his arms at his chest and makes his way over to you slowly.

It was a fair assumption that you wouldn't like whatever was about come out from his mouth. Maybe he just did it for the hell of it, maybe a test? It was also possible he was trying to get rid of you. That answer you definitely didn't want. You could not for the life of you think of why he would do such a thing. What had you done wrong?

Yoongi didn't stop until his polished shoes almost touched yours. Damn, he was even more intimidating up close. He's not that much taller than you, only enough that you need to slant your head a little. Yoongi's russet brown eyes bore holes into your own irises and you have to swallow back your nerves before you shit yourself in front of your boss. He's quiet for a few seconds in a way in which only Yoongi could make unbearable.

“You shouldn't need a file.” he murmurs, his voice laced with a cold undertone.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

The look on your face must have conveyed the unspoken question because he was speaking again, “You’ve been with me for a handful of years now, yes? Four?”

“Almost six.” you correct him.

“Right. So, in that time, you’ve done fairly well for yourself. You’ve had your fair share of tasks to fulfill at quite a high expectation and come through nicely. I don’t need to worry about you so much, I know you can take care of yourself.”

This was just about as convincing as someone who’s trying to tell you strawberries are blue. Yoongi’s words almost always had valid points to them but this just made it sounds like it wasn’t a big deal to him. It must be his way of trying to get rid of you, to sugarcoat it before dropping the bomb. It’s the only thing that makes sense in your head.

Yoongi continues to rattle nonsense about how impressed he was with your work performance and how he trusts you, then switches to another tactic on how to let you down gently.

“So don't you think you're capable of doing it on your own? Without my aid?” he asked.

Honestly, the words couldn't form in your mouth. What were you supposed to say to that? That you were okay with the sudden change and that he told you no word about it?

You stare down at the space between your feet, “I had in my head that you were trying to get rid of me,” you mutter loud enough for him to hear, “That I’d done something not up to par with your expectations and this was the easiest way to have me disappear if I failed.”

As inconspicuously as possible, you peek at Yoongi from under your lashes. His face was about as readable as a book written upside down in coded Chinese with invisible ink. Yoongi notices your concern and withdraws the hardened fashion painted across his face. He relaxes his shoulders and takes a step back from where he was almost pressed against you. Slowly, as if moving too quickly would alter his mood, you lift your eyes to meet his.

“I wasn’t trying to rid myself of you,” he doesn’t even blink, and that’s how you know he’s telling the truth, “think of it more like a test; I wanted to see how you would go without my help. And you failed. I wanted you to be confident, sure of yourself even when you didn’t know who Jung Hoseok was, but all I got was a lost kid in a grocery store.

“And that’s just it, you’re not a kid anymore. You should be able to, I expect you to handle yourself in such situations. It was quite disappointing I must say,” he presses his lips into a firm line, “But I’ve figured a way around this, then after we'll go back to the original contrivance of scrapping the briefing. You'll still be told who your target is, I'll just expect you to problem solve as you go.” Yoongi assures you.

The first thing you grasped from his little monologue was that he wasn't going to kill you, or trying to either. He’s also disappointed you handled the situation wrong by leaving Jung Hoseok unmonitored, but it was a guinea pig test of some sort to see how you would act with the pre-briefing abandoned. Your head was spinning with all this newly acquired information. You got your answers but it still feels like there was no explanation.

“So...You’ve figured out, what exactly?” you ask.

“You’re going to touch up on some things,” Yoongi answers, “For the next couple of weeks or so. ‘On probation’, for the lack of a better term.” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“You’re sending me on another mission to guinea pig?”

“No. Attending mandatory specialised classes was more of what I had in mind.” he pivots and takes a seat back at his desk. You tried your best to keep up with everything he was dishing out at you, but apparently, you picked today of all days to struggle comprehending basic conversion. The next few moments flew by and soon Yoongi was kicking you out and sending you downstairs.

Taking a seat on the bottom step, the entire night's events came crashing down around you and it wasn't until then you realised how late it was. The muscles in your neck strained and your eyelids felt heavy. You were exhausted all over. Tonight in the office took at least ten years off your lifespan.

The quiet time to yourself was abruptly cut short when Jungkook steps into the threshold. He gives you a tight smile, almost like he knows how dog-tired you are. He doesn't say a word, giving you a moment to breathe before jerking his head back in the direction he came from. Reluctantly, you stretch out the kinks in your neck and follow him with a sigh.

