#would like to report none of them fell off my cos which is a first lmao

[arlar]

for real though, i am so proud of how our twins cos turned out alphinaud is me, alisaie is @nothingforjuice

3D print files by @dangerous-ladies patterns for alisaie by @indigojinjo @awishwee took this picture and i love her

#my cosplay #ffxiv #ffxiv cosplay #final fantasy 14 #ff14 cosplay #alphinaud leveilleur #alisae leveilleur #please clap #this is the second set of red and blue twins that me and christine cos'd this year lol #i'm really pleased that we got our heights to match #i can tell im getting better at finishing 3d print pieces too #would like to report none of them fell off my cos which is a first lmao #support the dangerous ladies they are phenomenal at their craft and a huge inspiration for me #also tell christine that she did so good sewing that jacket out of mf marine vinyl

[jameui]

MOVIE DATE

PAIRING: Hwang Hyunjin x Manager!M!Reader

GENRE: Angst, Fluff

WARNING: Hyunjin being a jerk

SUMMARY: You boyfriend, Hyunjin took you out on a date to watch your favorite movie.

You sighed in exhaustion and as if the world was trying to test you, a fast running bicycle came your way causing you to jump to the side, so fast that you forgot about the takeouts you had in your hands and at a blink of an eye the neatly boxed items fell to the ground, all the food now spilled on the floor with your eyes widening in fear. "Shit!" You yelled out and tried to get back to the restaurant again, but as soon as you got there the line was already long and it'd take you ages to get to the counter to order, again.

You were at your way to your work with your phone squeezed in between your shoulder and ear as you talked to your co-manager on the other line who seemed agitated for your tardiness, while you tried to balance the foods you were made to order. "Yes, sir. I'll make sure that won't happen again." You told the male before the call was cut short when he decided to hang up all of a sudden.

Looking around, you saw a chinese restaurant that had the smallest line, so you went there and bought the food there, even though the orders of the group was not exactly what they wanted for you to buy. You just couldn't go back empty handed.

After a few minutes of walking, you finally arrived at the venue of the fansign event and got there just in time before Stray Kids were called to the stage for their activity to be done, but the moment you got there you saw that the people present were already eating their food away. They noticed your presence entering the room whilst their head turned to look at you. "I... Good morning, everyone." You greeted them. 'Guess their manager got their food delivered.'

You didn't get a reply, except from the group who was more than happy to see that you had food on your hands. "Hyung! Thank God. I was starving." The group's youngest, Jeongin said as he helped you put the foods down on the table. "You're seriously a life saver."

You smiled at him giving him a muttered thanks that earned you a smile from Jeongin. Honestly speaking, Jeongin was the second best person you ever liked in the group, the first being Lee Felix since he was the only person to ever approach you on your first day since he was able to see how much you were so nervous. Felix was also one of the members who taught you korean, the other being Bang Chan. You had always knew the group back then, and now and you were damn thankful that you got the opportunity to be in their circle.

Knowing how young you were to be working for them, they treated you nicely, not because they needed to, rather cause it was in their nature to be caring. Well, at least except one person. You were the closest to Felix who treated you like his personal manager and a friend as well, going out on friendly dates with you to the park, dog cafés, just anywhere Felix would find interesting to visit.

Who's the person that seemed irritated whenever you were around you ask? Why, the one and only visual king, Hwang Hyunjin. He doesn't actually treat you bad, but the way his eyes would always turn dark or displeased when you show up in his line of sight made you feel so small and felt totally unwelcomed. That was then, apparently, since today the male looked a little too quiet and didn't even bother to look at you. Believe me or not that's actually the kindest thing he's done to you.

You would try to go to him to try and talk to him, worried by his silence. You just furrowed your brows and sighed completely aware that no matter how much you try to talk to him he won't even dare to acknowledge you being there for him.

"M/n, are you just gonna stand there? Come and eat." Chan told you, but you just politely declined his offer with the shake of your head before telling him that you had just taken your breakfast and that you were full, more and you feel like your stomach's gonna burst. "Hm, suit yourself, but I'll be leaving mine untouched, so you can eat it when you get hungry, yeah?"

"You're so kind, Chan." You gave him a smile that got Chan smiling also showing his deep dimples that you could just dive in it anytime soon.

"Hey, hey, hey! We've known each other the longest. Why do I still have to call you 'hyung' and M/n doesn't?" Jisung, one of the group's rapper, pouted with folded arms as Chan chuckled before ruffling the kid's hair that Jisung angrily shook off.

"Well, since he's not that spoiled, unlike you." Chan answered Jisung who gasped dramatically. "And he also gained my permission, so—"

"Whenever or not he's around, is he the only person that ever comes into your mind?" That all too familiar voice spoke out, all your heads turning towards the person. He scoffed and stood up with a smirk on his face, probably in disbelief that the whole group was talking to you and always thought about you. "I mean, come on. There's gotta be something else to talk about other than this... person." You felt his eyes look at you while your eyes stared at him with rising anger. "There's sports, other artists, songs, music, so many and you chose to pick him as the topic of your talk."

"Hyunjin, that is very disrespectful." Chan gritted out, but Hyunjin knew better than to listen or to even stop.

"I'm really not, hyung." Hyunjin's smirk grew wider eyeing you with a suspicious look on his eyes. An idea popped in his head as he opened his mouth to talk. "But, if you want to, I could show you how disrespectful I can get." Without any warning, he took the take-out container and bottled drink in his hand and gave you no second to react as he poured all of its contents onto your head with a loud gasp coming out of you. "There. I'll call it a masterpiece even."

"Hwang Hyunjin!" Bang Chan's voice boomed through the whole room a still smirking Hyunjin turning around to face the older male who was fuming with anger. "You—"

"Chan!" You called out to him before things got a little out of hand. For pete's sake their going to just fight because Hyunjin had made a mess of you? You were not even worth the fight. "No. I'm fine. I can just quickly change, that's all. I'll be right back and I better get no reports about you two fighting." You told the two, Chan rolling his eyes.

You got out of the room and ran as fast as you can to the nearest restroom, cleaning yourself as soon as you arrived. Times like this you would immediately bawl your eyes out, but with the constant behavior that Hyunjin showed to you, you grew used to it. Heck, you even sometimes feel that the other boys only act like they liked you being there and when you weren't, they'd stab you behind your back. "Goodness, why won't this get off."

"Need help?" A raspy voice came from the entrance of the restroom, turning your head around to see Felix leaning himself on the door frame with his arms crossed, then untangled them to let his hands rest inside his pockets and stepped inside as you smiled at him. "Do you need more tissue?"

You shook your head at him, your attention back on your stained favorite shirt wiping them clean with the tissues the place's restroom owned. "Nah, there's plenty here. Besides, I'm all dried up now." You said and showed yourself to him, Felix knitting his brows in worry.

He seeped air through his teeth and cocked his head to the side, unsure if you should be wearing that now dirty shirt when you'd be with them during the activity the whole time. "I don't think you should be wearing that."

"Why? It's my favorite sweater." You chuckled half-heartedly.

"Yeah, I know, M/n, but it's dirty. Plus, I think it gets pretty uncomfortable seeing that stain on your shirt and it gets sticky. Yeugh." Felix pretended to barf which got you laughing softly. Felix, though not trying to be funny, whatever he does it always seemed so funny to you.

"Fine, fine. I'll go change, the problem though is that I didn't bring an extra shirt with me today." You told Felix scratching your nape.

"Really? Well, I guess we have to borrow from one of the group's." Felix suggested, but your eyes grew sizes bigger upon hearing that and waved your hands.

"No way, Felix! I have already done enough damage, I can't afford to borrow a shirt from one of the members, or to you even." You told him, but it all fell on deaf ears as Felix refused to listen. "I'm just trouble, Felix. You don't have to worry about me."

Felix hummed with two fingers pinching his chin gently. "Yeah, I don't think so." He took your wrist and started to drag you back to the dressing room. "Come on, I know there's someone willing to let you borrow a shirt." You just sighed, knowing that Felix won't even dare to change his mind when he had already set them on something.

Alas, as you two got there, none of the members even had a spare shirt to let you borrow. They were very willing and even tried to look around if there was anything, but to no avail. Although, there was one last person you didn't ask. "Hyunjin. You were the cause of this mess, you let him borrow your shirt." Felix sternly told the older male who pilled his brows together.

"What?! No way! Are you telling me I'd offer to do something for that guy? No!" Hyunjin retorted making Felix growl.

Felix was so ready to throw punches at the male who didn't seem to be bothered by the situation, but you just put a hand on Felix's shoulder and assured him. "That's alright, Felix. My sweater was thick enough to not get my undershirt wet. Although, I'm grateful for your effort." You smiled at him and sighed.

Just in time, you heard a call from one of your co-manager that the group was already being requested to be at the stage right now. You gave them an encouraging smile as they all did the same. "Alright boys. It's time to go out there and meet millions of your fans."

The group all shouted, excluding Hyunjin, hurray and hurried out to get on stage, you following behind after you were able to discard your sweater, leaving you only on your black t-shirt. You shivered at the cold now that you were left with a thin clothing that wasn't appropriate for the type of weather you were having and not mention that the place was fully air-conditioned.

Your shaking was not too evident, but one of the members, Seungmin, was able to notice it. Feeling pity he made his way to Hyunjin and tried to convince him. "Jinnie, M/n's cold. Please lend him your jacket, at least. He'll get sick if he continues to get exposed to the cold."

"Better for him."

"Hyunjin, please... Besides, you're already wearing thick layers of clothes why not let M/n borrow." Seungmin reasoned out and solemnly knitted his brows to persuade the male, Hyunjin rolling his eyes at his bestfriend and huffed before taking his jacket off of him and handed it over to Seungmin who silently squeaked. "Thanks, Hyunjin." Hyunjin brushed it off with a 'whatever', the younger of the two jogging his way towards you and gave you the jacket he got from Hyunjin. "I noticed your shivering, so I want you to take this jacket and no, you can't say you can't accept it."

You nodded your head at him and took the jacket from his hands. "Thank you, Seungmin."

"My pleasure." He smiled at you with those puppy dog like smile. He skipped back to reunite with his group while you put on the jacket that Seungmin offered you. You were still in thought though how Seungmin was able to convince Hyunjin to let you borrow his jacket. You knew Hyunjin owned the jacket since he wouldn't let them go since the moment you arrived.

You noticed how the jacket was too big for you, since the sleeves of the piece of clothing only let your fingers peek out through the holes while the flaps reached further down your hips, but it totally felt cozy and smelled like... Hyunjin. How do you explain it? You don't even know where to begin. It was him. The reason why you wanted to work with Stray Kids. You didn't want to look like you were some type of stalker, but all you ever wanted was to befriend Hyunjin.

The befriending process didn't go the way you actually thought it would go. Everytime his eyes met yours or you heard his voice you'd get all flustered and so nervous that your tongue always gets tied, the words you want to tell him gets trapped inside your mouth. It all started to be just an admiration towards the slightly older male until your determination to become his friend gradually became an unknown feeling towards Hyunjin, until realizing later that you actually liked the group's rapper, despite all his bad treatment towards you.

Back to reality, you hugged yourself and took in the wonderful scent the artist gave off until one of your co-worker nudged you. "Hey, stop sniffing the clothes. You totally look like a sasaeng."

"W-what? I wasn't sniffing anything." You denied it earning an eye roll. Later, you heard the whole place bursted into shouts of joy and excitement as Stray Kids made their appearance on the stage greeting all their fans inside and outside of the place. They all took their turns taking the mic to express their happiness and gratefulness to their ocean of fans that filled up the whole place.

Soon, the group was seated at a long rectangular table that was a perfect fit letting all the members seat on their respective seats. There were chairs as well settled in front of the table with each settled across a specific member.

You were appointed to keep guard and stand behind Hyunjin, in any case of fans throwing shade at him or any forms of harm or hate towards the member who had just been caught up in a supposed bullying rumor.

The line started to form as people who were present inside the place took their turns to talk to each member and get a sign from them. So far, you could only wonder how paranoid the company was to keep you on guard of Hyunjin when all these people here are Stays and they wouldn't do such thing to throw hate to any members in the group. Right?

The line was still too long to be gone in just minutes making you sigh, hearing your tummy rumble hoping that no one heard that. You now finally regret not eating that noodles that Chan offered you, the hunger finally hitting your system as your tummy continued to grumble. You pursed your lips and forced your eyes closed while you brought your head down in embarrassment. 'Fuck... why now?'

After a short while, the line was starting to get shorter and shorter, you thanking the heavens for the fast passing by of the time. But, the moment you least expected to happen happened. You felt a harsh tap on your legs and another and another after it finally took your attention, getting a little shocked that the action was done by the person who hated you the worst. "Take it before I change my mind." He told you. You complied and bowed at him politely as he tuts his tongue. "Who would even think of going to work on an empty stomach?"

'You... poured it on me?' You thought then shrugging it off before you looked at the treat offered to you by Hyunjin. You wondered what type of bread it was and hesitated, although Hyunjin's back was facing you he was able to sense your hard time on trying to eat what he gave you.

"It's not poisoned, M/n." He whispered as he signed the album that had his photo on it, then looking up at the fan who would like to talk to him.

Their talk wasn't audible to you, but you opened the packaging of the nicely wrapped pastry and bit on it with your body facing the wall so your back was turned against the people to cover yourself while you ate. One of your co-manager did notice your unwanted behavior and stomped his way to you and took the baked good from your hands and threw it to the ground to step on it and crush it good. "What do you think you're doing, L/n?! You're being inappropriate right now." He gritted out to you with a small voice almost like a whisper so no one else would hear you two. You bowed your head subtly before a hand was placed right below your chin as you looked up at him confused. "Spit." He ordered, referring to the food you were chewing.

You nod your head and spit out the food that was in your mouth into his hand while he picked up the wasted food and left, then threw it all at a trash can. "Fuck." You sighed as you held your chest and slowly turned around to face the non-existent line, the group now interacting with their fans.

Just looking at them now, you were able to remember when you were the one who was there seated at the chairs shouting out the name of the person you would call as your bias, which is no other than Kim Seungmin. At least, when you still didn't take the job to be one of the group's manager. Usually, it would only take one manager to manage the group, but why did this group require another one? You questioned yourself. It was all unexplained to you, but all you gotta do was to just be glad that you get to be friends with the people you see as your role models.

"Hyunjin-ah! When did you start trading jackets with your manager?" The question came out as a shout that got everyone laughing, including the group. You were only able to chuckle knowing that it was Seungmin who convinced Hyunjin to let you borrow his jacket.

Hyunjin didn't get to answer the question, when another fan spoke from the crowd that got every fans' attention. "Are rumors true that you don't treat Manager L/n well?"

Chan furrowed his brows and picked up his microphone. "Where did you get this story?" He chuckled trying to make it sound that it wasn't true and just pure bluff. Chan looked at Hyunjin with the face that told Hyunjin that he should start treating you well if he didn't want the netizens to know about his treatment towards you. "Anyways, it's seriously not true."

-----------

A few minutes later and the event was finally finished and the group was bidding their goodbyes to their fans as they started to walk backstage. You waited for them at their waiting room with a handful of bottled waters for the boys to pick up once they get inside. The door soon opened revealing the group with a tense atmosphere following them that got you so confused. "Hey—"

"Hyunjin. If word gets out about your mistreatment to M/n, that would be a serious damage to our image and to M/n as well, 'cause he's obviously in pain because of you!" Chan yelled at the trouble causing male who only rolled his eyes paying no heed to his warning.

"Atleast, I never went too far as to really hurt him physically." Hyunjin deadpanned Chan growling at his response. Your eyes flickered to Hyunjin, then to Chan not knowing what to do in this situation.

"You are seriously being a jerk right now, Hyunjin." Chan fumed in anger while Hyunjin just continued to act deaf and played on his phone. Chan, giving up, sighed and plopped down on his seat. "Ayayay."

They took turns in getting your glances as you thought of a way to calm the atmosphere. You had already been their manager for a over a year now and this was the only time that Hyunjin ever spoke up to Chan and, to top it off, with sass and without the slightest feeling of being bothered. That was the moment you felt like you had enough. You've had enough with all these things. You were tired of yourself to even think that Hyunjin would finally soften up to you and be his friend. You were wrong to even apply for this kind of job. The group wouldn't be fighting if it hadn't been for you appearing in their lives all so suddenly. "Guys... let him do as he pleases. I'll be the one to take of whatever the netizens hear."

Chan raised his eyes up at you with furrowed brows. "What do you plan on doing? Whatever it is don't do it."

You smiled and nodded. "I won't, Chan." You held up the bottles in your hands and turned on a toothy smile. "Water? Anyone?" They all sighed in relief and got their turns in picking their own bottled water, the last one not being picked up by Hyunjin, so you decided to give it to him. You brought the cold drink to his face making him flinch as he looked up at you. "Thank you for the bread, by the way." You told him and giggled. "I've already packed your jacket in your bag." You informed him and patted his back.

The once crazily terrifying atmosphere now turned into a more comfortable one, the one you always would want to see. You didn't know what got you the courage to speak or blurt out whatever you had in your mind, but you looked at Hyunjin and said: "Hyunjin, can I talk to you privately?" Thankfully, their loud voices was able to distract themselves from hearing your request to Hyunjin who sighed and nodded his head. He stood up from his seat and started to move outside of the room. You followed behind closely, feeling intimidated by the month older's tall figure. "Hyunjin..."

"Cut to the chase, M/n. I don't have much time." He told you as you nod your head in understanding and fiddled with your fingers.

"I know, you'd probably like hearing this, but could I have the permission to quit as your group's manager?" You asked him, his forehead creasing that made him pull his brows together. "I was able to notice what the group had become the moment I became your manager—"

"And do you think quitting would change it?" Hyunjin asked you with a raised brow. "If anything, it'd probably—no, it would break their hearts to know that you quitted. If you do so, you're not only quitting as a manager, but as their friend as well."

"And you're able to say that after you purposely tried to have me fired or suspended from work by offering me that bread?" You sarcastically answered, Hyunjin clearing his throat.

"Well... that wasn't my intention. I didn't even know it'd get you fired." Hyunjin replied making you chuckle.

"Yeah..." You replied with a sad smile. "But, I don't wanna be the reason why you and Chan would always fight. Stray Kids is Stray Kids because they're fun and loving, caring. And I don't want to change that by being around the group." Hyunjin never replied anymore and you sighed. "I'm heading back now." You said and as you started to walk back inside, Hyunjin spoke.

"I wish you never entered our life, at all, M/n." He told you that got your heart broken into pieces. Sure, you admitted that he never liked you even just a bit, but him saying it so bluntly to you, it's like he does really mean it and could only care less. You were about to speak when Hyunjin beat you to it. "If so, I wouldn't be able to garner these undeniable feelings I have for you."

You froze. Were you hearing right? You just cleaned your ears this morning, well you do it everyday. Is your ear trying to play with you? "W-what?"

"DAMN! WHO WOULD'VE THOUGHT?!" You gasped with your mouth full of popcorn, your boyfriend, Hyunjin seated beside you at the movie theater. He smiled at you admiring how cute you looked with your shocked expression that was being illuminated by the big screen. "Jinnie! Look, they're gonna kiss! AH!!" As the two actors in the movie was about to kiss, one of the movie's cast bursted out of the door cutting the kiss and earned a few 'oh's and 'I hate you, Chan's. "Chan is such a cock blocker."

"Watch your mouth, babe." Hyunjin told you making you pout.

"It's true, though!" You retorted and Hyunjin could only laugh at your cuteness and honest opinions.

#hwang hyunjin x male reader #bottom male reader #x male reader #bxb #male reader #idol x male reader #kpop #fanfiction #stray kids x male reader #skz x male reader #stray kids #boy group #angsty #skz #skz hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Unexpected

Warnings: Based on two episodes with my twist. Just case talks, the squad actually not being friendly, hurt reader and fluff

I wrote this SO long ago, second guessed putting it up, but its time it saw the light. 