Jungkook took you into the manor’s garage where he spent most of his time fixing vehicles and tinkering. It was practically his home, after all, you never really see him ever leave it. Jungkook’s usual coverall attire is almost always covered in grimy oil from the machine parts he plays with all day.

He was no different even at half past three in the morning. You wonder if this boy ever sleeps.

“Wow, she's alive.” Jimin mocks with a crooked, sympathetic smile and all you could do was laugh back bitterly. Jimin and Jungkook watch as you splay out on the old leather couch that has seen better days, your eyes automatically closing at the comfort.

“What happened up there?” Jungkook inquires after a pause.

You contemplated ignoring him and pretending you were asleep, only because you were exhausted at the thought of being on probation and how different the next couple of weeks would be, but Jungkook was kind to you, and both Jimin and himself would have been waiting apprehensively while you and Taehyung  possibly get the life chewed out of you. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take too long and you could go to bed.

“Where’s Tae?” you know he was sent down for Jimin to collect but you couldn’t see him.

“Over in the corner sobbing,” Jungkook points with his chin to the workshop bench along the wall. Taehyung was crouched on the concrete floor, his eyes glisten with a dew and they look distant, like he was in another world. You have a pretty good idea what this was about. “He had a lecture and has to remain by Jimin for a little while to ‘learn how to behave’.” he air quotes.

Ah, that makes sense.

“Right, well...it didn't go at all as I expected,” you sit up on the couch, “He wasn't mad like I thought he would be, at least not for the reasons I prepared for.  We talked about what happened tonight and how it how it happened, what went wrong etcetera,” you tell them, “But what he was most upset about was that I couldn’t be trusted to handle the situation on my own. He was more disappointed.”

Jimin and Jungkook listen intently without interrupting you with further questions. You didn’t notice while you were lost telling the story but on a few occasions, they exchange subtle glances at one another, wordlessly trying to figure out Yoongi and his possible motives while they listen to your encounter with their boss.

“He wasn’t happy with the way Taehyung and I handled the Jung case. Apparently, it was a rookie mistake the way we left him, although he wouldn’t have us kill him, which is odd. Yoongi also told me he was going to abandon the whole pre rundown before we go out, that’s what he was taking a shot at, at least.” you mutter, “So now I’ve screwed that up for him because I'm too amateur for him and he expects better.”

You couldn't have sounded more bitter if you tried.

“This is all just so unnecessary to me. He should have just told me and I would have learned.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue, “So what's the verdict?”

“I have to do mandatory classes, something about learning skills again.” you roll your eyes and huff out a humourless laugh.

“With who?” he furrows his eyebrows.

“With you.”

#yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #bts #bts angst #bts smut #smut #gang au #bts fanfic

[recklesstreacherous]

Oh my gosh, Rebekah Harkness had such a messy and sad life www(.)nytimes(.)com/1988/05/22/books/is-there-a-chic-way-to-go(.)html?pagewanted=all

Thanks for linking this article! I love reading about her… and yes, she did have a very unique and tragic life. I’d love to watch a documentary about her.

_______________________________________________________________________‘IS THERE A CHIC WAY TO GO?’A week after her death on June 17, 1982, the mortal remains of Rebekah Harkness were toted home by her older daughter Terry in a Gristede’s shopping bag. The ashes were placed in a $250,000 jeweled urn made by Salvador Dali. They didn’t fit: “Just a leg is in there, or maybe half of her head, and an arm,” said one of Rebekah’s friends. Several hours later, the top of the urn - called the Chalice of Life - was somehow, by unknown agencies, uncovered. “Oh, my God,” said a witness. “She’s escaped.”        

This post-mortem mischief was going on at Harkness House, the East 75th Street town house headquarters of the Harkness Ballet Foundation, which Mrs. Harkness had modeled on the St. Petersburg Ballet School. The building, according to Craig Unger, the author of this rich-man/eye-of-the-needle biography, was in a state of putrefaction, “crumbling like Tara after the Civil War.” Meanwhile, in her apartment at the Carlyle Hotel, people who called themselves Rebekah Harkness’s friends were pillaging, “grabbing things right and left.”        

Rebekah’s younger daughter Edith, a failed suicide who had spent many years in mental institutions, took only her mother’s pills: Seconal, Nembutal, Valium, Haldol, Librium and various painkillers - 40 vials in all. Allen Pierce, Rebekah’s son by the first of her four husbands, was unable to be present. Convicted of murder in the second degree, he was behind the bars of a Florida jail. Bobby Scevers, Rebekah’s lover, 25 years younger than she and a self-declared homosexual, pronounced her children “the most worthless, selfish, useless creatures I’ve ever seen.” (Mr. Scevers has a stunning way of placing himself squarely in the center of every sentence he utters; he appears to believe that Rebekah Harkness’s death happened more to him than to her.) If I report on the demise of the multimillionaire patron of the dance dry-eyed, it is because I am confident in the belief that nothing we say about the dead can prejudice the Defense or tip the Scales of Judgment. I myself wouldn’t give the time of day to anyone who cleaned her pool out with Dom Perignon, put mineral oil in the punch at her sister’s debutante ball and (all in the middle of the Great Depression) got tossed off an ocean liner for shouting obscenities, throwing dinner plates at an orchestra of Filipinos gamely playing the American national anthem, and offending the sensibilities of her fellow passengers by swimming nude - for which actions she counted herself witty. (I do admit, however, that I’d go a long way to read a sentence like this, spoken by Bertrand Castelli, the co-producer of “Hair,” about the time he made love to Rebekah Harkness in her office: “It was as if we were two camels in the desert who suddenly know that the only way to make an oasis is to really talk sense.” After his brief interlude in the oasis, Mr. Castelli was made the artistic director of the Harkness Ballet. “Kiss me,” she commanded. “The others, they just know how to bite.”) Craig Unger, a former editor at New York magazine, appears to be dazzled by all this, although it is sometimes hard to tell whether his breathlessness arises from approval, disapproval, sadness, awe or simple bewilderment. Mr. Unger, who records interviews uncritically and unreflectively, does not permit us to know exactly how he feels about his subject.        

Rebekah Harkness was born in 1915 to a rich, emotionally frigid St. Louis family. She was brought up by a nanny who was chosen because she had worked in an insane asylum. She went to Fermata, a South Carolina finishing school that had sheltered Roosevelts, Biddles and Auchinclosses. There she delighted, as she wrote in her scrapbook, in setting out to “do everything bad.’'  After her divorce from W. Dickson Pierce, an upper-class advertising photographer, she chose for her second husband the Standard Oil heir William Hale Harkness, who enjoyed a lofty social status, as her own family did not. He appears to have been an embarrassing sort of man; he wrote and privately published a book called ’'Totem and Topees,” which he described as a “conglomeration of uninteresting misinformation,” and followed that with a book called “Ho hum, the Fisherman,” which, he said, did not “have the excuse even of literary merit.” We are told by Mr. Unger - who is an uncomfortable stranger in the world of the rich, unused to deciphering nuances of caste - that the Harknesses’ seven-year marriage was a happy one. Little evidence is given in support of this thesis except that the two wrote a song together called “Giggling With My Feet.”        

After she was widowed, Mrs. Harkness renovated her Rhode Island house; she installed 8 kitchens and 21 baths. This arrangement effectively kept her from having to see her three children on anything like a regular basis. She had a salon of sorts. She traveled a lot.        

She fancied herself a composer.        

She acquired a guru, also a yogi.        

She married again. And again.        

She was surrounded by a group her son Allen described as “all the fairies flying off the floor, the blackmailing lawyers, the weirdos, the people in the trances.” “We were the favorites,” says a dancer. “We were the loved ones.” In 1961, Rebekah Harkness became the sponsor of the late Robert Joffrey’s small ballet troupe. She did this in grand - if occasionally Marie Antoinette-ish -style. Generous, wasteful, willful, demanding and delusional, she broke with Joffrey to form the Harkness Ballet when he refused to perform the compositions she insisted on writing. In the eyes of many, she had betrayed him. “Costumes, sets, musical scores,” Mr. Unger writes, “many of the best dancers, the entire repertory - even the works choreographed by Joffrey himself - were owned by her foundation.”        

“You see,” she said. “Money can buy anything.” It bought her the services of George Skibine, Marjorie Tallchief, Alvin Ailey, Erik Bruhn and Andy Warhol, but it did not guarantee her success. Mr. Unger tells us that under the direction of the dancer-choreographer Larry Rhodes the company began to garner critical raves - whereupon Mrs. Harkness fired him. Soon Clive Barnes was writing that the Harkness Ballet had “descended beyond the necessity of serious consideration,” and in 1975 it folded. She had spent the 1987 equivalent of $38 million on a failed enterprise.        She rang J. D. Salinger’s bell dressed as a cleaning lady, having conceived the harebrained scheme that the reclusive writer’s short stories be put to music.        