WC: 2226 

Enjoy x

“I told you not to put her on the stand. All you guys do is treat me like I don’t know what I’ am doing. I handed you all a solid case that didn’t involve her and you have blown it”

“You’re out of line Detective” Rafael spat back to you.

“No, you’re out of line Counselor, you know it all”

“You need to calm down Y/N” Liv said firmly with a slightly raised voice.

“I’ve had enough of this crap I should have stayed in Brooklyn, at least they listened and wanted me there”

You stormed out of Rafael’s’ office slamming his glass door behind you making the whole wall shake.

“Is she always this emotional?” Rafael frowned at Liv

“Well, No. She is right Rafa, about everything” He rolled his eyes at Liv.

“Who’s the ADA here?”

“You, but she is right”

You had been at Manhattan SVU for 4 months after transferring from Brooklyn SVU. You and Sonny were old friends. You had finished the academy together, and then finally crossed paths again in Brooklyn. You actually wished you had stayed there. Back in Brooklyn you were one of them, you got along with the ADA, and everyone was close friends. Sonny had recommend you to Liv after you cracked a big string of rapes and she wanted to meet you. Liv offered you the position and you stupidly took it, thinking that you would have been welcomed with open arms, how wrong you were.

From the moment you walked in you felt like an outsider, even Sonny was different with you, even though he was your partner. He never backed you up on anything, you were always wrong. They treated you like you didn’t belong there and never took on board anything you had to say. Even if they asked you for after work drinks, you were left out and would leave early. It got to the point that you dreaded walking into the bullpen every morning. Rafael was the worst of all, he treated you like you were invisible, which you hated because you had feelings for him from the moment you laid eyes on him.  

A huge case had come in. A women had accused an Olympian, and once it was made public 2 other women came forward. You had a funny feeling about the 3rd women that came forward, all she had was the story, nothing else to back it up. The first two victims had doctor’s reports and had told someone as soon as it happened. You had worked hard on your own to make a new case file with just two victims who had all the evidence from their attack and gave it to Rafael one day when he was in the squad room before the trial started.  

“She is lying”

“You don’t know that” Sonny said back to you.

“Barba don’t put her on the stand, I have given you everything with just the other two victims, it's bullet proof.”

“Why Deactivate? Because you have a feeling?” he smirked at you “Three victims have come forward, three victims will be put on the stand”

“You’re making a big mistake”

“How about you let me do my job. We don’t go off feeling here, we go off evidence”

“Yeah and she has none” you snapped back.

Rafael ended up putting her on the stand and the defence ripped her to pieces. She confessed that she was paid by another Olympian to say she was attacked by the other just to get him out of the running for the Olympics, which ended in the case being a mistrial and he got away with the other two attacks.

Rafael had felt bad after Liv walked out of his office. He had put the case file you had made him in his draw the day you gave it to him, not even bothering to take on board what you said. Rafael pulled it out and had a look, you had been right. You had given him a bullet proof case which would have guaranteed the attacker would have been put away.

You were a good Detective and very beautiful, but you never looked happy, you were always stand offish and never got involved with them. Everything fell into place in his mind. Everyone did treat you like you didn’t know anything and they never included you. He thought back to how he treated you and regret filled him. From the first day he meet you and you smiled at him, his tummy filled with butterflies. But he didn’t want to get hurt, so he did what he did best and closed himself off to you, clearly doing a lot of damage.

You sat in Forlini’s on your 2nd double vodka soda. Everything was running through your head, you were so angry it was making you cry. After everything that had happen, you pulled your phone from your pocket and opened your emails and sent one to Liv asking for a personal week next week, and then emailed your old Lieutenant asking to have a meeting with him when he was free.

You couldn’t do it anymore. It was all too much. These last 4 months had been horrible. Your old Lieutenant didn’t want you to leave in the first place, but had told you there was a position for you whenever you wanted to come back. You hit send when you felt someone sit next to you. You looked over and it was Sonny.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Why do you care?”

“Come on Y/N, why are you acting like this?”

“You’re really asking me that question?” You frowned at Sonny.

“What do you mean?”

“From the moment I walked in, all you guys have done is make me feel unwelcome. You’re my partner and you don’t even back me up. I hate it here, I wish I never made the transfer. We were friends before here, you’re so different. I don’t know you anymore”

“I didn’t mean-Why didn’t you talk to me about it?” Sonny had a sad look on his face.

“And what’s the point in that? You would just laugh it off and go back to ignoring me with the rest of them”

“I’ am sorry”

“Bit late for that. Just go”

Sonny looked at you, got down off his bar stool and walked away.

A couple hours later you were on your 5th drink, it was getting dark out. You could feel the alcohol making your head swim. But you felt numb which is what you wanted.

“How many of them have you had?”

“What’s it to you?” You didn’t even look up to see who it was.

“How many have you had Detective?” Rafael was standing next to you frowning when you finally looked up.

“Why does everyone seem to care all of a sudden?”

“Excuse me” Rafael sat down on the chair next you and ordered some water and fries.

“What do you want Counselor?”

“Look, I should have listened to you. You were-you were right”

You looked up at him through glassy eyes.

“Doesn’t matter now anyway, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ am going to transfer back. Well hopefully I can. I mean I want to. I have a meeting next week. I hope the boss says yes” you skulled down the last of your drink.

“Why do you want to leave?” he all of a sudden filled with sadness.

“You’re as dumb as Sonny if you don’t know the answer to that question” He frowned to you “All you guys have done since I started here is leave me out and treat me like I don’t know my stuff. And you are worst of all, you treat me like I’ am invisible”

“No I d-”

“Yes you do. I can’t believe I ever had feelings for someone like you”

Rafael sat there and watched you, not sure if it was just the alcohol talking or if you really meant what you said. You felt uncomfortable him starring at you so you started to get down off the bar stool.

----

“Do you always let your girlfriend drink this much on a Friday night?” the Doctor gave Rafael a funny look.

“She’s not my girlfriend, she’s a co-worker”

“With the amount of alcohol in her system and the knock to the head. We will be keeping her in for tonight. She needs her concussion monitored. Maybe you should take better care of your co-worker while drinking.” The Doctor gave him a dirty look.

You woke up to a dark room and a crashing head ache. You let your eyes adjust and a figure caught your attention. You turned your head and Rafael was sitting there with a hospital blanket over him. You tried to adjust yourself, but you made so much noise, it woke him up.

“Sorry I woke you” you muttered.

“It’s ok” he rubbed his face “I’ am glad you’re awake” he gave you a soft smile.

“What happened?”

“You fell and hit your head on the bar. You have a concession”

“Explains the head ache” he laughed at you “Thanks for staying, but you can go now”

“No it’s ok, I’ am happy to stay”

You laid back down looking up at the ceiling.

“Did you mean what you said?” Rafael asked softly.

“Which part?” you sighed back.

“All of it”

“Yeah. I have next week off and I’ am going to talk to my old Lieutenant when he tells me what day I can” tears were filling your eyes.

“OK. But I’ am not just talking about that”

You took a deep breath and let out a small sigh.

“Why does it matter now anyway” You spat back at him sitting up in bed. Rafael walked over and sat on the edge grabbing your hand in his.

“Because I would like to know. Please”

You pulled your hand out of his,

“Of course I meant it. I just needed 5 drinks to finally say something. But like I said it doesn’t matter now”

“Can we ta-” Rafael started to say before you cut him off.

“No”

“Can I talk?” you finally looked into his eyes, they were such a beautiful shade of green and you slightly nodded.

“I’ am sorry. About the case, about making you feel the way you felt. I didn’t realise how I was treating you. I’ am sorry, please think about staying.”

“It’s a little too late for that.”  

****

 You were let out of Hospital the next day. Rafael ended up leaving early that morning, the DA called him in for a case. You got home and showered when there was a knock at your door. You were shocked when you opened it, seeing who was standing there, Liv, Sonny, Amanda and Fin, each holding a brown paper bag.

“What are you all doing here? Ah I mean come in” you stood aside and let them all in.

“Barba called Liv and told her what happened, so we decided to come over and I’ am going to cook” Sonny said back to you.

“And we want to apologise” Amanda grabbed your shoulder “For making you feel the way you do. We didn’t mean it, we were assholes and we don’t want you to leave”

“I know you have got in contact with your old Lieutenant, but please reconsider” Liv looked at you with a small smile.

Lunch was amazing and for the first time you felt like part of the squad. You just hoped that it would last. Everyone had left after helping to wash up, clean up, the left overs put in the fridge. You had just sat down on the couch when there was another knock on the door, you were even more shocked with who was standing there,

“I know everyone has left, but I brought dessert” Rafael had a big smile on his face “Can I come in?” you moved out of the way to let him make his way in, sitting the bag he was carrying on your kitchen bench “Sorry I wasn’t here with everyone else, the DA wanted me to go over a case, took longer than I expected. How are you feeling?”

“A bit better, thanks. Why did you call Liv?”

“I was worried about you. And, I guess, I hoped she would talk you out of leaving”

“Why?”

Rafael walked over to you, grabbing your hand to pull you around to look at him.

“Because, I like you”

“Is that how you treat people you like? Hate to see how you treat people you love”

“For that. I’ am sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was protecting myself”

You raised your eye brows at him. Before you had chance to say anything back, his lips came crashing on yours. Butterflies filled your tummy and you lent into him moving your head for him to deepen his kiss, Rafael resting his hands on your neck, you resting yours on his waist. After a moment you pulled away to catch your breath and looked into his eyes,

“That was unexpected” you smiled at him, Rafael smirking back at you.

“I really want to see where this goes, I promise I don’t love how I like”

  Tags: @detective-giggles ​ @beccabarba  @witches-unruly-heart @dianilaws @scarletsoldierrr @lv7867  @permanentlydizzy @averyhotchner @infiniteoddball @fandom-princess-forevermore @madamsnape921 @annabelleb49 @alwaysachorusgirl @thatesqcrush ​ @lovelymischief

#ada rafael barba #ada barba #rafael barba #rafael barba fanfiction #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x yn #barba fanfic #barba x reader #rafael barba and reader #rafael barba x you #reafael barba x reader #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #SVU fanfiction #SVU FANDOM #svu fan

[echo-hiraeth]

Chapter 3: “Es Tuyo”

Part of the “Illicit Limerence” series

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: After having spent some days recovering and getting to her new surroundings the reader goes back to work where she seems to attract some male attention. Javier is displeased and on his breaking point.

Warnings: Major trigger warning: mention of pregnancy termination, cursing, angst, fluff, mentions of injury

Masterlist

A/N: that photo is totally Javi in that evidence closet

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“That is not how you pronounce that at all”, you cackled from the couch.

Connie threw her hands up in defence: “Well, then how? C’mon help me out here amigo!”

“Amiga”, you corrected, grinning as she set the plate down in front of you.

Your friend shook her head as she took a deep breath, lips curled up in a smirk. “You know, you’re supposed to teach me Spanish, not bully me.”

The door swung open as the both of you ate and laughed together, revealing a more than exhausted Steve. “Murphy, come sit with us, Connie made the most amazing pasta.”

He hung his jacket on the wall and kicked off his shoes before plopping down next to Connie, pressing a short peck to her lips. “What’s got you two all riled up?”

“Connie’s been drinking the night away and I am so sleep-deprived that even the telenovelas have become entertaining”, you answered, mouth full of pasta.

“What’s been keeping you up then?”, he asked while reaching over for a plate.

You shrugged your shoulders: “Just the thought of going back to work tomorrow.. I know it’ll just be paperwork but I-I’m just nervous I guess. I need to figure out a way to talk to Messina about resigning without raising any eyebrows and.. it’s just a lot.”

“You know I can get you another doc’s note”, Connie intervened, tilting her head at you.

“Yeah, I know, Con, I know. I just want to get up and get moving. No offense, but y’all can be boring as hell.”

She playfully threw a pillow at you, which hit you square in the belly, making you huff out a small laugh. “It’s not my fault we both have jobs to do, your highness.”

“When’s that first check-up-thingy of yours anyway?”, Murphy questioned.

“Next week, after hours, but I can get there myself, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yeah, not a chance pal, the Sicarios know your face now, best to have a chaperone out there.”

Steve was right and deep down you’d thought about it too. Of course the narco-men already had most of the DEA’s information and agents in their databases, but you were still unknown to them. It was rare for a female agent to work in the field, let alone be placed in Columbia whatsoever, you’d been an element of surprise, but now even that had been taken away by Escobar. You knew a pregnancy meant the end of your career as a DEA agent, at least in the field. The past three days were meant for you to readjust to your temporary living space with your friends, but you’d really only spent it within the depths of your own head. There was so much you had to do and you couldn’t even figure out where to start, you had to tell Javier at some point, quit your job or risk putting him in danger as well and most of all.. tell your parents. The last one could wait, they wouldn’t care much anyways, you figured. But Javier couldn’t, even though you were just over a month along, you knew you’d have to tell him eventually, this kind of thing wasn’t something you could hide forever.

While you were zoned-out, caught within your own head, Steve and Connie watched you. The grip on your plate tightened, eyes staring straight ahead and chest rising and falling more rapidly. Connie carefully put her hand over yours, making you jerk you head towards her, sending a wave of pain through your left shoulder. “I-I think I’m gonna head off for the night”, you mumbled, quickly getting up and putting your half-empty plate on the kitchen counter.

As soon as you shut the door your lips started trembling, eyes burning from the effort of trying to keep the hot tears from spilling. You pressed your right palm to your forehead, mustering up every last ounce of strength to keep yourself at bay. Another deep breath, another memory of his lips on yours, another step towards the bed, another fading remembrance of his rough hands ghosting over your body. This had to stop, you knew it – hell – you’d known from before you even got into his bed. Javier Peña was a bachelor at heart, free of any commitment, who were you to think you could change his mind. Here you were, heartbroken, knocked-up with a fucked-up shoulder, on a pull-out couch in your best friends’ apartment, what a life.

You carefully grabbed a hold of your Walkman, slipping the headphones on and laying down on the bed. You closed your eyes as you listened to the Cure’s “Boys don’t cry”, reminiscing on the hot summer in the States, when you’d bought the cassette and played it on repeat in your car. A soft smile settled on your face and eventually you fell asleep just like that, fully dressed and headphones still on your ears.

Though the next morning, when the three of you sat around the breakfast table, you in yesterday’s clothes and the two of them in their work attire, there was a bit of an atmosphere going on. Not a word was said over breakfast, only increasing the tension even more, making you feel incredibly vulnerable, like a kid scolded by their father, it was odd. It wasn’t until later, on your way to the embassy in Steve’s passenger’s seat that he finally broke his silence.

“Who is it?”, he asked, tone harsher than usual.

You let out a nervous chuckle, quirking an eyebrow in confusion. “Mind giving me a hand here, I’m not sure I-“

“Who did you fuck?”, he interrupted you, voice rigid and determined.

“Steve”, you huffed, “what the hell are-“

“I’m no idiot y/n. Now tell me, who the hell is it.” His frustration started showing in his driving style, his braking much more abrupt than usual.

You scoffed at him, resting your hand on the door handle, at an attempt to feel somewhat secure. “That’s just not none of your fucking business Murphy.”

“It is if I’m losing a partner over it, maybe even two.”

“Peña? Don’t make me fucking laugh”, you lied, voice surprisingly confident. “He’s the biggest jerk there.”

“Then who? Santiago, Lopez, that FBI guy?”, he pressed as he parked the car.

You flipped him off before yanking the car door open, hurrying your way into the embassy. You didn’t bother to stop at the front desk or politely bid you co-workers a “good morning”, no, you just wanted to get to Messina, get your assignments for the day and get to work, away from both your partners.

As predicted, you were to write reports for the foreseeable future, Messina putter her faith in your ability to type them out with just one hand. You’d agreed, not wanting to argue or come up with an alternative yourself and made your way over to your office. Despite your request to be put into a confined space, away from Murphy and Peña, Messina insisted you’d just work at your regular desk, so the two of them could provide you some assistance if needed.

Luckily for you the two of them were out for most of the day, leaving you to work alone, in a comfortable silence. A fellow agent would step in to check if you were alright every now and then, helping you with carrying out file boxes or bringing in new ones. It was times like this that your reputation really preceded you, the sweet girl that would bring coffees on Fridays and bake cookies for birthdays and holidays. You knew your way around the office and compensated for your shortages (aka the fact that you were a woman) by innocent bribery. Lopez had even been so attentive as to bring you a hot lunch, which you gladly accepted and enjoyed in his company.

Steve and Javier were both surprised to see the two of you, laughing and just having a good time. Though they both had different motives, their suspicions aligned perfectly: he’s being too friendly. The two of them walked into the office, yet the two of you didn’t look up, no on the contrary, Lopez leaned in even closer, fidgeting with the sling on your arm.

Javier was not fucking having this today, so he loudly cleared his throat, both of your heads perking up in his direction. Lopez got up off your desk and gave you another smile before walking out of the now-way-too-crowed-with-testosterone office space. He gave the two of them a polite nod, muttering a “Peña y Murphy” before disappearing into the hallway.

“I fucking knew it”, Steve sighed, letting himself fall into his desk chair.

You threw a pencil at his face, chuckling when it ultimately did hit him square in the nose. “You’re a fucking idiot Murphy, Lopez was just bringing me lunch.”

“If you say so”, Steve mumbled, throwing the pencil right back at you.

 The day had stayed calm and you were able to go home without having to talk to Peña at all, to your great relief. The next few days had been the exact same, tonnes of fieldwork for them and an amazing lunch with some of the other agents for you. On Thursday night, when Steve and Javier were working late due to an unexpected lead, you tagged along with the guys, heading out to some bar, where you enjoyed a non-alcoholic beverage or two and even were treated to a lovely platter of grilled goods.

Climbing the stairs to their apartment, you smiled to yourself. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, you had friends and options, maybe Javier didn’t need to be in the picture, maybe it was meant to be this way. As you slipped your key in the door you took a deep breath, you felt at peace. Which was swiftly stolen away from you as a more than distressed Steve and Connie, baby held in his arms, were revealed.

Your keys hit the floor in surprise, face contorting in confusion. You quickly picked them up, nodded at Connie and walked into your room. A kid and an injured friend were too much for anyone to handle, you knew that, the story would follow, but for now you’d be heading back to your place. Steve gave you an apologetic look as you placed the key on the table, offering the both of them a genuine smile on the way out.

As you hauled your bag down the stairs, you let out a pained groan, your shoulder disagreeing with your every movement. On the next floor down, a familiar door swung open, revealing no one other than Javier, shirt halfway unbuttoned. “C’mon, I already made the bed.”

“Oh, no thank you, I’m fine”, you answered, bag falling off of your shoulder.

He shook his head before walking over to you, taking the bags as he urged you to follow him. “You take the bed, I’ll take the couch. Beer’s in the fridge, cigs are on the table.”

You hesitantly trailed after him, cringing a bit when setting foot in his apartment, the memories of the previous nights spent there flooding your mind within mere seconds. “Javi, I’m really fine, I’d rather just go home.”

“M’sorry hermosa, Murphy’s orders”, he said from the bedroom, coming back empty-handed. “We don’t have to talk, you can take a bath if you want, watch tv, just do whatever you want.”

You stood in the doorway, awkwardly watching as he made his way over to the couch, quickly laying down. “The kid..”

“Escobar.”

That’s all you needed to know, you could fill in the blanks yourself. A hand hovered over your abdomen, stomach turning in knots as the mere idea of something like that happening to you crossed your mind. You closed your eyes, a cold shiver running down your back, the bile starting to rise in your throat. It wasn’t just the news, you’d been “lucky” enough to have limited episodes of nausea, but when you did it was either early on in the morning or later at night, never throughout the day, which really helped your work situation.

“Hey, hey, hey, you sick again?”, Javier asked, quickly getting up and rushing over to you.

You braced yourself by placing your good hand on his chest, taking a few deep breaths. “I need to sit down.”

He gave frantic set of nods, putting an arm around your waist and leading you over to the couch, slowly helping you down. He sat down on his knees between your legs, eyes looking over your features, trying to read you. “Concussion?”