She dyed chocolate mousse blue. She dyed a cat green.        

She moved hundreds of thousands of dollars from one bank to another for the pleasure of confusing her accountants. She believed in reincarnation. She filled her fish tank with goldfish and Scotch.        

Her daughter Terry gave birth to a severely retarded and disabled child. For a time, Rebekah Harkness appeared to be enamored of the passive child, called Angel. Her passion, such as it was, burned itself out quickly, coincidentally with the baby’s pulling a ribbon out of her hair. Bobby Scevers, Mr. Unger writes, “had no sympathy” for the child. “So absurd,” Mr. Scevers pronounced. “When they started talking about putting the nursery over my room … I just hit the ceiling. I don’t want this screaming baby over my room! … Let the little creature die!” When she was 10 years old, she did.        

Her daughter Edith jumped off roofs, swallowed pills and managed not to kill herself. “How should she do it?” Rebekah Harkness asked. “Is there a chic way to go?”        

She lived on champagne and injections - Vitamin B, testosterone, painkillers - as a result of which her bathrooms were splattered with blood and her muscles calcified. (“She walked,” an acquaintance said, “like Frankenstein.”) One could almost feel sorry for her.        

At the very end, according to Bobby Scevers, as she lay dying of cancer, “It was complete chaos… . It was so wonderful - everybody running around signing wills and trying on different wigs.”      

Her daughter Terry hired Roy Cohn in a (failed) attempt to have her will invalidated.        

Her daughter Edith killed herself. (“I’m glad Edith is gone,” said the unquenchable Bobby Scevers.        

“I can’t believe it took her this long to succeed.”) Her son Allen says the years he spent in prison were the happiest of his life. He likes to talk about blowing people away.       Knowing all this (and much, much more; Mr. Unger withholds no ugly or racy detail), what is it exactly that we have learned?        That money can’t buy happiness? That even the rich must die? These are facts of which we have already been apprised.      

One sometimes wonders if the point of all these poor-little-rich-girl/boy biographies is to lull the rest of us into a false sense of security: She is so unlike us that we are not encouraged to reflect upon our own mortality, the contemplation of which is a healthy and necessary exercise. We are meant to take comfort and a measure of relief from our difference - though, as we know but do not frequently wish to remember, the grave awaits us all.        

It would be interesting to see what a social historian, someone familiar with the hierarchies of caste and class in America - or, better yet, a novelist with a theological bent - would make of the raw material Mr. Unger has gathered. I am beginning to think that biography, especially the biography of such a chaotic personality as Rebekah Harkness, needs to be molded and informed by a novelist’s ordering imagination. It might also have been interesting to see how a feminist writer would have assimilated the facts of Rebekah Harkness’s sorry life. Might Mrs. Harkness be seen as a casualty of her own doomed and defiled expectations? Unfit for mothering, unfit for ordinary love, unfit - untrained - to be the caretaker of a great fortune, was she altogether silly or altogether bad? Was she power or pawn? And how in the world did she get that way?        

It is possible to write an edifying biography about an unedifying life. Jean Stein and George Plimpton did that brilliantly in “Edie,” the biography of poor Edie Sedgwick. “Blue Blood” is edifying only insofar as it raises questions about what a biography should be. A terrible story is told here. It makes no sense - and no sense is made of it.        

#8 KITCHENS #21 BATHS

[amertsi]

Help Me Fly

A story of flown away dreams, broken glass, and one helpful hand.

Human AU. PruAus. Contains paraplegic Austria. Warnings: PTSD, panic attack, mentions of death.

Read on FFN. Read on AO3.

The beautiful, melodic sound of a grand piano could be heard through the halls of the apartment complex’s second floor. Anyone with an ear for music could tell it was an expensive instrument, owned by someone from money and played by talented hands. Roderich, in the comfort of his home, had allowed himself the rare opportunity to lose himself in his music, to forget his life, forget the apartments around him, forget the uselessness of his legs. Still deft fingers plucked out note by note, flying across black and white. Roderich’s eyes were closed. In his mind, he could see the music, each separate key and each flowing chord formed like paintings in his mind’s eye. The song had no name, had never been heard before. Roderich himself did not know it. But regardless, he played. 

As he brought the song to a slow but dramatic end, he mourned the loss of the sound, the growing silence dragging him kicking and screaming to reality. Escape was for only a moment, only when he allowed it, only when he played.