You quickly shoved him aside, rushing over to his bathroom where you dropped down to your knees, head hung over the toilet bowl. It didn’t take long for him to follow, one warm hand resting on your upper back and the other holding on to your hair. His eyes were laced with worry and concern, your pained cries mixed in with the retching breaking his heart. With every convulsion of your body your arm bucked along, causing an immense pain to course through your mending bones. When you eventually stopped and rested your head on your arm, which rested on the porcelain itself, he let go of your hair. He disappeared for a fraction of a second, quickly coming back with some water and a towel.

“Do you need to see a doctor?”

You took a sip of the water, eager to get the vile taste out of your system. “No, no, I’m fine, just drank too much.”

He nodded, despite not believing you. He’d seen you drunk before and this wasn’t that. There was no lingering smell of alcohol, no sexual advances, no sarcasm, you were just.. you – except you were lying to his face. Javier decided not to push on it, not wanting to bother you when you obviously weren’t feeling too great.

Eventually you managed to feel somewhat better and get ready for the night, Javier helping you into a fresh shirt, mindful not to hurt you. When it came to it and you went to bed you decided to ask him to join you, not wanting to be alone after having talked over what exactly had happened that night.

The two of you talked about the baby girl and the fucked up shit the sicarios did as you rested comfortably in his arms. It wasn’t anything sexual, you two were solemnly comforting one another after an incredibly rough day. As he spoke, chest buzzing in tune with his voice, his fingers traced weary circles on your side. He just kept talking and venting, knowing fully well you had passed out. That night Javier slept better than he had in ages, it was also the first time the two of you had stayed with one another until the morning. It was nice. None of you had to sneak out or slip away in the middle of the night and the sight of you when he woke up was a welcome one, making him feel at ease. He gently woke you up, helping you into the bathroom where you took a brief shower, the hot water working wonders on your aching muscles.

When you walked into the kitchen, towel wrapped around your frame, Javier was buttering some toast. “Hi, I hate to do this but I can’t quite get dressed..”

He gave a curt not, putting down the knife before walking over to you, taking the bra and shirt from your hands. “What’s with the shoes?”, he asked as he fastened the hooks of your bra.

“Well, don’t need to run for reports.. so no flats.”

Javier gave a low chuckle as he slipped the dress over your head, fingers ghosting over the tender skin of your neck. “Are you sure it’s not Lopez you want to impress?”

Now it was your turn to huff out a laugh. “Javier Peña, do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

“Should I be?”

As soon as you both were dressed and had somewhat of a breakfast you were headed to the embassy. The drive was quiet other than the radio, and surprisingly soothing. The domestic bliss stayed with you as you took a seat behind your typewriter, Javier’s gaze trained on your figure. You thought it was because of the dress, but in all reality he was trying to figure out why in the hell you would lie to him. Maybe you and Lopez were really becoming a thing or maybe the two of you had always been, maybe he was too late. All the more reasons to move on from you, the mere fucking idea of you.

By the time lunch rolled around Lopez found his way to your desk, a plate held in each hand. “Buenas Peña”, the man croaked out before walking over to your desk.

You uncrossed your legs and smiled up at the man, making Javier’s right eye twitch. Upon looking at the plate your face briefly fell, muttering an apology before declaring you were allergic to seafood. That was another fucking lie, Javier thought.

“But Javier enjoys crawfish”, you chuckled, “let him have my plate, I’ll run down to the market myself.”

Before any of them could protest, you grabbed your purse and fled the office, not wanting to experience a showdown of sorts. Javier took the opportunity to just smirk at the other man, grabbing the plate and shooing him out of the office. But not before providing the man with a sassy “piérdete, fracas ado” (get lost, loser).

The short walk to the market and back had given you the air you needed. Your head was spinning once again, the same thing as always: Javi. What the fuck was all this meddling about? He was so nice all of a sudden, domestic even, which wasn’t entirely uncharacteristic as you’d experienced him like this before.. but it wasn’t as if you were sleeping together again. Maybe that’s just what he expected to get from this. Of fucking course he’d take you in to his place. You scoffed before sinking your teeth into the spicy lunch you’d treated yourself to. Walking back into the office you were surprised to find all three desks empty. Well, you were aware that Murphy was unlikely to show up at all with his new responsibility, but Javier? Maybe he’d been requested for some field work.

You set your bag down before making your way over to the kitchen, wanting to grab a fresh drink. But before you could make it there you were pulled into the nearest evidence room, well closet more like, somebody pulling you in by your right arm.

“Mierda Javier ¿cuál es tu problema“, you yelped (Fuck Javier, what’s your issue?).

“I’m not the one lying to everyone’s fucking face”, he replied with a dark laugh.

You swatted his hand off of you and tried to shove past him when he blocked the door. “I’m not in the mood for this”, you warned, eyes locking with his.

“Missing your little boyfriend already?” Your mouth went agape in shock. “You’re not as clever as you think, hermosa.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, idiota celoso.” (jealous prick).

He wore a devilish smirk as he moved closer, lips ghosting over your ear shell. “Look who’s the whore now, huh..”

That one hurt, a lot. You pulled back from him, emotion catching in your throat. “Stop..”

“You been sleeping with everyone in the office then? Or were Lopez and I the only ones good enough for you.”

You could barely believe your ears, his evil words making tears form in your eyes. “Javier-“

“I at least thought you would’ve been smart enough not to get knocked up”, his words were laden with disgust and you stumbled backwards, feeling more unsafe than ever with him.

You tried to gather your thoughts and come up with a response but you could only manage a sad laugh as you looked at him. “You’re so fucking naïve.”

“¿Qué quiere decir?”, he inquired, lips pursed together. ‘What are you trying to say?)

“Es tuyo”, you declared. (It’s yours).

Those two words were everything he was so terrified of. You, him, a baby? Fuck. This was no place for a baby, he was no dad-material, shit man, he couldn’t even come to terms with the fact that he longed to be with you, let alone take care of you like that. He didn’t dese- no, you didn’t deserve this, all this- his misery.

“I thought you were fucking safe”, he shouted.

You felt incredibly small now, and even more terrified. “It takes two, you know”, you answered.

Javier took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he desperately tried to calm down.

“I-I can give you the money”, he stuttered.

“What?”, you asked, deeply confused.

“To get rid of it.”

If you weren’t infuriated before, you sure were now. The mere mention of it, the mere fucking idea that he wouldn’t even own up to what he did. He’d done it now, but you know what, good. If this is who he really was, then it was best you found out now.

“I-I don’t want you to lose your job..”, he murmured, voice much quieter and soft now.

The tears were streaming over your face at a high speed, blurring your vision as you looked at him. “Move, please.”

“We need to t-“

“Get out of my way”, you screamed.

He hesitantly stepped aside and watched as you speed-walked your way out of there, loudly sobbing and wiping at your eyes. Everyone’s attention was on the two of you, everyone seemingly understanding what had gone down. And as if things couldn’t get worse, around the corner came a familiar tuft of blonde hair, Steve fucking Murphy, giving him the death stare. Well fuck.

Taglist: @peterhollandkait @ophelia-ingenue @pedritomando​ @radiowallet​

#javier peña #narcos #pedro pascal #imagine #javier pena #javier peña x reader #illicit limerence

[shouldntcryoverit]

the art of discordance

a captain rex x jedi fic during clone wars era :))

no warnings i think uh yeah hope you enjoy let me know ig...

next chapter

CHAPTER ONE -

A new general. That’s what the rookies had heard, though Rex was reluctant to believe the Jedi Council had the guts to replace Skywalker. After a good few months, the captain had learnt of his general’s unique ‘disposition’, and getting a new general to step in was what he least expected.

That was until the ship landed just outside their camp and she walked out. Even from his position sitting further back on some crates, Rex could make out the figure, identifying her as one of the jedi knights, though which one escaping him. Perhaps the rumours were true.

He watched as she walked closer, hands placed purposefully and eyes wandering over the other two jedi in front of her. The commander crossed her arms defensively, though her master seemed unbothered by her arrival, excited even.

“master?” Ahsoka coughed

“oh snips!” Skywalker bleated with the same enthusiasm he had wagered throughout the interaction “this is Jaida Reyes”

“the one from your padwan stories?” Ahsoka said with smug conviction

“my reputation precedes me” her accent was crisp and calm, though her tone radiated a coolness that Ahsoka couldn’t help but feel distanced by “though i’d rather be known for my skills with a lightsaber than helping Akin steal from Obi-wan”

Ahsoka held back a snicker as Rex walked up to the three, absent minded as he double checked his comm.

“General Skywalker, we have the new coordinates” His attention tried hard to divert to the new face.

“ah thank you” Anakin turned to his friend “this is my captain, Rex”

Rex nodded at his introduction.

“i’m the new co-general, General Reyes” her face settled into the beginnings of a smile, but faultered and remained her neutral, placid gaze.

The young jedi watched with focused eyes as they walked the short distance towards the briefing tent. Already her presence seemed to spark rumours among the men, and she watched as the younger looking troopers sent her inspecting looks. It was to be expected, honestly she never wanted a big formal introduction, but she didn’t know that her arrival would breach the news so quickly.

When they arrived, the tent was half full. An open and decorated holo map was in the centre, with at least two clones at each marked entrance point.

“Boys” Skywalker called “we have a visitor”

She rolled her eyes slightly at the flamboyant gesture, but stepped forward anyway. “I’m General Reyes, apparently Skywalker wasn’t trusted enough to run his own battalion, so i got called in” Her hands rested behind her back, but a small grin encroached her face as the snipe made a few troopers smirk.

“excuse my fellow jedi, she’s never been good at taking second place” Anakin fired back, earning another set of grins.

Reyes crossed her arms as her smiling face resumed the same placcid one she’d kept previously. “i have heard nothing but good things, and i look forward to serving with you.”

The Captain moved forward from the side of the room and clicked to change the holo map, it made a small beep as he did.

“The 212th met a settlement of droids over this side of the ridge. Last report was that they were able to move forward at the threat subsided.”

“so what does that mean for us?” Jaida’s brows furrowed as Rex layed the plans out for her. Already her mind was scoping escape routes and vantage points, but she remained seemingly unbothered by the conflict describes. Rex couldn’t help but feel unmotivated by her apparent lack of interest.

“our initial plan was to take out the last forces left on the planet after the seppie defeat, but intelligence believed the 212th accidentally did it for us”

She scoffed “so we’re here for a clean up?”

“hope you brought something fun to do” Ahsoka scorned.

The efforts were limited within the first hour. Already the men were tired of the same scenery and nothing but expansive flats. The sun stood high in the sky, illuminating the landscape in a orange hue. It wasn’t hot nor cold, everything about the mission mediocre, something Reyes particularly hated. It wasn’t just her with an annoyance, she could sense the captain’s distrust. She understood it, only hoped it wouldn’t comprimise her efficiency.

As if nothing interesting was ever going to happen, a yell from a trooper a little further ahead broke the methodical thump of the machinery.

Soon followed was the sound of gun fire. Each shot was slow, until finally the enemy was visible.

“Find cover!”

“you did say you wanted action” Anakin quipped, earning an actual chuckle from her usual pursed lips. It almost caught Rex off guard.

It was unavoidable, the lack of cover meant the men were almost completely exposed, accept for the three jedi that stepped forward, sabers ignited.

Reyes was a new sight, though she didn’t look out of place on the battle field. Her lighsaber was different, instead of the usual one blade, hers had two, both green and glowing as she tactically spun it round and round, catching blasts as if it were sport. Even her fighting style seemed new, she fought with elegance and structure, each blow purposeful and strong.

Her focus was planted entirely on the enemy ahead, so much so that she failed to notice the trooper settling down beside her.

“karking droids, never seem to die” she muttered, deflecting a few more blasts.

A muffled laugh came from beside her and the familiar blue and white etched her vision.

“I’d get used to it general” a trooper grinned

Jaida turned and grimaced, an offering of acceptance. As she refocused her mind to the task at hand, a thought slipped through.

“trooper, get those three and come with me”

Her request caught the clone beside her off guard, but he complied none the least.

The five of them rounded behind the line of defence, all the way to their republic.

“uh, sir, what are we doing?” a soldier with a hand print on his chest asked, gingerly as the new, seemingly scary, general climbed onto the side.

“if i can prime the ignition gear and jinx the starter cable, I can force it into their ranks and it’ll, with any luck,” she popped her head up with a half devilish grin “turn them all into scrap parts”

It was the trooper with the cog on his helment that relaxed first “heh, they teach you that at the temple?” he quipped

“nope” she gestured for them to cover her as she popped open the side “they taught me it on florrum” she said with a smirk, before diving back into the mess of wires and sparks.

Jaida’s plan worked, and effectively too. After a very short battle, the men finished their sweep and prepared to bid the timeless campaign fairwell.

Once back on the ship, most clones settled down for the trip back to Coruscant, and Reyes followed suit, though only subtly checking that everyone was well and okay, before continuing her sweep on the ration packs. After she deemed her check satisfactory, she retreated to the command rooms. The door slid open and revealed Rex standing over a report, absent minded to say the least. His shoulders tensed momentarily as the door swooshed, and she noticed the sour taste that seemed to flood his tongue when he met her eyes.

Jaida cleared her throat, and planted fists against the table, propping herself up.

“i’m sorry, we lost men” Jaida spoke calmly, slightly softer than her usual tone.

“with all due respect sir, you don’t seem all that bothered.” Rex mentioned.

“captain” “it’s not something i’ve grown accustomed too yet” Jaida countered, though her argument didn’t cause Rex’s stance to loosen. She cleared her throat

“i’ve lost people before, and I know what it’s like to loose someone in battle, though i don’t know what it’s like to loose your brothers. i did not want this” her tone was instructive, but it softened all the same and her true compassion fell through.

Rex paused for a moment and met her eyes again “i shouldn’t have blamed you, my apologies, general”

“relax, captain”

“it’s uh, Rex, sir” he corrected. It was when he lifted his hands to the side of his helmet that Jaida realised she had never actually seen his face. It came off, and revealed a strong jaw and cheek bones, all toned perfectly set. His eyebrows arched above his eyes, a slightly different shade of golden brown than his brothers. Of course the main difference was his hair colour, short and stark blonde.

“Jaida” her response made Rex frown ”if i have to call you by your name you have to call me by mine. Jaida” she explained

“sounds fair”

“good” she smiled for the first time, and Rex liked it.

————————————

The night after an assignment was always filled with either anecdotes or silence, a relief or devastating. Jaida watched as the men loitered around crates of rations and equipment, all with distant smiles; tired.

She had previously been stuck at the medbay after the medics caught sight of her, a few gashes on her cheeks the real cause - nothing bacta wouldn’t heal, but she learnt quickly of their head medic, Kix, and his ability to scare even Jedi into looking after themselves. After making peace with the captain, a warmth had begun to spread about her.

Now, she stood against the cold duraplast walls of the Resolute, picking aimlessly at the scarce red dirt left on her hands.

“You okay Jay?” the question broke her mindless thought.

“yeah, i am” she looked up to her friend knowingly, Anakin grinning as he always did.

“Generals!” a trooper with geometric tattoos called out “come sit with us”

She turned her head sharply and gazed over the haphazard array of lounging clones

“I ought to check the ration packs” she tried to excuse.

“you should take one sir” Another clone encourage lazily “deserve it after that rescue”

She blinked for a second, unsure if it would make more sense to agree or deny. Before she said yes or no, Anakin had already collected her on his way to his own seat in the game.

Jaida sauntered over and handed each clone a bar before taking one herself, sitting down cross leggedly just as graceful as she did anything.

“sir, i don’t like it” she spoke between chews “name’s Jaida”

“well, Jaida, general’s told us a little about your career together, got any stories?”

“many” Jaida gave the first ghost of a smile any of them had seen from her yet, however small it may have been, and lent backwards against another log “Anakin ever told you about the time we climbed to the very top of the temple walls?”

#captain rex #captain rex x reader #clone wars #501stlegion #anakin skywalker #the clone wars #rex x reader #commander rex

[jq37]

The Case File – Mice and Murder Ep 4

The Case of the Puzzling Painting 

Welcome back to Loam Hall where our Sylvan Sleuths are still hanging out in a room with a dead body. When we left off, Gangie had been snooping into Sly’s conversation about Fletcher Cottonbottom and now, he uses his Criminal Contacts feature to see what he knows, if anything, about a recent return. With a 26 he knows that his family used to be well respected but after the whole business with the insurance fraud and Sly busting it, the family kind of fell out of favor. So Fletcher was in a weird position where he was rich and a part of high society and had enough dirt on everyone to get them to do things for him but couldn’t actually show his face because he was disgraced. Gangie also knows that it’s rumored that Fletcher’s weapons running scheme was actually a front for moving art. 

With regard to more recent news about Fletcher, Gangie was never in direct contact with him but he knows that 3-4 years ago, his most trusted henchmen started going missing--people attributed it to some kind of “Cottonbottom Curse” and that rumor is part of why Gangie decided to get out of dodge in the first place.

Buck does an insight check on the rest of the PCs and, with an 18, doesn’t clock anyone there as especially suspicious (Lars isn’t there but like..it’s Lars). Ian tries to give Squire Badger his last rites but ends up pulling the knife out, putting it back in, flapping blood everywhere with his feathers, and sending Constance into a badger rage. Buck tries to help smooth over things, claiming his big screw up was a new style of avant garde church ritual (Ian appreciates the support--who ministers to the ministers, you know?) and in the process sees his knife for the first time. Which, you know. He obviously suspected before but never nice to see.

While this is going on, Daisy sneaks off to try and check on the secret door and everyone sees her do it/eventually follows her but we’ll get back to her once we check in with Lars who is en route to the kitchen. Once in the hallway, they do a perception check and, on a 15, there are 3 doors and Ally gets to pick one. There’s a kitchen where Gilfoyle is talking to a group, a door where someone is crying behind it, and a door where they can hear nothing. Ally, the galaxy brained genius, goes for the quiet door. That’s the money door and with their ears pressed against the door, they can hear Edwina and Carolyn--the two mice maids that overheard Buck’s conversation with the Badger--whispering about what happened there and wondering if they should pay back the money they were paid to by Buck.

Gilfoyle walks out and sees Lars snooping but on a Nat 20 deception check, Lars is able to play dumb and skate by suspiciousness. Also, with a dirty 20 perception check, when the mice maids leave, Lars sees that they’ve been stealing silverware. 

OK, back to Daisy who is getting to the séance room as quickly as possible. She has two rounds before people catch up to her so she’s trying to make the most of it by Investigating the painting she noticed was bolted to the wall earlier. She first rolls an 11, getting no new information. This is so frustrating to her. She’s good at this dammit! But being around Sly is rattling her terribly. She has feelings for him--strong ones. But she isn’t herself around him. How can she be with him if he makes her so unlike herself? Her introspection is enough to earn her advantage from Brennan on her second roll and boom! 25! Daisy is back. 

With that roll, she notices that the eyes in the painting actually move and can be used as a spying post on the other side. Then Sly runs in and they start bickering immediately. Daisy throws a crystal ball at him and absolutely brains him on a nat 20--the first combat roll of this very RP oriented season. 

Buck and Ian are still in the room with the body for the moment and Buck asks Ian about the first few names on the list Gangie gave him. There were a bunch of members of the Burrows family--a working class family that all died of a consumptive illness. And then the Diggories who died in a carriage accident. The connecting thread? All badgers. Buck then zooms away to follow Daisy, Ian follows, and Lars, seeing them as they leave the kitchens, also follows. 

So all the PCs are in the séance room now and they kinda have the sense of, “OK y’all, we’re all screwed but we’re al screwed together so we better throw our lot in with each other and start working together so we don’t die because no one else here is on our side.” Buck proposes an alliance and they all agree to share info. Sly asks about Buck’s knife and Buck admits it’s his but says he didn’t do it. Sly believes him--not because he wouldn’t do it but because he has no motive (that he knows about anyway. Buck doesn’t spill about the contract). 