A soft sigh spilling from partially parted lips, Roderich adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, much too fancy to be worn when so alone, and fiddled with his glasses that had slid partially down the bridge of his nose. That was enough music for one day. Feeling suddenly exhausted, Roderich stood from the piano bench.

And then he promptly collapsed to the ground with an indignant yelp as his traitorous legs crumpled beneath him, unable to support his own weight. Weak arms, stronger than his legs from pushing a wheelchair, but not by much, flailed about in an attempt to catch onto something. Delicate fingers grasped the cloth atop a side table, but that quickly gave in to Roderich’s weight, and he and the vase that sat upon the small table tumbled to the ground with a crash and a rather loud, rather frustrated German curse.

Roderich lay on the floor, a heap of broken glass and dignity, wondering just where he had gone wrong. Oh but of course, how could he forget? His legs were but two useless weights permanently attached to his body. His own personal ball and chain, the key to freedom forever lost in the crash with his parents. Burnt, bloody, gone. If he closed his eyes now, he would no longer see the whimsical notes of a melody never heard, but the screech of tires and blinding, searing pain. Roderich dared not close his eyes. Those were nightmares best kept secret until the dark of night, when he could do nothing but lie in bed, stuck, immobile, just as he had been, trapped wedged between the steering wheel and driver’s seat, frozen in time.

Laying stuck, just as he was now. But now he was on the ground, shards of glass stuck in his skin, a sharp, painful reminder of his disability. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, and for a moment, all Roderich wished to do was stay there and sleep. Who gave a damn about the pain, at least he could feel it, the way the glass pierced through his coat and into his arms, his chest. But not his legs. Surely, he’d been cut there as well, but it was nothing but an inconvenience. An inconvenience, just like his damn legs.

And Roderich almost did resign himself to lying there for the remainder of the day, much too drained to fetch his phone from his pocket, let alone dial in the digits required to call for help. He almost let his eyes slip shut, almost let the flames of his mind consume his thoughts, but the unmistakable sound of the the front door unlocking stopped him from doing anything of the sort. Heavy footsteps echoed through the house, sent vibrations through the hard, cold wood flooring.

“Hey, Prinz, I heard something so I thought-- holy fuck what did you do now?”

The statement didn’t come out as harsh or even remotely surprised, but it still took every ounce of Roderich’s self control to not cuss the man out. He strained his neck to find two red eyes peering down at him. He might not have cursed his apparent rescuer, but he did muster his finest glare. “What do you think I did, fool?” he spat.

The man, his neighbor, laughed, a boisterous, loud sound. Roderich wished to smack that smile right off his face.

“Really, Prinz? Get so lost in your pretty little head that you forgot you can’t walk for shit?” The man grinned, almost smug, but as he did so, lifted Roderich as if he weighed not much more than air. “Seriously though, this is the second time in a month. How the fuck do you forget you can’t... I dunno, walk?”

His dignity left behind, shattered to pieces with the glass, Roderich only let out a small huff, putting on a false air of pride that clashed with the image of him; bloody, glasses crooked, and clinging tightly to his neighbor as if he might drop him, let him fall back into the flames. But the smug man held him tight, supporting his back with one arm, his legs with the other. “It’s not as if I have been paraplegic my entire life, idiot. In fact, it’s been only--”

“A year and three months, yeah, I know. You made the same excuse last time.”

Roderich shot his neighbor an offended glare. “Don’t interrupt me!”

The man scoffed. “Or what? You gonna piano me to death? Watch yourself, Prinz, I might just drop you.” But even as he said that, he was placing Roderich delicately on his couch, the smallest hint of concern in his eyes as the musician let out a low hiss from the glass in his skin. Unfortunately, that concern failed to translate to his words. “Hey, I don’t wanna hear any complaining from you! It’s only gonna hurt more when I pull the things out, so better brace yourself ‘cause I’m not gonna stop if you start crying.”

Roderich didn’t bother to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “What do you take me for, a child? Just get on with-- ah! Give me a warning at least!”

His neighbor grinned up at him smugly, one larger piece of glass already plucked from red, irritated skin. “One down~” he practically sang. “Only a shit ton to go!” He flashed another grin. “Don’t cry too hard, Prinz. I’ll be more gentle with the next one billion.” Roderich sighed, resigning to the next several painful minutes, thinking he could still be on the floor, not needing to put up with this attitude and teasing smirk.