Gangie shares the list of names from before with the whole group.It’s like half badgers and then some other critters (full list here). Sly doesn’t share any of his secret info Grant got texted. Daisy and Buck don’t share about the key (though Sly you’ll remember sat her steal it). Buck does however mention his suspicion about the fact that Gilfoyle wasn’t around when Squire Badger gave his speech and Daisy does the same about the fact that he said he would call the cops but the cops haven’t arrived yet. Lar’s remembers that Jez’s husband is gunning for at seat in parliament and wonders if this is related somehow. Daisy mentions the eyes in the painting and everyone is like way to bury the lede dude! Especially when they’ve just all spilled their secrets. Everyone checks on the painting and with a 25 Gangie can intuit that this is probably used to spy on rich people when they’re mid-séance and vulnerable and spilling secrets (which he doesn’t share but Daisy comes to a similar conclusion on her own). Buck on a 23 can smell ledgers (idk how but the DM said so and I’m reporting it) and guesses that that’s where the Squire’s real office is which means that’s probably where the contract he needs to find and destroy is too. 

 The group makes a list of their loose ends which are what’s on the other side of the painting, what’s up with Fletcher, and the smell of ozone. Plus Ian remembers that the date on the bust in the study is wrong and shares with the class. 

Lars tries to get to the other side of the room by ripping the painting off the hinges with a very impressive 26 but there is fully a wall behind it and the noise brings Gilfoyle, Harding, and the Badger kids running. Lars notes that in the stone behind the painting it says “⅓”  and then hurriedly puts the painting back. Daisy thinks that might refer to a secret third floor or basement accessible by the elevator (but my first thought was that there were 2 other spying paintings in the house somewhere).

Everyone in the room hears the Gilfoyle and co. coming and try to act natural. There is a group stealth check that they all tank so heavily that all the suspicious staff and kids need to do to suss them out is roll above a 5.

AND THEY ROLL A TWO. 

With that, Lucretia appears, totally buys that they’re doing very important spiritual work in there, and in fact guards the door for them. They use the privacy bought by their very vigilant sentry to plan their next steps. Sly, Daisy, and Ian will check out the study while they rest of them check out the elevator. As they exit, Lucretia asks if they got the answers they needed out of the spirits.

Oh yes, says Daisy, echoing Lucretia’s nonsense prediction from last episode. Either something good or bad might happen. Either way, I’m excited! 

Case Notes

How baller of a player move is it to say a line so poignant that the DM is forced to let you roll with advantage? I have been on the other side of that as the DM and it’s so great. MAD respect to Rekha for that. AND THEN THE DICE COOPERATED. You simply love to see it. 

The other best Rekha line is Daisy to Sly upon being called out about stealing the key in his normal, coy, quippy way: You saw me bitch.

Shout out to Grant also for being constantly on as Sly. The guy is on point always. Impeccable.

I am SO SO SO happy Daisy and Sly are on the same mission team. If I was friends with either of them I’d be like, “This is a toxic relationship, they make you too crazy.” But as an outside viewer I want them to be within crystal ball throwing distance always.  

The question I’m sure we’re all asking: Is Brennan enough of a minx to invoke the butler did it trope? I know everyone at the table is thinking it even if none of them have said it outright. I figured the reason the cops haven’t showed up yet was the storm but who knows?

Two pieces of housekeeping, only Buck and Gangie know what the room behind the painting is with their high rolls and, after the bit of passing it back and forth with Buck, Daisy has the key. 

I really can’t do the bit about Gangie’s mom justice. I wish there was a comedy Emmy for actual play DnD shows so D20 could get the accolades it deserves just for that bit. 

Brennan indicated that the conversation between the mice maids was the most interesting info (Gilfoyle convo to staff was too public to be juicy/they could get the info from one of the many gathered staff people and crying is info on its own--though I am curious about who the crying person was) but I’m wondering what he meant by that. Because the fact that Buck paid them might be interesting if Buck did it. But we know he didn’t. Is it the fact that they were in the room at all? Again, info that the party knows if not Lars specifically.  The fact that they were stealing silverware? What’s Brennan’s game here?

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #mice and murder #mice and murder spoilers #the case file

[deafeninggardenerpanda]

Kirby had arrived on the Rainbow Islands completely focused on the idea of a vacation, but found himself unable to speak at the sight laid out before his eyes. The formerly beautiful Rainbow Islands had completely changed: The ground was covered in cracks, and the plants were wilting; The rivers and lakes were almost completely dried up, leaving only a few puddles, in which the small fish were hopping about, seemingly suffering.

“This is really bad...”

Kirby sat down on the dry ground in protest. King Dedede had been merrily holding his life preserver in one hand before seeing the terrible sight, causing his expression to turn grim.

“Yup... We can’t just ignore this. This isn’t the right time for a vacation!”

Bandana Waddle Dee looked up at the king, anxiety present in his eyes.

“Great King, what’s going on?!”

“I have no idea, but I’ve got a feeling this isn’t just a natural disaster…”

King Dedede took off his sunglasses and looked around at the scenery with a sharp gaze.

“Someone must’ve done this. If we don’t find out who did this, it won’t rain here forever!”

“Indeed. I agree.”

A heavy voice came from behind the king and Kirby. The two looked back. There stood the masked swordsman Meta Knight, along with his men. Kirby quickly stood up.

“Meta Knight!” he yelled. “You came to help us!”

“I have received a report from Captain Vul. He seemed more excited than usual to save the Rainbow Islands.”

Meta Knight looked back at Captain Vul.

“Uh-Um-Umm- It’s simply my responsibility as a member of Dream Land’s military to save the citizens when they’re in trouble! Lord Meta Knight, surely you would never abandon the Rainbow Islands!”

“Indeed.”

Meta Knight waved his cape as he turned to face Kirby.

“The damage is more serious than I had thought. If we do not act fast, the Rainbow Islands shall fall to utter ruin.”

“Uh-huh!”

Kirby nodded his head in agreement.

“We’ve gotta do something! But how can we make it rain?”

“First of all, investigate. It is possible that someone has put a curse on the Rainbow Islands. Look for anything unusual.”

“Got it! Let’s go look together!”

“The Rainbow Islands have a lot of ground to cover,” Rick said, “let’s split up and investigate. I’ll try to look around this island with Kirby. Meta Knight’s team, Dedede’s team, go look around the other islands.”

“Alright.”

“Leave it to me!” the king said. “I’ll take out the bad guy behind this as soon as I find them!”

Meta Knight led his subordinates North; Dedede and his Waddle Dees went South; Then Kirby, Rick, Kine, and Coo searched around the hinterland of the central island.