Piece by piece, the glass was removed, larger pieces that stuck through his shirt first, then smaller ones that required tweezers to remove, all in his hands and arms. His neighbor was surprisingly steady handed, not once making a wrong move or poking Roderich in such a way that he might wish to slap him again. A silence fell between them, and Roderich, now used to the sharp pinch that accompanied each tug of the tweezers, felt numb in both body and mind. His thoughts wandered, as they had a tendency to do.

He was back in the hospital room. Wires and tubing jutting each and every way out of his body, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness, only semi aware of the brace around his neck and the monotonous, gentle tug of a doctor’s tweezers, pulling shattered glass and hopes from Roderich’s skin, each one tossed aside, the glass falling to the wastebin and his dreams flying out through the hospital walls, out into the day, into freedom that he could never taste again, not in the same way. No, now he was bound, bound by wheelchair, bound my memories, bound by his own insufferable fear and grief and guilt and regret. Freer now than his parents, buried in cold, uncaring coffins six feet underground, but at least they had rest, at least they had peace, at least they had left their only son with a fortune large enough that he might live out the rest of his days with not a single worry. Not a single worry except for the worry in his neighbor’s eyes each time Roderich’s thoughts slipped away, back to happier days when he could walk and run and jump and stand so simply from his piano bench without crumbling to the ground in a mess of broken glass. Not a care or a wish in the world, except for dreams flown away.

“Hey.”

For the second time that afternoon, Roderich was forced from the personal hellfires of his mind and back to reality by that overconfident, smug voice. Except now, it was soft, quiet, almost kind. Roderich blinked, his gaze meeting a concerned expression.

“You okay there, Prinz? You got all quiet then just started crying all of a sudden.”

Roderich wanted to scoff at the man. “Crying? What are you talking about...” But there was quiver in his voice, a tremble to his lip, and a distinct trail of dampness running from his eyes to his chin. “I’m not--” A weak, shuddering gasp escaped him, and Roderich’s hand flew to cover his mouth, as if to smother the sound from existence. He felt like a child again, waking from a nightmare, wanting nothing more than to rush to the arms of his mother and father, but he couldn’t. They were gone, flown off with those pesky dreams of his. There were no warm embraces, no feather soft forehead kisses to lull him back to sleep, back to pleasant thoughts. Only the sad, pitying eyes of his neighbor and the sharp sting of glass now removed.

No warm embrace, except for one, almost awkward, almost uncertain arm around his shoulder. His neighbor sat next to him on the couch, pulled their bodies close together, and didn’t say a word.

And Roderich cried.

He cried into his neighbor’s shirt, who sat, unfazed, unmoving, just one strong arm around delicate shoulders wracked with sobs. He cried for his music, never again the same, not without feet to push the pedals and draw out notes, cried for his legs and the pain they’d never feel, cried for his parents and his dreams as they flew away with his stolen freedom. He cried, and the man was silent.

When he stopped, Roderich wished it was all of him that was paralyzed, not just his legs, so that he wouldn’t have to feel the soreness in his eyes or the weakness in his lungs as he gasped and shuddered for breath. But, he hadn’t been so lucky. Or perhaps he was lucky, for now he could shift away from his neighbor’s embrace, take off his glasses and wipe his eyes, pretend like nothing had happened. And it almost seemed that was what his neighbor wished to do as well, for he simply got up with a stretch and a sigh, straightening his shirt, now rumpled by Roderich’s hands.

“Welp, Prinz, all the glass is out. You’re welcome.” He spoke plainly, as if he hadn’t just held close the whimpering, crying body of his neighbor. “Put some bandaids on some of ‘em, too. Don’t want your pretty little hands getting all infected, then you wouldn’t be able to play and forget you can’t walk all over again, and then I wouldn’t be able to come and save you!” He laughed. “Guess I’ll get going, though, you’re probably tired from your little adventure today.”

Roderich hesitated, then spoke. “Wait, I--”

His neighbor, just about to turn to leave, stopped. “Sup?”

Violet eyes met a pair of red ones, just briefly. “...Thank you, Gilbert. For everything.”

There was a pause, then Gilbert smiled. Not a boisterous, smug smirk, but a real, genuine smile that lit up his eyes. “Of course, Prinz.” And he turned to leave, but stopped again, looking back. “Oh, and next time--”

In the light of the window, filtered through parted curtains, he seemed to sprout wings.

“Call me next time you’re gonna play, ‘kay? I’ll be there to catch you when you fall.”

And in that moment, Roderich wanted nothing more than to take Gilbert’s hand and fly away with those wings, chasing lost dreams.

#hetalia #pruaus #aph austria #aph prussia #mertsi fic #drabble