Split into three teams, the investigation had finally begun.

~~~~~

Kirby and co. pushed aside the withered trees as they made their way toward the heart of the island.

“OWW!!! OWIEEEEEEEE!!!!”

The loud yells came from Kine. Despite how he had been training so that he’d be able to live on land, he still wasn’t that good at moving around on the ground. Every time the group would push past a withered tree, his fins would get stuck on a branch.

“You’re not really built for looking around on land,” Rick said, “you can sit this one out.”

“Not a chance!~” Kine responded stiffly. I’m a member of the research team, after all- OUCHIE!!!”

“If we’re ‘investigating,’ what are we looking for?” Kirby asked. “Meta Knight said someone probably cursed the islands, but-”

“Basically,” Rick said, “you’ll have to find evidence of there being a curse.”

“What would be evidence?”

“Something like... a dark magic altar, or some kind of evil mystical barrier? A doll nailed to a tree, some kind of ritual sacrifice-”

“Whaaaat?!”

Kine, having forgotten to complain about his pain, got up, trembling.

“I-I’m scared~! I don’t wanna get cursed~!”

“It’s ok! If we find the magic altar, I’ll destroy it on sight!”

“I-It’s no good, Rick. I’ll just end up getting cursed anyway~.”

He appeared to be on the verge of tears when the group heard a voice call out from the sky.

“I see something strange ahead of us.”

It was Coo. He continued to fly over the trees, surveying the land from high above.

“What is it?” Kine asked as he trembled. “A cursed altar?” A doll?”

“No, nothing of that sort. It seems that someone has fallen from the sky.”

“Huh?”

“Come this way.”

Coo flew up high. Kirby and the others followed him. Then… past the withering plants, someone in white clothes could be seen on the ground.

“Oh, you’re right!”

“This is the girl who fell. Is she ok?”

Kirby and the gang hurried toward where the person fell. Coo also swooped down from the sky. There, they found a young girl in white clothes. She was round, yet healthy, with short limbs, transparent wings on her back, and ribbon tied in a bow in her curly hair.

“C’mon, wake up!”

Rick shook the young girl awake. She opened her eyes lightly. She blinked repeatedly, looking around at the group, and spoke with a frail voice:

“Thi… This place… Where…? You all…?”

“This place is called the Rainbow Islands,” Kirby replied, “I’m Kirby, and these are my friends Rick, Kine, and Coo. And you are-?”

“I… am Pirka.”

“Why did you fall asleep in a place like this? Are you hungry?”

At the sound of Kirby’s happy-go-lucky voice, Pirka narrowly smiled.

“No, I wasn’t sleeping. I-”

Pirka looked up at the sky.

“-fell down.”

“Fell? From where?”

“From the clouds above.”

Pirka pointed at the blue sky. Just above, a small cloud was floating. It was a strangely ominous blueish color.

“From all the way up there?!” Kine shouted in surprise. “Are you ok?!”

Kirby and co. took another look at Pirka. She had a couple injuries here and there. There were a few scratches on her hands and face, and her wings appeared to be aching as well. Both her clothes and bow were dirty. Rick looked worried.

“You’re lucky you survived after a fall like that,” he said, “it’s a miracle.”

“High places aren’t a problem for me. After all, I have wings.”

“But you have all those bruises-”

“These weren’t caused by the fall. I-”

Pirka was about to speak, but Coo interrupted her.

“We’ll listen to your story later. First of all, you need treatment for those wounds.”

“Yeah!”

Kirby nodded his head.

“If you wanna get better, you’re gonna have to eat something. I know that I feel better when I’m full!”

If that’s the case,” Rick said, “let’s go to my house. My girlfriend Pick makes great snacks. She can bake a delicious cake for you.”

“My wife’s a good cook too~,” Kine said “I bet she’ll make you a whole healthy meal. Come on, Pirka.”

“...thank you.”

Pirka took Kirby’s hand and stood up. Together, the group made their way back to the village where Rick and the others’ homes were. Meta Knight and King Dedede, who had received the news, had already gotten to Rick’s house. The king stared at Pirka scrutinizingly.

“Is that girl the culprit?” he asked. “Did she put a curse on the Rainbow Islands so it wouldn’t rain?”

“Nah,” Kirby said, “this is Pirka! She fell down here from above the clouds.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“He means-”

Pirka got cut off by none other than Rick’s girlfriend, Pick.

“Don’t rush like that. Pirka, take a break and have a bite to eat. You need to recover your strength. I made cream puffs. Please, help yourself.”

“We have sandwiches too,” said Mine, Kine’s wife, “and nutritious soup and salad.”

King Dedede, seeing all the tasty-looking food, licked his lips.

“Oh, now doesn’t this look tasty! Maybe I can just have one bi-”

“NO YOU CAN’T!!!” Pick and Mine shouted together, blocking the path of the king.

“This is for Pirka, not you!”

“Yes. We made these for Pirka, so hands off!”

As one would expect, King Dedede was overwhelmed by the two’s force.

“Wh-What? If that’s the case, then what do I get?”

The persistent king was stopped by Meta Knight.

“Wait, Dedede. Now, let’s hear Pirka’s story first. I find the part about her falling from above the clouds concerning. Pirka, would you mind sharing your story as you eat?”

“Yes.”

Pirka nodded her head in agreement before speaking.

“I am a traveler. I do not have my own house, so I travel all around the stars. I had a lot of fun visiting the Rainbow Islands and watching the pretty blue sea, but…”

Pirka’s expression became clouded.

“One day, some uncanny creature happened to see me.”

“Uncanny…?”

“Yes. That thing floated high into the sky, floating on the wind. While I was wondering what it was, it disappeared into the clouds. Erm, immediately after, it stopped raining in the Rainbow Islands.”

“What’s that?” King Dedede asked, leaning forward. “I mean, you’re telling me that whatever that creature was, it’s the one that cursed the Rainbow Islands? Can you tell us what it looked like?!”

“King Dedede, please be quiet for just a little bit,” Mine said to the king.

“Please let Pirka finish speaking,” Pick said, nodding in agreement, “she’s gone through a lot. Let’s all be quiet and listen.”

“U-Um… I understand.”

As his friends, Meta Knight and Kirby usually let the domineering king do whatever he pleased. However, this pair proved to be too much for the king to handle. He meekly backed down. Pirka continued to tell her tale.

“I had come to the same conclusion as King Dedede. I assumed that the creature was up to no good, so I tried to pursue it.”

“By yourself?!” Kine said, astonished. “That’s dangerous~! You should’ve asked someone to go with you.”

“I’m a traveler, so I always act alone.”

Pirka took a bite of her sandwich and continued.

“Looking over the clouds, the most peculiar sight was laid out before me: There was a beautiful lake, with lots and lots of water stored in it.”

“A lake? Above the clouds?” Kirby asked. Pirka nodded her head.

“Yes. There was so much water, it looked as if it were about to overflow. I was wondering how there could be so much water there if it wouldn’t rain… when…”

Pirka turned pale.

“Um, the uncanny creature appeared. It obstructed the waterflow from the lake. That’s why it hasn’t been raining.”

“What’s that??” King Dedede barked. This time, neither Pick nor Mine bothered trying to stop him. “Who even is that thing anyway?? Why would it even do that??”

“I don’t know. Quite loudly, I asked, ‘why would you do such a thing?!’ but the creature wouldn’t answer. It just attacked me without warning.”

Pirka quivered.

“I didn’t have the powers to fight it. It easily beat me in combat, beat me up, and pushed me off the clouds. Since I had wings, I managed to avoid plummeting head first into the ground, but it was too much for me… I fainted. Since then, until you all saved me, I had been unconscious.”

For a moment, Kirby and the others were silent, deep in thought. The one to break the silence was Coo.

“Vital information. We cannot ignore this. We must capture that scoundrel who’s blocking the flow of the lake!”

“Yeah.”

Meta Knight nodded his head.

“We must attack immediately. Kirby, Dedede, are you ready?”

The two both nodded yes.

“Yeah, I’m ready!”

“Obviously! Now’s my time to shine!”

“I’ll go too!” said Rick. Then, without a moment’s delay, Kine joined too.

“Me too~! We’ve gotta get that bad guy!”

“Of course, I’ll be joining as well,” said Coo. Pick and Mine chimed in, concern evident in their voices.

“Rick… How will you get above the clouds?”

“Indeed. Kine, you can’t fly.”

“We’ll be fine~!” Kine said. Rick nodded and puffed out his chest.

“We’re lucky to have Coo on our side! I know he’ll be able to get us all up there!”

“Don’t say such absurd things,” Coo said sternly, “I am incapable of flying to such a height while carrying all of you.”

“But-”

Meta Knight interrupted Rick.

“I can provide assistance. I’ll prepare a smaller boat onboard my battleship, the Halberd. It should be able to take you above the clouds.”

“Thanks a lot! Now that that’s decided, let’s not waste any more time!” Rick said, full of energy. Meta Knight looked at Pirka.

“Pirka, you may rest here. We’ll punish the culprit by any means necessary.”

“...no. I’ll come with you all too,” Pirka said, deep thought evident in her eyes.

“Pirka, it’s fine if you don’t come~,” Kine said, “Stay here, Pick and Mine can make you a nice home-cooked meal to help you recover. You’ve gotta take it easy-”

“No.”

Pirka shook her head.

“I’m the only one who can give you the directions to where it happened. I want to make myself the slightest bit useful. Please, take me with you.”

Rick nodded his head.

“Pirka has a point. She’s the only one who’s seen what the culprit looks like. Let’s bring her with us, just in case.”

“Just don’t be a hindrance,” King Dedede said, “hide behind me when it gets dangerous.”

“Yes sir!”

Pirka nodded her head strongly.

“If you’re going to go out on an adventure, Rick,” Pick said, “then take this.”

“Huh?”

Pick took off a small bag from her own neck, then hung it around Rick’s.

“I knitted this. It’s a pouch with a charm inside. It’ll surely project everyone.”

“Pick…”

Moved, Rick took Pick’s hand.

“Thanks. I’ll be back!”

“We'll do our best~!” Kine said in an uncharacteristically valiant voice, “I know we’ll bring the rain back, won’t we?”

“Kine, please be careful," Mine said.

“Great King,” Bandana Waddle Dee said, looking up at King Dedede, “please stay safe. Kirby, you too.”

“Got it! We’ll do our best!”

Kirby cheerfully raised one of his hands up.

“Everyone, let’s go above the clouds! BYE-BYEEEEE!”

< Previous | Table of Contents | Next >

#kirby #rick (kirby) #pick (kirby) #kine #mine (kirby) #coo #king dedede #meta knight #bandana waddle dee #captain vul #pirka #Kirby: Save the Rainbow Islands! #kirby light novel #translations

[chromosome23hq]

august 11th, 1997, 6:05 am, silverhouse apartments

One fine morning, with a mug of coffee in one hand and a watering can in the other, Billie Foster was not prepared for the crack of a gun to kick her into a vision. A crowd. A masked figure. Mayor Peter Webber, now with a hole in his forehead. So many lives altered in one fell swoop that the crowd overwhelmed her. A small stampede had Billie stumbling back into her apartment. Coffee in her monstera and water soaking her feet. She didn't get a chance to see anymore details, only a masked figure and an untimely death.

It’s not something Billie can just ignore, especially when it comes to the death of a public figure, much less the mayor. She needed to tell someone, an officer of some sort who can protect the mayor from anything. It’s when she remembers them, the Omegas. It’s a part of their job description to protect the weak and innocent, which includes the mayor. A heavy and deep sigh leaves between her lips. This is not how she wanted to start her morning. 

august 14th, 1997, 11:45 am, somewhere in the city

This has to be the most boring protection assignment in the world. For the past few days, all Yazmín Navarro Montes’ (also known as Siren) done is escort Mayor Peter Weber everywhere to defend him against an assassination threat. He still has his bodyguards, but extra cushion with Yazmín here, as Prism described it. Of course, it’s unspoken that this also works as great publicity. She had wanted nothing to do with it, which meant Prism had to pick her for this. Her luck always worked that way. Today, she’s starting to wonder if this threat was real at all, or a phony stunt to benefit the mayor and the Omegas. There’s been no suspicious figures lingering around his office or home, no attempts, and no threats sent to him. 

Still, Yazmín doesn’t slack on her job. She always has an eye out, ready to push the mayor out of the way or stop a would-be killer. They’re outside for a few minutes when something starts to bother her. There’s water everywhere she can sense, then suddenly there’s a spike. It’s nowhere near winter, but something freezing just entered the vicinity. No one stands out in the crowd, until—

Already running behind schedule after sleeping in late, Ethan Sato pays no heed to his surroundings as he cuts past a gentleman on his journey to class. He’s cursing himself internally, vowing for the umpteenth time to start going to bed earlier, when his internal monologue is drowned out by a wave of terror. Ethan stops in his tracks, his heartbeat thundering, panic squeezing down on his chest. Breathe, he needs to breathe. He takes in one, shuddering breath, knowing that this—whatever this is—isn’t his, then turns around and he sees—

“Oh, my God.” He claps his hand over his mouth. Behind Ethan is the Mayor, haloed by his own blood as he lays on the footpath. It takes Ethan a solid minute to process what he sees, what he feels, before he scrambles backwards, yelling, “Help! Somebody help!”

As soon as his co-worker had walked in, Jaewon Oh had scampered off for his break. An entire hour away from inane questions was exactly what he needed. Deciding to take a stroll to his favorite nearby coffee shop was done automatically, he ate there almost everyday. Unfortunately for him, his hour was coming to an end and so he made his way back with an extra sandwich in his hand. 

He was contemplating whether or not he could get away with leaving the store early when he saw it. Or, rather, them. A person in a mask appeared seemingly out of nowhere and Jaewon, curious, watched as they walked ahead of him with purpose. something about this didn’t feel right, he wasn’t sure exactly what was going on but there was a sinking feeling in his gut. 

Should he do something? No, yes? He was just about to shake off the feeling, not wanting to get involved in business that wasn’t his own, when he saw a man ahead of him go down. It took him a moment to register that it was the mayor and said mayor had just been shot. The masked figure was running and Jaewon watched, frozen to his spot, as they did so. On the sidewalk ahead of him the mayor lay dying, the particles of energy around him turning a meek gray as the life left him. 

Jaewon took several steps back and pressed himself against a storefront, brows furrowed. it couldn’t have been a normal bullet, a gun going off was loud. this had been too quiet. suspicion rose in him, humans could quiet a gun, sure, but not to that extent. could … could it have been a mutant? Jaewon looked back at the scene that was now filled with people, all as terrified as they were shocked, and wondered. It certainly seemed like a possibility. shit, he’d just witnessed the mayor getting shot, the mayor being killed. Soon enough police sirens would echo down the street and detectives would go looking for bystanders. Not wanting to be questioned, he quickly walked in the opposite direction and stewed in his own theories.

Sitting on the stairs of a building that had been ‘under construction’ for five years now (he’d been keeping track of time—the crew seemed to have abandoned it), David Castillo withdrew his flask and took a swig, eyeing the passersby—trying to find who best to focus on. Woman with the dog thinking about how the groomers screwed her poodle’s nail polish up completely? (he didn’t agree, they looked marvelous)—she walked by too fast. Man with the shirt that read ‘D.A.R.E - to keep kids off drugs’ and was already thinking about that sweet weed he would score later? Also too fast. 

That was the only problem with a staircase in the middle of an ‘under construction’ type of place!

Voices swirling around, from those thinking about their affairs to those thinking about their loyal spouses, he shook his head viciously. 

And then a strong voice emerged. 

Strong emotion.

Strong passion.

Strong thought.

‘Got ‘em.’

Followed by screams—real ones.

And a silence. Even amongst the screams... a silence.

It’s too late. 

There’s barely any noise between the mayor standing in front of Yazmin, and dropping to the ground. Blood is everywhere. Some of it’s even on her suit, her hands. She had bent down to hold the wound without thinking, before realizing it’s all too late. 

There’s people running away in the crowd, and that’s how she knows the shooter isn’t far ahead. She’s running before the bodyguards do, head going through anyway she could to slow them down. Every option can lead to civilian injuries or worse. Shit! Yaz speeds up, water rising from her side pouch and striking out toward the assailant’s ankle as they round the corner. It misses by an inch. 

As she enters the alley, she sends a dozen sharp edged droplets at the wall with a yell for them to stop. But no one’s there. The only evidence that remains is a spray painted symbol.

august 17th, 1997, 5:34 pm, ramer cemetery 

Peter Webber is found dead on sight. Upon inspection, they’re unable to find a bullet but water is found. Because of Yazmín’s ability and past criminal record, the suspicion falls onto her. Banks and schools are closed early that day, and remain that way until the funeral. National news channels cover it nearly twenty-four seven, wondering how the mayor of one of the most prominent cities in America was shot in broad daylight and by who. All channels in New York cut into their current programming to broadcast the funeral, from the funeral home to the drive to the cemetery. Crowds line the streets during the procession to show their love for the beloved mayor, as well as grieve his loss and the loss it is to the city. His children and wife thank those for being there with them through this difficult time. The vice mayor, who was sworn in days before, tells the city they’ll get through this together and follow the vision Mayor Peter Webber had.

august 18th, 1997, 9:30 am, new york city hall

This isn’t the first time that Han-Byul Song (also known as Prism) stands surrounded by cameras, microphones, and journalists waiting for what he has to say. But he can say that it’s the first time dealing with them like this. Individuals who once looked at him as if he was like them, now they see him as something else. It doesn’t sit right with him, none of this sits right with him. However, he’s a professional and never the type to let someone see him when he’s at his lowest. With a straightened back and squared shoulders, Han-Byul begins his statement. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the city, my name is Prism and as you all know, I’m the current leader of the Omegas. We are tasked with protecting the lives of the innocent, both mutants and non-mutants. Recently, we were given the mission to watch over and protect Mayor Peter Webber, sending one of our own to act as one of his bodyguards.” His eyes fall on Yazmín, the young mutant standing beside him with a cold stare and a rigid body. “Despite our best efforts to protect the mayor, we—” Failed. The words fall from his tongue but it doesn’t feel like he’s the one saying it. He can see the questions that are ready to leap out of their mouths, the hunger in their eyes, beasts. They were all beasts. “However, this doesn’t mean that our mission ends here. We’re now undergoing an investigation to look for and capture the person behind this. Once we find this individual, we’ll bring justice to all of you but also Mayor Webber.” 

There are questions, lots of them, and he answers, some of them. There isn’t enough or maybe that’s what he tries to tell himself as Yazmín takes his place to read over her apology. He’s listening but also not, he’s mainly just watching her and the crowd. Even though she was there acting as a bodyguard, she’s a suspect. Just because of her ability, just because she’s a mutant, just because they needed a scapegoat. 

OOC INFORMATION:

Mayor Peter Webber died on August 14th, 1997 and his funeral was held on the 17th. Various radio talk shows and news articles report on his death. Your muse can react however they want to this! 

The masked killer is Daichi Kato (played by Admin Kashia). No muse is aware of him killing the mayor, outside of Magneto. Yazmín is under the suspicion of partaking. 

This marks the true beginning of The Brotherhood showing themselves to everyone, which also means they’re recruiting people in. Your muse has the decision to join them but be aware of the true purpose of The Brotherhood! The spots are unlimited. 

If you play a Xavier student or staff member, things will be tense as Charles plans on what to do next.

And that’s the way the pussy crumbles.

#c23plotdrop #murder cw #death cw #murder tw #death tw

[toxic-stargod-apologist]

The Church of a Loving God - Eaters of the Dead

Genre: Horror

Word Count: 5,558

Synopsis: In the grim darkness of the far future, countless billions toil and suffer to keep the wheels of the imperial war machine turning. The God Emperor demands blind obedience and the only reward is a brutal death. In the dark corners of this world, among the teeming masses of humanity, Jocasta Theta will find something more; a life worth living, and a god worth believing in.

Content Notes: Cannibalism, Police Brutality

Author's Note: A massive thank you to daddyfuckinlonglegs for all their help and advice, and for motivating me to get back into writing. Jocasta's story will continue in chapter two, 'Love in a Dark Millennium'!

AO3 Link: The Church of a Loving God

The day started with bells. Jocasta opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling of the bunk house, counting the chimes. Three, four, five, then a raspy, mechanical voice crackled out from the vox caster.

“Theta shift, wake up. Theta shift, wake up. You have one hour before your work begins. Thought for the day; only in death is duty's debt repaid.”

There was a short hiss of static as the vox switched off. Jocasta lay in her bunk for a moment and tried not to think about the crushing heat. The ventilation system for her hab-block had been broken for a month; every night she prayed to the Emperor to send one of his red priests to fix it, and every morning she woke up drenched in sweat. No point dwelling on it though.

She got up and pulled her overalls out from under the bed. Her tiny section of the room was separated from the rest by a threadbare blanket hanging from a string, and as she got dressed she could hear the rustling of nineteen other people doing the same. They were all theta shift, but none of them were part of her work gang. She'd barely spoken to any of them in the three years she'd lived here.

Still, she thought as she pulled the blanket aside, there was no reason to be unfriendly. She gave a smile and a nod to each of them as she made her way to the door. Some of them smiled back. Some of them didn't. All of them looked tired.

The door was jammed, like it had been every morning since the ventilation broke, but it swung open after a few sharp kicks. Jocasta breathed deep as she stepped out into the cavernous, and relatively cool, expanse of transit tunnel forty-one. It was a vast, diagonal shaft formed of buttressed rockcrete walls lined with dozens of metal walkways, all of them bustling with people heading to, or from, their allocated workplace. The steeply sloping floor of the tunnel was covered by rails, along which cargo pallets were constantly moving, and the ceiling was festooned with pipes, cables, and dim, flickering glow-globes which cast the hubbub below in shades of orange and amber.

Jocasta was vaguely aware that there was a universe outside the tunnel – the mountainous hive-city of Gloriana Aeterna stretching up for miles above her, a planet outside, and thousands of planets beyond – but she would never see them. This tunnel, and the chambers branched off from it, had been her whole world since the day she was born. Her little corner of the imperium.

As she made her way down the walkway she scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Most days that search was fruitless, but this was a lucky day. Through the throngs of shuffling figures she spotted an unruly shock of blonde hair, and with a little pushing and shoving she got close enough to recognise the pale, lanky man it was attached to. Exactly who she'd been hoping to see. Surreptitiously she spat on her hand and dragged it through her short red hair; she'd once seen a pict-capture of noblewomen from the upper hive, all of them beautiful and all of them with their hair slicked back.

“Good morning Seth!” She fell into step beside her work mate, who looked down at her with a weary smile that made her heart beat a little quicker. “I'm so glad I caught you, did you hear what happened on sigma shift? Katra, from the market, told me all about it. Apparently the coreward grinder threw a gear just as the shift was ending, which isn't all that strange, happens all the time, but after the technomats pushed it back in they still couldn't get the whole thing spinning. So one of them says 'there must be something stuck in there, we'll just take the casing off and find it'. So then they did, and they saw what was jamming it, and guess what it was? Go on, guess! I'll give you three tries.”

Seth's brow furrowed. He looked up at the roof of the tunnel, his lips moving silently, then looked back down at Jocasta. “Okay, first guess... Was it a sump rat?”

Her mouth fell open. “You knew? That's not fair! You can't pretend to guess if you already knew!”

“I didn't know,” Seth said with a grin, “I just figured it out. There's not many things big enough to jam the grinder but small enough to come up through the pipes. Also I hear rats down there all the time.”

“Ooh, you're such a liar! You couldn't just 'figure that out'. You know I thought I could trust you, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I'll have to find a new friend who doesn't try to cheat me.” She tried to look serious, but Seth put on such an exaggerated show of remorse that she couldn't help smiling.

“You really can't trust me any more? After everything we've been through? After everything I've done for you?”

She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. “And what exactly have you done for me?”

“Well...” He leaned down until their heads were practically touching and lowered his voice to a whisper. Jocasta could hear her heart thumping in her chest. “...how about scrounging up something to eat on our break?. One of my bunk mates managed to find some meat. Some unprocessed meat. And since he owed me a favour, I got us a slice to share.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you joking?” she whispered. “You have to tell me if you're joking, you can't just say something like that and not mean it. And what do you mean he found it, anyway? Do you know what it came from? He didn't steal it, did he? Because if he stole it-”

A deafening burst of trumpets rang out from the vox pylons above them. As one, every worker stopped in their tracks. A moment later the cargo pallets below them shuddered to a halt. Silence, heavy and oppressive, settled over the tunnel. Jocasta stole a glance at Seth; he'd already closed his eyes and crossed his hands over his heart in the shape of the holy aquila. She shuffled a little closer to him and did the same.

“Citizens of Gloriana Aeterna.” The deep, sonorous voice came from every vox, in every direction. “Hear me, and give thanks. The God Emperor protects you, his faithful servants, for as long as you dedicate your lives and deaths to him. Through the might of his armies, he protects you. Through the swift justice of his arbites, he protects you. Through the diligence of his administrators, he protects you...”

The familiar litany washed over Jocasta. She's heard it so many times she could recite it backwards. Real meat, though... That was a special kind of gift. Silently, in her heart, she gave thanks for it.

***

It took another half an hour to descend to the ration processing plant. Down here the walls of the tunnel were studded with loading bays and access ports, and the air was thick with industrial smog. The two of them made their way through the murk, moving slowly and cautiously over corroded walkways and down rickety ladders, until they reached the entrance hatch for loading bay seven. Seth started coughing. He'd been doing that a lot recently.

Inside, the noise in the low-ceiling bay was almost painfully loud. Workers from Sigma shift were rushing to and fro, shouting instruction to each other as they tried to unload the last of their shipments. Enforcers holding crackling shock mauls and suppression shields prowled between them, reflective visors covering their faces. Heavy carts trundled over the metal floor grates with their axles squealing, and over it all was the roar of the spinning grinders at the far end of the bay.

The men and women of theta shift were huddled against one wall, staying out of the way until their time came, but between them and the access hatch was an armoured security booth. Jocasta walked up to the mesh grill at the front of the booth and smiled at the grim-faced watchman behind it.

“Jocasta Theta, reporting for shift.”

The man grunted and peered down at his data-slate until he found her name, then pressed his thumb against the screen. He reached down under the desk to pull out two rectangular metal tins, each the size of Jocasta's palm, and slid them through the gap at the bottom of the grill.

“Two ration packs, corpse-starch. No eating between breaks. No hoarding. No trading. Return the tins at the end of your shift. Do you understand?”

The enforcer had said the same words to her every morning for the last three years, and she'd given the same response. “Yes sir, I understand. May the Emperor protect you.”

“And you. Move along.”

Jocasta put her rations in her pocket and went to join the rest of her shift, leaving Seth to report in behind her. She knew almost all of her co-workers by name, even if she hadn't had a chance to get to know most of them, but today there was an unfamiliar face. A man... No, a boy, probably on his first work assignment. Maybe four of five years younger than her? Not even old enough to shave. He looked every bit as scared as Jocasta had been when she started at the plant, and she decided that he needed a friend.

“Hey there kid, welcome to loading bay seven! You're new, aren't you? Please say you're new, if you've been here for a while I'll be so embarrassed. My name's Jocasta. What's yours?”

“Uh...” The boy hesitated, looking down at the floor. “My name is Lansan. It's nice to meet you.” His voice was so quiet she could barely hear him over the noise.

“Well it's very nice to meet you too, Lansan. I guess this is the first place you've worked? Well don't worry about that, we'll show you the ropes in no time. Which section are you assigned to?”

“Um, I think they said I'd be unloading the pallets?”

Jocasta kept smiling, but her heart sank. “Oh, so you'll be working with me! That's good. Did they say who you're replacing?” She already knew the answer.

“Yes, they said the last person got reallocated to a manufactorum on the upper levels. His name was Dillan?”

“Gillan. His name was Gillan.” Jocasta struggled to keep her voice level. Gillan had been nearly forty, with a limp he couldn't hide any more. No manufactorum would have taken him.

She tried to think of something to say, but before she had a chance the bell rang to signal the shift change. The exhausted workers of sigma shift put down their tools and started filing towards the exit, and theta shift moved quickly to take their place. Jocasta walked towards the wide metal shutter on the tunnel side wall, still thinking about Gillan, wishing Lansan wasn't following quite so close behind her. She wanted time to think, but the shutters were already opening to accept the first delivery of the day. She'd just have to wait until the shift was over.

“Alright Lansan, this is the start of the chain. The cargo comes in through here, we jump onto the pallet, then we throw it over so it can be loaded onto the carts. After that it goes through the grinders and onto second stage processing, but you don't need to worry about that bit. Do you have a handkerchief? That's good, tie it around your face. It'll help with the smell. Grab yourself some gloves from the rack, try and get a pair without any holes in them. Let's see... You know how to lift, right? Knees bent, back straight?”

The boy nodded, pulling his gloves on, and she did the same. With a familiar shriek of metal on metal a wide platform rolled into view down the tunnel and pivoted into the loading bay, coming to a halt a couple of feet away from the edge of the floor. Lansan went pale as the smell hit them; the platform was piled high with corpses, collected from all the middle and lower levels of the city. Jocasta saw his expression and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“Try to think of it as cargo, rather than people. The city needs to eat. Just be careful when you jump across, you don't want to fall into the pipes.”

He nodded slowly, but she could see his hands trembling. There was nothing more she could do for him except lead by example, so she jumped across to the platform and started pulling a body off the top of the pile. Lansan joined her, gingerly picking up the corpse by the shoulders as Jocasta lifted its ankles. Under her direction they carried it to the edge of the pallet, gave it a couple of swings, then threw it across the gap to where a couple of carters were waiting to load it.

“So, Lansan, how far up do you live?” She was hoping to take his mind off the task at hand, if only so he'd stop being so squeamish.

“Um, about forty minutes walk? We're a couple of levels down from the market.”

“You're not that far above me then! Oh, and you said 'we', does that mean you're still living with your family?” The boy just nodded. “You're lucky. My parents got moved to tunnel thirty-six just after I started working here. Haven't seen them for years.”

“I'm sorry, that must be hard. Not knowing...” He paused for a moment to find his footing as they picked up a particularly heavy body. “Not even knowing if they're still alive, I mean.”

Jocasta found herself lost for words for a moment, and almost slipped on a bloated hand. She wanted to believe the kid didn't mean any harm, but surely he was old enough to know better? Either way, there was only way to respond. “Well if they're dead, I'm sure they died serving the Emperor. You can't ask for anything more than that.” She had to force the words out. You never knew who was listening.

“Oh, yes, of course. I didn't mean... I was just thinking, I don't know what I'd do if my parents got reassigned. I guess they'd move me to a smaller bunk, but I've never lived alone before. Did you ever... Urgh!”

The boy recoiled and fell backwards as the arm he was holding came away from the shoulder with a wet slurping sound. Jocasta dropped her end of the body, leaving it on the edge of the platform, and walked quickly over to him.

“Listen, Lansan,” she whispered as she helped him up. “I need you to be a little tougher, okay? The guards here don't care that you're young, or that it's your first day. If they don't think you can work, you'll get moved somewhere else. Somewhere worse, on the lower levels. Your parents wouldn't want that for you, so just...”

Too late, she saw his gaze move down to the corpse behind her. By the time she turned round it was already slipping over the side of the platform, down into the pipes, and she could only stand there as it disappeared from view. A moment later there was a crash, then a distant, wet thud. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew what was coming.

“Worker!” The shout cut through the noise of the loading bay. Jocasta opened her eyes again and fixed her gaze on the floor; she could hear the heavy footsteps of the enforcer walking towards her. A quick glance at Lansan confirmed he was keeping his head down as well. At least his parents had taught him that much.

“Wasting the city's food is a crime. Which one of you is responsible?”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lansan opening his mouth, but she was quicker. “It was me, sir. I wasn't paying attention. I'm very sorry, it won't happen again, I...”

“Step off the platform.” The man sounded more bored than angry. Jocasta jumped across to the loading bay and turned to face him, making sure not to look him in the visor. “You have your rations for the day?” She nodded. “Give me one of them.” She fished the tin out of her pocket and the man snatched it out of her hand. He opened it, checked the contents, and dropped it into a pouch on his belt.

It was a lighter punishment than she'd expected. She let herself relax a little. “Thank you sir. Permission to get back to-”

Without warning the enforcer swung his shock maul into Jocasta's stomach. It wasn't a hard hit. It didn't need to be. Her world went dark, then brilliant white flashes danced across her vision. All she could hear was a snapping, crunching sound that seemed to come from every direction at once.

It only lasted for a moment, and when her vision returned she was lying on the ground at the enforcer's feet. She tried to stop herself trembling, but she couldn't. Across the bay she could see Seth staring at her. He looked scared.

The man leaned down to speak to her, his boot inches away from her face. “You're going to go down to the pipes during the first break and retrieve that corpse. You will not be late. You will not return empty-handed. Do you understand?” She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out but a dry wheeze. He seemed to take that as confirmation. “Get back to work then. No more mistakes.”

As he walked away Jocasta, still shaking, got back on her feet. The hot, raw pain was starting to spread through her stomach, and she knew from experience it was going to get worse before it got better. It would make the next few hours of work agonizing. And then the pipes... People died down there. She could die down there. All because she'd been too busy trying to help the new kid...

“Um... Jocasta?”

She turned to look at Lansan. There were tears on his cheeks. He looked ashamed.

“I can help, if you want. I can go down to the pipes with you.”

For an awful moment, she thought about saying yes. Maybe the two of them would have a better chance of getting out alive. Or maybe she could run faster than him... She put the idea out of her mind. “Thanks, but I'll be fine.” Her voice was still little more than a croak. “It was only a small one, and it's already missing an arm. I can carry it just fine by myself.”

“But, maybe, I could protect you? Kind of, watch your back?”

Jocasta gave the boy the best smile she could manage. “The Emperor protects.”

***

The area under the ration processing plant was a tangled web of tunnels, pipes, junctions and crawl spaces. Bundles of cables wove through narrow corridors, linking together rusted, humming machines that only the red priests truly understood. Everywhere there was the dripping of oil, grease and other, more organic fluids from the plant above. The lights were so faint that they were little more than stars to navigate by, if they worked at all. The only people who came down here were maintenance teams, and they never made the descent without armed guards. The rats were always watching and always hungry.

Jocasta had no guards, and no weapons except a wrench that Seth had slipped into her pocket as he'd wished her good luck. The enforcers had let her take a lantern at least. The weak, yellow light only reached a few paces away from her. Beyond that there was darkness.

She'd been slow and careful at first, trying to stay quiet, freezing every time she heard something skittering through the gloom, but the morning break was only half an hour long and she knew how much worse things would be if she was late. As she went deeper into the maze she started to move faster, gripping the wrench tightly and hoping her reactions would be quick enough if something jumped out at her.

She walked through one dank, humid corridor after another, rushing down steep ramps and squeezing through air ducts, doubling back on herself whenever she reached a dead end or locked hatch. After a while her pace slowed. Every time she passed a turning she paused, trying to picture where she was in relation to the loading by above her, before choosing a path and continuing.

Eventually she reached a junction and had to stop. There was an opening leading down to her left, but surely the wall of the transit tunnel should be there? And if it wasn't, did that mean she was farther away from it than she'd thought, or had she gone so low that she was underneath it? How long had it been since the break started? She didn't have a chrono. Maybe it had been ten minutes, maybe fifteen. Maybe she'd never find the body, or the rats would find her first. She could hear them, scuttling through the gloom. They sounded like they were getting closer.

She leant against the wall and set the lantern down on the ground. Her hands were trembling. She tried to get her breathing under control, but she couldn't.

Gillan was dead. She knew he was. People didn't just stop working when they had a family to feed, even if they were ill. Perhaps he was just too sick or too badly injured to get to the plant, but the end result was the same. The weak didn't survive for long. Yesterday she'd teased him for the silly little moustache he'd started growing; she'd said it made him look like an old man. That was the last thing she'd said to him, and now he was gone.

Her shoulders started shaking. She wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve, then squeezed hard on the metal handle of the wrench. She didn't have time to cry. Somewhere up there Seth was waiting for her. All she had to do was find the body, and then she'd find her way back to him. They'd share good food, and gossip about their shift mates, and then she could tell him how much he meant to her and hope that he felt the same...

She heard it before she saw it; the click, click, click of claws on metal. She swore under her breath. If she hadn't been so wrapped up in her own head... No, there was no time for anger. Slowly, she bent down to pick up the lantern. Her hand trembled as she raised it. There were pale, milky eyes gleaming in the dark of the corridor behind her. Three, no, maybe four creatures, though she couldn't be sure. She'd seen dead sump rats before, and no two of them had the same number of eyes.

Keeping her eyes on the crawling shadows, Jocasta started to back away. One step, two steps, and then, from behind her, she heard a low hiss. Her heart jumped into her mouth. She froze, trying to work out how far away the rat behind her was; it sounded close. A few paces, maybe.

The wrench in her hand was slippery with sweat. She tried to adjust her grip. If she could turn quickly and get in a good swing... But there wouldn't just be one, would there? They never hunted alone. Running was the only option, and out of the corner of her eye she could see the side tunnel that had confused her a moment ago. She still had no idea where it went, but it didn't matter.

Jocasta bolted forwards, ducking through the doorway as a screech went up from the rats. She sprinted down the narrow corridor, leaping over gaps in the floor grating, racing around the sharp turns and sudden twists of the tunnel. The rats were close behind her but she couldn't look back. She couldn't hold the lantern steady, and it took all of her concentration just to stay on her feet in the flickering light.

She ran on, her heart pounding, desperately, frantically looking for some way of escaping her pursuers; their shrill chittering echoed from the pipes around her. Suddenly, through the enveloping gloom, she saw a metal hatch up ahead. She darted through it, slamming her weight against the door, the rusty hinges screeching as she forced it closed. From beyond she heard the rats scratching and clawing at the metal, throwing themselves against it in a frenzy... and then, the sound faded. Listening hard, she could make out the clanking of loose grating beneath their feet, the noise getting quieter and quieter as they abandoned the chase and moved on. Gasping for air, she slid down the door and sat against it.

She was alive.

As the adrenaline receded, she realised she was in a junction room larger than any she'd found before. She couldn't tell exactly how large; the light didn't reach the far wall. What she did see, lying on the metal floor surrounded by broken ceiling panels, was the corpse. For a moment she just stared at it, uncomprehending. She was lost. She'd run for her life. How could it be right in front of her?

Slowly she climbed back onto her feet, walked up to the body, and knelt down beside it. It had taken a beating during the fall, but aside from the missing arm it was still intact. Now all she needed to do was carry it back up to the surface. But that was impossible. The rats wouldn't have gone far. She couldn't outrun them with that much dead weight on her shoulders. She was going to die. Unless... Unless there was another way out of here.

No sooner had that thought crossed her mind than she noticed a faint, pale light from up ahead of her. It didn't look like the flame of a lantern, or the glow of the electric lights that lined the halls of the hive city. It was softer. Gentler. She stood up and started moving towards it.

As she walked forwards the air seemed to shimmer. Motes of light danced around her, swirling in a breeze that she couldn't feel. The space was larger than she'd imagined, and even as the body disappeared from view behind her she still couldn't see the far wall. As she got closer to the glow she saw it was coming from a human shape on the floor; to her surprise she realised it was another, much older corpse. She'd never seen one so decayed before.

The thing that drew her eye though, and the source of the light, was the fungus. It sprouted from every part of the body, pushing through the blackened skin in strangely shaped clusters, not just one type but a myriad of different shapes. There were varieties she'd only ever heard about, and some that were completely alien to her. Fragile looking spheres on delicate stalks, glistening jellies that had eaten deep into the remains of their host, mushrooms of every shape and size. And the colours! She'd thought that all fungi were pale grey, but these were a riot of blues, oranges, pinks and browns, all of them glowing softly in the gloom. It was beautiful.

She stepped forward, holding the lantern as close as she dared. There was a rich, warm aroma rising from the corpse, so strong that she felt light-headed. As she leaned over it she realised there was a pattern hidden in the light. Everywhere she looked, the fungi had formed itself into circles. The motif was repeated across the entire body. Circles overlapping each other, circles within circles, and in the centre of the chest three thick, conjoined circles of bright green mould. They'd grown so that each circle was linked to the other two to form a triangle.

There was something more, though. Something in the centre of the pattern that she couldn't quite make out. She leaned over the body, holding the lantern closer, straining to see what was hidden there... And then her foot slipped. Before she could think her hand jerked forwards to break her fall, and with a wet, sickening squelch it hit the mould and sank into it, the desiccated body's chest cracking and collapsing under her weight.

The smell of rot and death washed over her. She scrambled to her feet and reeled back in disgust, desperately shaking the spongy, stinking slop from her hand. It clung to her skin like glue; she couldn't bare to look at it. She dropped the lantern and pulled out her handkerchief, scrubbing at her arm frantically until it was free of the muck, and then stood there, panting, over the body.

Reluctantly, Jocasta looked at her hand. It was still streaked with grime and dotted with luminescent spores, but she'd done the best she could. The handkerchief was sodden; she threw it aside, then closed her eyes.

“God Emperor, please... Please don't let me get sick. Please show me a way back up. Please let me live, just a little longer.”

She whispered the words into the dark. There was no reply.

It wasn't until she opened her eyes and bent to pick up the lantern that she heard it. The familiar click, click, click, and then a low hiss. The rats had found their way in.

Her whole body went stiff. This was it, she realised. She didn't know where she was. There might not be another way out of this room, and even if there was she wouldn't find it before they caught up to her. All she could do was die fighting; a stupid, pointless death.

She turned and saw the rats at the edge of the lantern's light. Lumpy, misshapen creatures with bony spines and tumorous growths sprouting from their backs. She counted seven of them, each of them as big as a hound and staring at her with murderous hunger. Slowly she reached into her pocket and pulled out the wrench, then stepped forwards to meet them...

And the rats backed away.

She paused. Was this some kind of trap? Were they waiting for her to leave the light? She took another step forwards. One of the rats hissed at her, then turned and scurried into the dark. The others edged backwards.

Jocasta took a deep breath and walked forwards until the lantern's pool of light was behind her. With every step the rats retreated, some of them squeaking and scuttling to the corners of the room. It was as if they were scared. She just stared after them, dumbfounded. But then, she'd asked the Emperor for help, hadn't she? And this... this was a miracle.

For a long moment she stood there, in the dark, trying to think of any other explanation. The rats could have killed her easily. She'd heard of them attacking armed groups when they were hungry enough, and these ones had looked very hungry. Just a few minutes ago they'd been chasing her down. And now suddenly they were scared of her.

No, that wasn't right, was it? They were scared of that old corpse, or the fungus. If they weren't then the whole thing would have been eaten long ago. The rats would eat anything, animal or vegetable, no matter how rotten it was. And if it wasn't the rot, or the fungus, then what else could have stopped them if not the Emperor's protection? And now that protection was on her.

There was one way to be sure. She went back and retrieved the lantern, humming a hymn under her breath, and then picked up the sodden handkerchief. She walked across the room until she saw the last few rats prowling at the edge of the light and threw the rag at them as hard as she could. Before it had even landed the creatures scattered, shrieking in panic.

Jocasta couldn't help but laugh. This was amazing! She'd seen a real miracle, right there in front of her! The body must be some kind of holy relic, hidden down here for who knows how long, and she was the one who'd found it. She wondered if Seth would believe her. In the stories, miracles only happened to holy warriors and saints... Maybe she wouldn't tell him right away. It would be her secret, at least for now.

Sighing, she realised she had more immediate concerns. It would take time to find her way back up to the plant. At least now she wouldn't have to worry about the rats though. She went back to where the ceiling was broken, hoisted the body onto her shoulders, then set off to retrace her steps. As she left, the light in the junction room faded. The sound of her footsteps died away. All that was left was silence, and the soft glow of the fungus, and the clouds of spores that danced through the air without any wind to move them.

#fanfic #ao3 #horror #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #original character #imperium #nurgle

[dontbeunraisonable]

Shielding The Other With Their Body - Tatsuma Ryuko | Ryukyu x OC!Remus Narukami

Requested by: @ajanisapprentice

This is prompt #8 from my 100 follower special!! Thank you so much my dear for sharing your oc with me! I really really enjoyed reading this all and I'm excited to talk more about them! There is a short summary of them here so those interested can take a little peek :D

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: none?, i can't write combat scenes i guess :)

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Remus can be a little intimidating at times, especially to those he is not very familiar with. So all the little interns and support workers at the Ryukyu agency tended to be extra polite with him and clear room for him wherever he goes. Careful to avoid his intense yellow eyes.

But this is far from his intention, especially for the younger interns, still students, who are confused and scared of everything. He takes care to give them the gentlest of smiles when passing (children that are already in this line of work need all the support they can get) and point them in the right direction if they are lost. Some of them use this small interaction for bragging rights.

“That nice, blue-haired man smiled at me. I’m taking this as a sign from above not to quit.”

“Same here, he pointed me to HR man so I didn’t look stupid in front of that one sidekick I always manage to make a fool of myself in front of.”

Remus only worked part-time at the Ryukyu agency, as most of his work was moving around different agencies. He worked internationally, being called in for his expertise by agencies. While there he did a little poking around, on his relative’s behalf: investigating how they treat their employees, sticking his snout into things that were wanted secret. Keeping an eye on things he was warned of.

The Ryukyu agency was not at all an entity worthy of investigation. The namesake was a wonderful hero that hadn’t a bad bone in her body, and she made sure all her employees were treated fairly. She did the best she could at everything, and even made sure to seek out female hero students and support members that were often overlooked.

No, the reason Remus was visiting the agency so often was that he enjoyed the company of Ryukyu herself. They had been friends at Yuuei together, and he had helped her found the agency. And now he had developed stronger feelings for her.

It is universally advised for coworkers not to have romantic relationships with each other. It can distract from work, and things can be made awkward if the couple splits or if one has a higher rank in the corporate hierarchy. It’s just generally not advised.

This is especially true for Pro Heroes. The rumor mills can be ruthless, and public support (if not adoration, at least not contempt) is a necessary factor of hero work. Also, Pro Heroes are not people with loads of free time necessary to develop a relationship. And with different schedules, the odds of time together are even smaller. It’s best to not pursue a relationship that is assumed to be doomed at the start.

But logic is usually not the decider of romantic attraction. And Remus couldn’t control how his heart would skip whenever she touched him, accidental or purposeful, or how he felt refreshed after time with her. How he sometimes spoke so highly about her during their conversations that a little pink would dust her cheeks and she would make some comment about “flattery”.

He was sure that she wrote it off as him being blunt with her, not him getting flustered and blurting out his feelings for her.

He wouldn’t ever tell her of his romantic attraction to her. He didn’t want to put her in an awkward situation or risk ruining their friendship, something he valued so highly. Just spending time with her was enough for him. Hearing her voice, seeing her smile. That was enough.

Earlier that morning, Ryukyu texted him and asked him to come of her office.

“Remus,” she said, adjusting her hairpiece, her usual calm smile on her lips, “would you please join me on patrol today? The sidekick scheduled to patrol with me today sprained her ankle, and I would appreciate your company.”

He had, of course, agreed to accompany her. It was now almost noon, and they were walking side by side through the city. It was remarkably quiet, the only disturbance being a dispute between two shop vendors which was quickly resolved when they saw two Pro Heroes walking past. Neither party wanted involvement.

Due to the peacefulness, the two fell to chatting quietly. The usual topics: how her sidekicks and interns were faring, their health, the health and activities of their relatives, etc.

“Oh,” she said, “I told you about my friend’s daughter who liked her co-worker, right?”

His stomach dropped but didn’t change his expression. “Yes, you did. And she wanted your advice on it.”

“Mm. They’re dating now.”

“Really? What did you tell her?”

“I told her to be careful about it, and make sure to be clear with them if they start dating about staying professional at work and, if possible, transfer to another division.”

“And?”

“She’s working in another department, two floors apart. But from what I’ve heard they haven’t had any trouble.”

“Do their other co-workers know?”

“No, they decided it to be best if no one at the company knew. There aren’t specific rules banning relationships between employees, but it is advised not to.”

He tried to ignore the awkward feeling. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was another reason for her bringing this up. “How do you feel about it?”

“I think it will work out for them.” She had that pretty smile on her face again. “I think people who are wise with relationships and communicate well can manage relationships. They know whether or not it will work out between them, and whether it is worth the risk of something going wrong. She thinks the other person is worth it, and they are mature enough to know how to behave. I think they will work out very well. Perhaps you can be my plus one to their future wedding.”

Remus laughed at this. “Oh, you do have quite a bit of faith in them. Let me know when you get that invitation.”

“You’ll be the first one I tell.”

This little phrase made Remus’s heart buzz. He really was quite far gone.

He opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut when they shielded their heads at the sound of a loud crash. Squealing of brakes and metallic crunch filled the formerly peaceful street.

He gave her a quick glance to make sure she was okay before they were running in the direction of the commotion.

“Please make way!” she shouted, and people backed up to let the pair pass. There were four, maybe five cars all crunched up together.

“I’m calling an ambulance!” shouted a nearby pedestrian, and three others shouted they were, too.

Remus immediately went to the nearest car and helped the woman open the door. She looked a little dazed from the airbags, but otherwise only a little banged up. He brought her to the side of the road, and an older woman sat down with her.

“Are you alright?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ryukyu was joined by another young Pro Hero and they were getting the people in the outer cars out. All the commotion was centered around the large truck in the center.

“Yes,” she said, quietly, tears welling up. “That truck came right down the middle of the intersection. They must be crazy.”

“An ambulance is on its way ma’am. They’re going to check you out and make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m going to get you some water, sweetheart,” said the old lady kindly. “Can I bring her inside this store?”

“Yes,” said Remus, “just make sure she stays around for the police report. You’ll need to tell them what happened for insurance purposes.”

A loud shriek from the surrounding crowd startled Remus. He turned to the commotion and saw that a giant man was now emerging from the truck.

“Everyone, go!” Remus shouted, and he lunged towards Ryukyu and the new heroes’ sides. This was not some crazy or distracted driver: this was intentional. People screamed and ran in every direction, some in the wrong ones.

The large man glanced over at the trio and a sickening grin pulled at his lips. He looked excited about a fight. He reached for a nearby car, one that had held a now fleeing family, and chucked it at them.

The younger Pro ran to the side, and Remus felt a large whoosh of air throw him aside as Ryukyu grew into a large dragon. Her body shielded Remus from the car, and her large claws crunched the truck nearly flat.

The large man looked notably less confident and now ran towards Remus, maybe hoping the large dragon wouldn’t notice him running past her tail. She obviously did, and one claw went to block him from reaching Remus, and the other grabbed him.

Remus hurried to direct everyone out of the way to allow emergency vehicles to pass, and Ryukyu held the very disgruntled would-be villain in her claws until the police had arrived.

The man was kicking and swearing that he wasn’t to be messed with and Ryukyu only glanced at him with disappointment.

The man was quickly locked up in a van and transported off. Due to the wonders of modern car safety, most of the people in the accident were okay. There was one instance of a broken arm, but all the rest were only a little dazed and bruised.

Ryukyu returned to human form once the man was locked up, and Remus hurried over to make sure she was okay.

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing his concern aside, “just a little tired.”

Remus looked relieved and unthinkingly brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear again. “That’s good to hear.” He only noticed his proximity to her when he noticed the faint blush on her cheeks, on top of the flushing from exertion. He took a step back and mumbled something like an apology.

“Don’t be.”

The uncomfortable silence between them was now overwhelming. He scolded himself for not restraining himself. “Should we get you something to eat?” he said awkwardly, looking anywhere but at her.

“Yes, that would be good.”

The two of them ordered from street vendors and sat down on a park bench to rest and eat. There was a calculated distance between them, and they ate with notably less conversation.

“Remus?”

“Yes?”

“You were about to say something before that big accident.”

“I was? Oh, I was. I don’t remember what it was. Probably not very important.”

The conversation once again fell flat. Remus cursed himself. They continued to eat, and he searched for something, anything to talk about.

“Do you think,” she began in a quiet voice, “do you think we’re mature?”

“What do you mean?” A rush of emotions came over him. Was this about what she said about how mature people can maintain a relationship with difficult circumstances? “Mature enough to… have…” His voice trailed off.

“A relationship.”

Their eyes locked. After a moment he spoke up again.

“Yes. I think so.”

She smiled and looked away, towards the pond before them. Little kids were looking with lots of interest at the residents of the pond and taking turns carefully poking their fingers into the mossy water.

“I do, too.”

Posted 2021 June 23

#bnha x oc #mha x oc #ryukyu x oc #tatsuma ryuko x oc #ryuko tatsuma x oc #ryukyu #tatsuma ryuko #ryuko tatsuma #ajanisapprentice oc #remus narukami

[socketz]

All is Pain in Poetry, But, Oh, The Play Goes On; Chapter Two.

A Dead Poets Society Fanfiction Story!

Charlie Dalton x Female!OC

Warnings : Mentions of abuse, mentions of bullying, light name calling (though not really), profanity, mention of death, signs of an eating disorder *though not explicitly mentioned*

Word Count : 12.3K

Summary : It’s the first day of lessons, and the class gets to meet their new - slightly obscure - English teacher: Mr Keating. The day is difficult, and Jane finds something she had long since forgotten - her passion - as they go on to entertain a poorly planned study session, and friendships merely grow.

Authors Note : There was a lot more Charlie content I think! And Pittsie! I love him! I quite liked this chapter, and I feel like you understand Jane a little bit more - you get to know her a little. There was not much Todd, but, then again, there isn’t much Todd in these scenes in the movies, and I felt it would be uncharacteristic to make Jane the only person to talk to Todd, when he is uncomfortable around new people. I also have no clue who the Chemistry teacher is, and I made up a name for him. I should be updating this story once a week, as the chapters are long and take a while to write, or perhaps once every two weeks, if I’m going to start including more imagines and things into my blog. Enjoy!

Chapter Two, Seize The Day, Boys, Make Your Lives Extraordinary. 

A thick, invasive, kind of sting eloped within my gaze, and I struggled to see through the blur of my reddened eyes. For although the sunrise had been beautiful - an azure of deep pinks, and of supple yellows - I found myself longing, greatly, for more slumber. I had merely stood among the strewn clothing, and the grave ruckus - the doing of none other than my wondrously divine twin - and I remained stoic, unmoving. I had, rather reluctantly, as I’m sure you may understand, begun to declutter the disorganised sabotage, fluttered around my room; each motion slowed, furtherly gradual, for I were in some kind of daze, a trance - awash with the morning, and despising my lack of sleep.

I had seemed to dissolve among the sweet grasp of slumber, hardly a moment after my head graced the naked pillow, and thus, there I had been, earlier that morning, as the clock licked upon the grace of six-thirty-seven, a.m; disorientated, bleary-eyed, fully-clothed, with crease indents upon my dribble stained cheeks. A true beauty, one could argue. 

Oh, how I hated mornings, I thought, a sigh slipping from within my silence. 

For as the day had progressed, and the school hours crawled on forward, I found myself perched to the very back of the classroom, tucked away within the furthest corner, and I knew that Chemistry would be no better than the day had solemnly been.

The depth in which my notes had seemed to forlorn had simply thinned, the farther forward in which the lesson progressed, and I found myself doodling, though only something light, amongst the margin of the lined pages. Mr Donovan - His tone, the way in which he spoke, were of something so deafeningly dull - so monotonous, so dreadful - I had discovered myself unable to pay all too much attention, as his words fell, from one ear, and through the other. I retained little, and merely hoped a curt revision session would indeed replenish the necessary information I had not withheld. 

There had been three boys, each lanky, each particularly mundane, dispersing the crimson textbooks; all of which I dreaded to receive. “Pick three laboratory experiments from the project list,” Mr Donovan had droned on, as the thick echo of the dropped book fell upon my desk. “and report on them every five weeks.” Solemn glances of silent protests rang through the expressions of those attending, and I, myself, reciprocated a glaze of great annoyance. For although I had not thought it to be particularly difficult, it was a simply tedious, and rather frustrating, task to obtain. “The first twenty questions - at the end of chapter one - are due tomorrow.” 

A mumbled groan chorused throughout the room, as he grinned something patronizing, and I heaved a great sigh. From a few rows ahead, furtherly to the right than I, Charlie had caught my gaze, his expression pinched - a mantra of disbelief - with his eyes morosely enlarged. I hardly noticed the way in which my features founded a grin, though upon his reciprocence, and a subtly thrown wink, I found myself all too aware of - not only my smile - but the slight blush, also. 

With an internally suppressed scolding, I had turned my gaze away from the boy, and doodled something rather intense among my notebook. Scribbles, flowers, patterns, and such, with not but an ounce of talent, and a flush of grave embarrassment. 

The lesson had progressed through, and thus I did not note the necessities down - a brave assumption that Meeks were feeling somewhat generous, that day, and would provide a little helping hand - and then the hour had gone, and Latin was upon us all. 

Mr McCallister - a man perhaps not quite as awful as his co-workers, though ever-repetitive, and ever-droning, as he tended to be - had recited the list of wording, pronunciation to roll from upon his tongue, as he paced - to and fro - before the blackboard, scripted with scribbles of Latin vocabulary and dread. “Agricolum,” He recited, tone an echo throughout the space of the classroom.

Once more, I were positioned idly, sat within the very corner, with not but a partner for company - entirely my own desk. “Agricolum,” We chorused, my voice little but a mere mutter among the choir. 

“Agricola,” He continued, and - again - as did we. 

“Agricola.”

“Agricolae,” He spoke with such dull fatuation, I found it - a recurring pattern, you see - greatly difficult to withhold my attention, and to recall and repeat the way in which he spoke. For, yes, I somewhat strived in Latin, and I needed not such draining practice to pass specific examination, yet I were enforced to participate within lesson - and of such, I held no control.

“Agricolae.” I sighed. 

“Argicolarum,” 

“Agricolarum.”

“Agricolis,” 

“Agricolis.” A curtly breathed pause, and I found my eyes drifting to the bare panes of the window panels, shimmering among the autumn glaze, before Mr McCallister spoke once more, and another sigh fell from my lips.

“Agricolas,” He said.

“Agricolas.” We echoed; like mice to the Pied Piper. 

“Agricolis.”

“Agricolis.”

“Again, please.” He uttered, and there we each found ourselves, reciprocating such wording with little to no thought; the words, so familiar yet utterly anew, falling from our tongues, with jagged edges that bled unto our boredom. 

And then, as the minutes fluttered by, and my attention found the window once more - captured amongst the bustle of settling birds, their company surely for life, and the way in which the sky hinted a subtle pink, trapped among grey; lost upon clouds. A shame, I had thought, as the lesson had drawn to a close, that such beauty may be abandoned within the miserable weather - it was time to emerge upon mathematical equations, and drown among difficultly executed sums. 

“Your study of Trigonometry requires absolute precision.” Dr. Hagar said, his arms to clasp behind his back. He wore a suit to a rather formal attire - of such I had found myself lightly giggling at, upon entering the classroom, though silenced myself (particularly quickly) as I received a glare of grave rottenness. He walked within the isle, somewhat on the thinner side, and glanced over the top of his black-rimmed glasses, and approached the corner to which I perched, pages of scribbled - and hardly legible - notes to occupy my book. “Anyone failing to turn in any homework assignment,” He rambled on, pausing to my desk, a glare dripping in something cold. He began to retreat, hands still in tight clasp upon his lower back. “Will be penalised one point off their final grade.” I suppressed the sigh, as it threatened to slip, and I swallowed it with a heavy inhale, and a slight slump to my shoulders. 

Dr. Hagar paused, as though hesitant, and he chewed upon his words. His turn were gradual, threatening, as he said - an unwavering gaze fixated upon I, and upon Charlie, as he perched a mere row in front, and to the left, of myself -: “Let me urge you now, not to test me on this point.” With a kind of stare I felt little passion upon provoking. I merely allowed my gaze to lock with his own, a passage of cold bereftness to flow through, until the class continued on. 

Upon the coming of our final lesson - for that day, although I yearned for the safety of Saturday, nonetheless - I found myself bitterly submerged within a scowl, tracing the corridor with a slouch to my stride, weighted by the grip of copious - excessively heavy - textbooks, and notebooks, alike. I was tired - exhausted - and in dire need of a greatly induced nap. 

“Ja-ane,” Charlie sang, rested upon the doorway of the final destination. He wore a classically imprinted smirk, arms folded across his chest - though slightly restricted, among the serious stack of books, balanced within his hold. “C’mon,” He grinned, “I know you hate it here, but you gotta make the most out of your youth.” He teased, slinging his arm across my shoulders as I drew myself nearer. “Smile, baby.”  

I let out a scoff - a slight snort, also, as I came to realise - and muttered my reply. “Hate it?” I said, “Charlie, I want this faculty burnt to the ground.” I found myself far too… Far too caught up among the frustrations of my thoughts, to even utter a stuttered defence upon the nickname he spewed, so carelessly, so effortlessly.

“Ever the dramatic.” He scoffed, a teasing glint to those dough brown eyes. “Jane, Sweetheart, that’d be arson.”  

I rolled my eyes, stumbling beneath his hold, as we wandered through the open doorway. “I don’t care what it is.” I said, “I’m sick of this place.” 

“Can’t argue with that.” He mumbled. 

The class had seemingly already filled in, not but a glimpse of authority in sight, and the rampant noise, bustling between companions and the teasing amongst friends, perplexed upon the fact that - surely - we would be reprimanded at any given moment. Meeks had perched himself within the front row, opposed the rather large oak desk, and Todd two seats to his left. There was Neil, and Pittsie, smothered in the middle of it all, and Richard before them - Knox to the left of Gerard, and Charlie slumped within the seat behind him. The furthest corner of the room, one could argue, and I found myself shoved within the desk beside him. 

My books, heavy in their might, landed with a great thud upon the surface, and a sigh slipped from my lips. Mr Keating: he had seemed a calm man - kind, with gentle eyes - and I simply hoped such observations would be somewhat accurate. 

For although I would not release any form of… Waterworks, we shall call them, before the entirety of the class, if I were to be yelled at, or simply humiliated - for whichever reason it could surely be - I were almost certain I’d discover myself crying over such a thing the moment I was alone. I were bitterly exhausted, and I loathed myself for disgruntling an otherwise morally regular sleeping pattern, among the depth of summer’s blue. 

I slouched within my seat, and I ignored the rising commotion of immaturity around, simply glaring - undoubtedly carrying hefty bags beneath my eyes - to the stripes among the wood of my desk, a blank nonchalance to coax my gaze. 

“Hey,” Someone called, a mere hushed whisper among the commotion, “Jane,” I glanced up, the broadened grin of Pittsie’s own blaring back at me. I subconsciously quivered a smile, as he spoke once more, his tone a continuance of something attemptedly quiet - though, truthfully, not that quiet, at all. “You alright? Lookin’ a little down.” 

I nodded softly, “Peachy, Pitts.” I smiled. “How’s your summer, huh? I didn’t see you yesterday.” 

He rested his forearms along the lip of my desk, chin resting upon the fold, and said: “Ah, it was alright.” With a shrug. “Nothing special. How you findin’ the first day?” His grin tinted a glimmer of something humorous, for he knew the answer all too well. 

“Hell.” I muttered, as he breathed a gentle laugh, and my smile - despite myself - seemed to brighten. 

“Well, they don’t call it Hell-ton for nothing-” He began, the simmer of a hushed chuckle to bind between his words, as the sharp express of a whistled tune interrupted him. Pittsie spun around - quickly, with such clumsiness, a book clattered from my desk as he went - and I found a soft snort falling from my mouth. Clown, I thought, and smiled a smile of grave fondness. 

Silence engulfed the room, strewn paper balls lying idle upon the ground, as we awaited something - anything - amidst the sudden appearance.

There he was - the man of the hour, it should so seem - in all of his glory. Basked within a suit, shirt loosely tucked, and tie a little childishly tied - a small knot - with a certain glaze to his eyes. Clipboard clasped to his side; he strode. With power, though calm - confidently casual, as I had dared to recognize, before. Lips pursed to a whistle, he sung the notes of 1812, Overture, with a curious accuracy, and he walked - unacknowledging, with a smile to his blue stare - through the gap in the desks; not a word, not a yell, not a pause. 

We watched him go, like a moth to a flame, as he tossed a single, half-hearted, look over his shoulder, and exited the complex. I furrowed my eyebrows, shared a glance with Pittsie, his pinched expression a mere reciprocate of mine own confusion, and moved to look at Charlie. 

Unbothered, the boy was; doodling upon his notes. 

I rolled my eyes; of course, I thought, what a fool I’d be to think he’d even notice. I raised an eyebrow, gazing over the guarding hand of his own, and capturing the inspiration upon such a masterpiece. A scoff left my mouth before I found a chance to reel it back, “Charming.” I mumbled. The corner of his mouth tilted, the quiver of a smirk, and he removed his palms, revealing the true detail of such a crude sketch. 

A pair of breasts stared back at me, rather large in themselves.

His eyebrows raised, his lips glimmered a proud kind of twinkle, and I found myself laughing lightly - it were incredibly detailed; good, too, if I were to be honest. “Not bad, Dalton.” I sighed, another breathy chuckle. His grin merely widened, furtherly combusting with a sense of confidence, as his gaze fitted to the entryway of the classroom. 

There he was - Mr Keating - with an awkward kind of lean, half within the door, and half not. “Well, come on.” He instructed, voice light as it carried throughout the hue of confused silence. 

Gapes of inner conflict flooded the room, every head turned to face the curious man, as he disappeared - once more - behind the wall. The murmur of baffled, breathy, laughs, and questioning bewilderment floated throughout the quiet, and I caught the gaze of Charlie once more. His brows were furrowed, slightly puzzled, as his expression dripped in something addled. He shrugged softly, and I turned away, only to catch Richard - the snobby prude, himself - and a few other boys collecting their things. 

The entirety of the class followed, I, myself, included, as I collected the Poetry book, and I stood from the proximity of the uncomfortable chair. No longer did a frown paint upon my brows, for I felt - deep within my bones - that Mr Keating was not an ordinary teacher, and that his lessons - that moment, included - would be far from the normality of conformity we had been trained to abide by. I liked that, I decided, and I liked it a lot. 

I stood within the doorway, a subtle glance over my shoulder, and noticed the furrowed expression of Charlie, as he hovered at his desk - the final remainder of all that was left among the class. “Come on, Dalton.” I called, following the collection of shuffling feet, as they formed a slight crowd before the strange man himself. 

I lingered to the back, as I had always grown accustomed to doing (in order to be unnoticed, one must first go about being unseen) and waited, the shuffling drawing to a close, as we stood before the - rather small - Mr Keating. Charlie perched behind me, perhaps of something diagonal, though I could not physically see the boy - and I listened acutely to the pause of his muffled feet. 

“O’ Captain, My Captain,” Keating began, thin lips crinkled with passion. 

O’ Captain, My Captain - Walt Whitman. I smiled, for I could not help it, and I knew - I knew it, with a great sense of welcoming - that this man, this Mr Keating, would grow to be everything we had ever needed. Everything we were never taught - and my yearn for knowledge had never ached quite like it did, then, before. 

“Who knows where that comes from?” A patient glance, a rumble of silence; Me. “Anybody?” In order to go unseen, one must go about being unheard. 

I am Jane, I thought, and fuck their views upon my distraction. “Walt Whitman.” I mumbled, hardly loud enough to be heard. At least I had said it. A few heads turned to meet me, though I trained my gaze to the ground. 

“What was that?” Keating spoke, tone regarding, kind.

“Walt Whitman.” I said, fluttering my attention to meet the somewhat proud - dare I say - grin of the man before us. “A poem - about Abraham Lincoln.” 

He smiled, “Excellent,” he said, “Miss Darling, is it?” 

“Jane, Sir.” I corrected - for, indeed, I were no longer Miss Darling, I were the becoming of mine own self; I am Jane, I thought, and so I shall be known. 

“My apologies, Jane.” He said, and I smiled. It had been a long time, far longer than such I could recall, since I had found myself respected by that of an adult. An adult male, to speak the truth. A slight tap on my shoulder, the gentle thud of a book swatting the joint, caused a light jolt to buck through me. I glanced to Charlie, the boy smirking pridefully, and he shot me a playful wink. I merely widened my smile, for what else was I to do? And I turned back to meet the fluttering gaze of Keating, as he studied the expressions of those before him. 

“Now, in this class,” He began once more, “you can either call me Mr Keating,” He offered, a glance to the left, and to the right; a wry kind of grin, that seemed utterly infectious. “Or - if you’re slightly more daring - O’ Captain, My Captain.” 

Captain. I tried it on my tongue, a mere whisper beneath the murmur of gentle laughter around, “O’ Captain, My Captain.” I mumbled, and I liked the way it rolled from my lips. A kind man, he surely was, and the type of guidance I had never before known. 

“Now, let me dispel a few rumours, so they don’t fester into facts,” The Captain continued, and we listened intently. “Yes, I, too, attended Hell-ton,” A smirk, “And survived.” He uttered, eerie, as a soft shimmer of reciprocated grins flustered from the students around. “And, no - at that time, I was not the mental giant you see before you.”  He paused, gauged the reaction, and continued. “I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety-eight-pound weakling.” A breath of a laugh - I smiled. “I would go to the beach, and people would kick copies of Byron in my face.” A stifled spell of giggles graced the small audience, and I found myself breathing a chuckle. 

For the first time, I had gathered, thus far, throughout the day; I was enjoying myself. No, I decided; no, he wasn’t ordinary at all. And there was nothing better than that. “Now,” Captain glanced to his clipboard, “Mr…” He frowned, a curt filter of something amused to furrow his expression, “Pitts?” He said, “That’s a rather unfortunate name.” A collective snicker to run through the class. “Mr Pitts,” Keating continued, “Where are you?” 

Pittsie, perhaps the tallest of us all, raised his hand, a glaze of something shy to coax his features, a lightly pink tint upon his dusted cheeks. The Captain looked up, and he pointed briefly to the boy’s Poetry book, “Mr Pitts,” He said, again, as though bemused by the way it felt to say. “Would you open your Hymonel to page five-forty-two?” He gazed upon Pittsie’s stumbling fingers, as he tugged open the pages. “And read the first stanza you find there.” 

Muffled shuffling was to be heard, collective maneuvering, as the rest of the boys fiddled with the paper, and scuttled through to the incentive instruction. I fluttered through the clumps of paper, and paused upon page five-forty-two; To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time. 

A laugh fell from my lips, and a sudden breath fanned upon my cheek, ridden from behind my shoulder. There Charlie stood, eyes fixated upon the poem I held within my hands; his entirely empty. I rolled my eyes, though grinning something fond (for, oh, what else should I have expected?) holding it up slightly, as to relieve the crane within his neck, and he smiled. 

“To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time?” Pittsie read aloud, a light sense of anxiousness to coat his tone. The rumble of laughter stuttered between the boys, and Charlie’s snicker fanned against my ear, a ticklish thing, really, as I itched it with my shoulder. 

“Go on,” The Captain urged, a subtle smile to be seen, “Somewhat appropriate, isn’t it?”

The laughter drowned out, replaced by none other than the deep rumble of Pittsie’s monotonous voice. “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,” He read, “Old time is still a-flying; and this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow, will be dying.” 

“Thank you, Mr Pitts.” Keating smiled, speaking once more, as he dipped his words, his tone, with such passion; it gleamed like melted sugar. “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” He repeated, a subtle pace; once to the left, and two to the right. He turned to face us, a supple grin to grace his thin lips, and said; “The Latin term for that sentiment is Carpe Diem.” With a question sure to follow, “Now, who knows what that means?” He asked. 

Latin, although I found myself of grave success among my classes, was not my strongest point. No - no - Meeks; he was the genius in categories as such. And, expectedly, his hand shot up, with hardly an ounce of hesitation. Keating pointed to the boy, and his response came fast - intelligence riddled within. “Carpe Diem,” He echoed, “That’s seize the day.” 

“Very good,” The Captain grinned, a step towards the red-headed-blonde. “Mr…?” 

“Meeks.” He smiled. 

“Meeks?” Keating echoed, a previous step retreated, “Another unusual name.” He said, and I grinned, for who else did we know, with a name such as that? “Seize the day,” Captain continued, addressing the clump of students as he did so, “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” He paused, “Why does the writer use these lines?” 

“Because,” Charlie spoke up, chin rested upon the top of my head, “he’s in a hurry.” I snorted, a roll of the eyes, and felt the indent of his grin pressured upon my skull. 

Keating pointed to him, “No!” He smiled, “Ding.” And slammed his hand upon a faux bell, “Thank you for playing, anyway.” He said. A spring of laughter coursed throughout the small crowd, once more, - myself included - and I found myself realising, as Neil glanced over, himself smiling something toothy, and the indent of Charlie’s grin continued to press upon my head, that never before had we laughed within a lesson. Not within the company of those authoritative bastards, anyhow. And, with such a thought, I found my smile merely brightening with joy. Perhaps this was the second step, I thought; the second step to freedom. “Because we are food for worms, Lads - and the Lady, Jane.” He said, no longer a smile draped across his face. “Because - believe it or not - each, and every one of us, in this room, is - one day - going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die.” 

My eyebrows raised, and a subtle kind of heaviness disbursed among the air. Seize the day, before it’s too late. Carpe Diem. 

I thought, a mere moment within the thickening silence, of the summer. Of how closely Death and I had kissed - how awfully lonely such times had been, and how greatly I craved his warm embrace. To romanticize Death were not a thing of intention. Though, as Keating had said himself - each, and every one of us, were going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die - we held no control upon the inevitable; so why bother to fear it? Non-existence seemed so serene, so wonderful, I often craved a taste - a sample, perhaps - to suck upon, when the days would reach their worst. 

But now? Now, with my feet beyond the door, two steps progressed, unto the path of freedom - to die so soon seemed something a little less desirable; for what is Death to a girl with dreams? 

Carpe Diem, I thought, a gentle smile upon my face; Carpe Diem; Carpe Diem; Carpe Diem. 

“I’d like you to step forward, over here.” Keating spoke, a little softer, with more compassion, than passion. He turned to face the display case; an array of old photographs, of faces nobody cared to know, and of awards - achievements - scattered along the shelves. “And peruse some of the faces from the past.” The cloud of boys began to move, to follow such instruction, as Keating continued. “You’ve walked past them many times,” He said, “But I don’t think you’ve really looked at them.” 

Only with the subtle push of Charlie's hand, gentle between my shoulder blades, did I flinch into movement. The boys, and I, we crowded in a sparse cluster, observing, though not truly scrutinizing, the morsel of every face we came across. I stood, beside, though not quite touching, Charlie, and Neil, as I gazed upon such display. 

“They’re not that different from you, are they?” Keating noted. Well, I thought, I suppose I didn’t truthfully count. “Same haircuts,” He added, “though perhaps a little different, from our Lady Jane.” He offered, and I sighed, for - no - I had once resembled such a cut. 

“Unfortunately not, Captain.” I muttered, allowing the soft laughter that fluttered around me. 

“Ah, well,” He smiled, “That is the joy of growth, hm?” 

I grinned, and I listened - we all did, and it was intently - always intently -- as he continued. “They’re full of hormones, just like you.” He said, a jest of a smile, as his gaze caught that of a few curious students. “Invincible,” He said, and I smirked; for, oh, the passion was back, and yes - yes, we were - we were utterly invincible. “Just like you feel.” We didn’t just feel it - no, no - Carpe Diem; I found it coursing through my veins. “The world is their oyster.” He said, “They believe they’re destined for great things - just like many of you - their eyes are full of hope.” His tone, it fell softer, and so riddled with enthusiasm. “Just like you.” He said; slow, as though to marinate his words. 

A beat of silence passed, and I found myself enamoured with my drunken adrenaline, woozy with the passion he bled from every syllable. “Did they wait ‘till it was too late, to make from their lives even one ioda of what they were capable?” He said, though he required no reply, and thus received silence. “Because, you see, Gentlemen - Lady Jane - these boys are now fertilising daffodils.” 

Seize the day - Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. I inhaled something deep, something plentiful, and awaited the next strip of gold to fall from between his teeth. 

“But, if you listen real close,” He uttered, a stand positioned at the shoulder of Richard’s own, “You can hear them whisper their legacy to you.” A hesitant pause passed us by, and his tone fell to something even quieter, “Go on,” he said, “lean in.” And thus, we did. 

We leaned closer toward the glass, as though their picture may utter something truly great, and we waited for something to happen. “Can you hear it?” Keating muttered, and we all tilted that little bit further. “Carpe…” He whispered, a ghostly raunch to his tone. Cameron turned - something slow, with an expression of true annoyance, and I felt a smile crawl its way upon my face. Keating glanced away, feigning innocence, and muttered an almost silent; “Hear it?” As a breathy giggle fell from I. The pair returned their attention back to the cabinet, and there the Captain was, again, breathing the words upon Camerons shoulder. “Carpe… Carpe Diem…” He rasped, surely no louder than the winds of the night, “Seize the day, boys,” He drawled, “make your lives extraordinary.” 

The halls were bustling upon dismissal, the bell to ring shrill amongst it’s time, as we strode - clumped together in a manner of silenced astonishment - and chewed upon the words we had been fed. Each carrying his own stack of books, unbothered by their hefty weight, and mine own of something painful - my arms ached, but I simply didn’t care. Carpe Diem, I thought - Seize the day; make your lives extraordinary. 

Whether I had noticed it, or not, found little relevance, as a grin crawled upon my features, and I wallowed among the freshly broken quiet. “That was weird.” Pittsie grumbled, sauntered beside Neil, as we exited through the heavily infused door, and spilled upon the courtyard tile. 

“But different.” Neil offered, a light sense of welcoming washed between his wording.

“Spooky, if you ask me.” Knox added, a subtle shake of his head. 

A pinch found my brows, furrowed in their ways; for was it only I who had discovered something hidden amongst myself? Something locked away, combined with all things passionate? “You guys didn’t like him?” I asked, tone light upon the bustle around. 

Knox shrugged softly, “I didn’t hate him.” He said, “He’s just…” 

“Different?” Neil repeated. 

“Different.” The boy nodded. 

“Well, I thought he was great.” I muttered. 

Charlie scoffed, a step or two before I, and he uttered - tone of grave teasing - a: “You would, Lady Jane.” With the breath of a laugh to follow. I merely smirked, for I were fond of such a calling - it dripped in power, and it rolled off the tongue - as we all strode together, maneuvering our way through the bustle and commotion. 

“You think he’ll test us on that stuff?” Cameron asked, a furrow to his brows.

 I rolled my eyes, and muttered something soft beneath my breath. “Jesus Christ.” I mumbled, catching the bemused smirk of the Dalton boy, himself. 

Charlie glanced to look upon Richard, frown sinking his expression, “Oh, come on, Cameron,” He scoffed, “Don’t you get anything?” As he turned once more, to face the direction in which he sauntered. 

Richard scowled, “What?” he said. The silence remained, and I smirked. “What!” There was a breath of laughter - something mocking, as I came to realise - and Neil spoke once more, interrupting the moment of nothingness that graced us by, as we walked, stride in stride, through the other set of open doors. 

“To think - it’s only the first day back,” He sighed, “and we’re already drowning in work.” 

I shrugged gently, adjusting the slipping grip upon my books, and said: “I don’t know why you’re surprised.” With a curt pinch to my brows. “They smother us with unmanageable amounts of work, every year, and wonder why we hate it.” 

“I’ll second that.” Dalton nodded, “The pretentious fucks don’t know when to stop.” 

I laughed lightly, and shook my head. “Yeah.” I mumbled, as Knox offered something quiet. 

“God,” He sighed, “the day’s not even over.” 

“For you.” I grinned, “Have fun sweating, boys. I’ll be cosied up in bed, catching forty winks before tonight.” Knox glared something playful, and I merely shot a wink in his direction. 

“What’s everybody doing, anyway?” Neil asked, a curt glance to be dispersed around, “Soccer? Rowing? Fencing?” A few incoherent mumbles rang about, and I could only roll my eyes, as I spoke something soft. 

“Football.” I said, “It’s called Football.” 

“Soccer.” They all chorused, a little louder, and accompanied by eyerolls and muttered insults. 

“I'm Rowing.” Charlie sighed, “But I’m on the Soccer team, too.” He paused, throwing me a look over his shoulder, and said: “You’re still on, right?” 

“The Football team?” I asked, a raised eyebrow, and a supple grin, “I’m not sure. I haven’t asked Nolan.” 

Charlie nodded, mumbling a quiet; “Well, you better be.” Before turning back around, and beginning his ascent through the ruckus of the stairwell. The boys were to attend Gym class - their final hour of the day - and thus they had to retrieve their kits, and drop off their numerous textbooks. I, myself, were strictly restricted around the idealism of sporting, and of doing such around boys, especially. Upon the agreement that I were to stay on at Hell-ton, my sporting allowance was dramatically reduced - a mere two hours a week, instead of five - and I were to be fully clothed - entirely dressed in trousers, and in a long-sleeved shirt, or a jumper - or I would simply not participate.

It were true that I was the best goal defence our team had ever seen, and thus - for such reason only, and nothing else but the fact - I was allowed to remain on the Football team, during the final few months of the season, last year. Among Nolan’s sudden knowledge of my… my true identity, he restricted every other sporting access; enforced I be kept on the Football team, and the Football team only. Though, whether he thought quite the same this year, I had not but a clue.  

“You coming to dinner, later, Lady Jane?” Charlie asked, as we paused to the mouth of the boys’ hallway. I thought for a moment - about the meal I had missed last night, and the meal I had skipped that morning, and I nodded hesitantly. I were hungry, starved, and I were desiring something fulfilling, though I found myself doubtful I could stomach the dreadful substance that was Hell-ton Hash. 

“Yeah, come along.” Neil smiled, “You skipped breakfast, didn’t you?” 

“I- uh-” I stuttered, “Yeah.” I said, “I’ll be there.” With a tight lipped grin. 

“Great.” Perry said, kindly. “You’ll sit with us, won’t you?” 

I furrowed my eyebrows, a shake to the head, and sighed. “Meals are to be eaten alone.” I recited, a roll of the eyes. “I can’t.” I breathed, “It’s one of the rules.” 

Meeks, his eyebrows raised, mumbled a: “That’s crazy.” as Pittsie harmonized, with a: “Sounds stupid, to me.” I laughed a breathy laugh and nodded, for it was. Isolation may have been safety during the summer, but amongst the company of the boys - friends, of whom I enjoyed my time with - it seemed utterly ridiculous; unnecessary. 

“Here, look,” I mumbled, struggling to balance the rather hefty stack of books with my right hand, as I reached deeply within my inner blazer pocket. I withdrew the crumpled paper, dispelled with the great number of scrawled rules, two sides in depth, and I sighed, offering the folded page to Meeks, as he studied the words before him. 

He scoffed, “No perfume?” And I merely shrugged. “What does he think we are, feral?” 

“Let me see that thing.” Charlie said, grasping hold of the ever-depressing list, and raking his eyes upon the instructives. “Curfew at eight-thirty? What - are you a child, or something?” He scoffed, orbs wide, and features a frown. “This is ridiculous.” He said. “Seating to be isolated, out of the way, and not distracting?” 

“Hair is to be kept up, tied tightly, and not disruptive.” Neil read, leaning up and over Charlie's shoulder as he spoke. “That’s insane,” He said, as he turned his glance to stare at I. “How can hair be disruptive?” 

I shrugged, a sigh slipping from between my lips. “Hell, if I know.” I said. It had taken the greater part of thirty minutes, earlier that morning, to retain my curls within a neatened bun, upon the base of my neck; it felt awfully tight - the clasp of such a strong clutch beginning to throb upon my scalp - and I longed for the blissful release. 

“Well, at least you get out of Gym class.” Knox sighed. 

I shrugged slightly, and uttered my reply. “I liked it.” I said, “It was fun.” 

“It’s better than doing nothing.” Meeks added, I found myself nodding in agreement. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” Overstreet breathed, “But we’ll be late if we don’t get a move on, Gentlemen.” 

A mumbled round of agreement coursed throughout them all, as they uttered their goodbyes and took off down the hallway. “I better see you at that study group, tonight, Lady Jane.” Charlie smirked, blowing a teasing kiss to I, as he disappeared behind his door, and Cameron followed suit. The other boys entered their assigned quarters, and I simply smiled, beginning the journey to that of my own room. I bounded up the stairs - hopping two at a time - and I somewhat jogged throughout the length of the corridor, throwing myself through the door, kicking it shut with a dismissive sense of energy. 

I paused, standing stoic within my room, as the cool temperature licked upon my flushed cheeks, with heavy breaths, and lightened silence; an unnoticed continuance of heaviness perched within my slouch.

The Play, I thought, the grace of a sudden realisation to dawn upon my conscience. My Play! A noise of great excitement fell from me, as I ripped open the drawer of the bedside table, its oak a mere squeak to the quiet background, and I shuffled through the papers, the sketches of things unimpressive and potently standard, and through the scraps of ideas, and, finally, I clutched my grip upon the worn leather of my notebook. Of the notebook. 

A strip of white paper, glued to the cover, read: A Steady Man’s Grave, in the thickest ink I could have found, as I spent my days writing among the beginning of summer. 

It was June; the fresh scent of all things blooming, all things wondrously anew, to flutter amongst the butterflies, and hum between the buzz of the bumble bees. I ached for something good, for something productive - a distraction, worth all things enticing - and I had surely found it. Bound between the thick leather covers; cursive handwriting hardly legible among the scribbles, the corrections, the excitement; I wrote until my fingers bled, and my eyes began to sting. From sunrise, to sundown; I wrote. Obsessed, I surely became, with the adoration I dispelled; mingled between each and every word. 

I wrote of war; I wrote of love; of anguish, and of betrayal. I found a passion between bloody fists, and swollen cheeks, and I threw myself within its grasp - drowning until I could no longer breathe. Until the final few weeks of summer crawled to play, and Death came knocking at my door. A dark time, surely true, though an experience I found myself unable to entirely regret. 

I peeled back the front cover, and I allowed my eyes to fall upon the very first page. A STEADY MAN’S GRAVE, JANE ELIZABETH DARLING. It read, and a tired smile fluttered upon my face. How passionate I had been, how well I had Seized the Day - how greatly I longed to be her, once again. I could recall that I did not finish it - that although my writing were everything prolific, and utterly animated, I were so clouded, throughout those final few dreadful weeks, that I had placed down my pen, and I had not picked it up again. 

There was a terrific crack, as I parted the spine, and the breath of a meaningless laugh fell from my tongue. ACT 1, SCENE 1: The Garden-Way. I traced the ink with my finger, riddled with nostalgia, and I pondered - briefly, and to myself - if this were to be the third step. The third step to freedom - to re-discover my passion, and revive all that it could have been. I liked that, I decided, and I liked it a lot. 

I wove my way through the lines, reciting such words a mere mumble beneath my breath, and I found myself smiling subconsciously, as I fluttered through the aged, yellowing, pages. The spill of differentiating ink, sprawled among corrections, lie around the text, and I followed the scene with a great sense of welcome nostalgia. Perseus - a soft fellow, with a heart riddled of Love - picked upon the fruit, nibbling at such, from a garden that was not his. He perched beneath the peach tree, limbs thrown in every-which direction, as he stared to the seeping sun, fluttering among the gently swayed leaves. 

A moment of silence were to pass, filled with nothing but the tender breeze, as Jullian stumbled upon the scene. Clothed in weapons - with daggers, with swords - and a glare of something stoic, mean. Perseus; his name were bellowed, a menacing growl, and no longer was he alone. The shards of sun, cutting through the gaps within the shrubbery, seemed to sharpen; to flash, and then to hide, and a certain cloud of grey erupted across the land. 

The man sighed, a final bite to his fruit, and he arose to a reclined-seated-state, elbows supporting his weight. “Jullian,” He greeted, a somewhat bitter smile stretched within his teeth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

A breath of quietened, visible, rage were to reciprocate from him, stance rigid; uneasy. “May your carelessness find you wretched.” Jullian spat, a tight clamp to his clenched jaw; he grinded his teeth. “To lie upon my soil - your ignorance may caress the very roots of my earth, and death shall riddle it true.” 

“O’ spare me, sweetest children of God.” Perseus mumbled, “For you’re nothing short of dramatic, dear Julian.” He said, “My company - if nothing but - is mere fulfilling, is it not?” 

A scoff ripped from his throat, “You know nothing of fulfillment!” He mocked. 

“As I am certain you do?” Perseus grumbled, a raised eyebrow, and a sheen of frustration to glaze upon his expression. For, oh, how foolish he had been to fall in love with such a bastard. “O’ to be drunk on yearning, on the blood of enemies - tell me, Jullian, do you feast on those you bury?” He spoke, a supple smile crawling upon the expression of his toned features. 

Jullian scowled, a step strode closer, and he spat, with such grave bite: “I shall bury no man.” And Perseus’ grin found something toothy; teasing. 

“No?” He asked. 

“Such compassion may drabble me a fool - alas, I know it not!” He scoffed, “I may watch such decomposition with great delight, and I will inquire upon the bloom of growth - merely heightened by the salt of a lover's lonesome tears, to weep upon such dirt.” 

“You are a cruel man, Jullian.” Perseus sighed, “Do you hold no respect for those in which do perish, by the hand that is your own?” 

Julian smiled - a wry, cruel, smile - and he said: “You shall learn to drink up your compassion. For tonight, thus as every night; we dine on blood, and on atrophy, and we fall in love with the silent cries of bloodied choirs, haunting the ache of summer’s eve.” 

My fingers clutched upon the body, and I turned the page delicately, reading on with a subtle glimmer of pride. Eyes a cerulean tinge of something stinging, I found a soft ache to begin loitering behind the sockets. Sleep, my mind seemed to cry, Sleep, Sleep, Sleep. Though, still, I could not seem to tear my eyes away from the yellow-kissed paper, and the slanted handwriting, hardly legible. A glance to my drawer; I grasped upon the thin, round, frame of my brown-rimmed glasses, and I shoved such lenses upon my face, slipping them up the slender bridge of my nose, with a subtle sigh slipping from my lips as I went. 

The gentle hue of a headache continued to pulse, be it only slightly, around my conscience, and the idea of slumber were ever-more appealing, as I stumbled upon the same line; once, twice, three times more. 

“You are riddled with the violence once forced to attain,” Perseus sighed, “And you are unwilling to know, nor to grow - you wish not to learn to love again.” 

I read it again, a heavy breath slipping that of my tired throat, and I wove the tip of my tongue along the breach of my lower lip. A subtle sheen of moisture engulfed my gaze, ruptured with the gradually invasive sting, and a tiresome weight picked the skin of my eyelids, drooped immensely with an unnoticed speed, I knew that the turbulence of sleep deprivation was most certainly upon me. The day had been extensive, draining, and the first dip of exhaustion had long since passed. Sleep beckoned me, a gust of rigidness dissolving throughout my muscles, and my shoulders slouched - furtherly, if possible.  A particular scowl descended upon my expression, a slight palpitation to flutter my heart. I did not fear sleep, as such, though the events of such dreams were experiences rather left unknown. I dreaded the vividness, the recollection, that would force me to rise with a pounding ache to my skull, and an expression drenched in tears.

Haunted, often, were the plague of my dreams. 

I traced the gauge of my blurred writing, once more, and blinked - once, twice, several times more - in grave attempt to rid of such bleariness, though - upon subtle lack of focus, and whole consumption of exhaustion - as the thump of the book, colliding with the loose space of the crowded drawer below, forced my eyes to peel open, the extended blink an unnoticed occurrence, I understood that to fight the tides of slumber would be impossible. Foolish. And so, as I slumped myself upon the cold mattress, my head tucked to the white pillow, and hands wrapped around my frame, I allowed my conscience to drift upon the waves, bobbing only slightly, viewing the turret of the upcoming storms, brewing along the horizon. 

~*~

The common room, tucked away and rather small for such a gathering area, were particularly empty upon my own arrival. I had grasped hardly thirty-minutes of slumber, and thus dictated a course of revision, of studious intention, rather than fighting the thickening sleep deprivation that clawed upon my brain. The headache in which I had previously occupied only marginally, had thundered - copious amounts - worse, and resulted to a  kind of hellish fire, engulfing the clutch of my mind, as I clenched my jaw, and I sank within the seat of an emptied table. 

My curls, they were wild, free, as they spilled across my shoulders, and hardly an inch below. I placed my digits among the roots, and I massaged - circular motions, with a great deal of softness - upon the scalp; clockwise, anti-clockwise, with such delicacy, and a mere slight relief of all things horrid and pressuring. The glasses, perched timidly upon the bridge of my nose, did little to aid such an ache, and neither did the freedom of my blonde locks. Perhaps it unleashed a subtle amount of pressure, though the pain were still enough to riddle me silent and glassy-eyed. 

I had dressed within a rather large - rather loose, as my clothing had seemed to increasingly grow - grey shirt, and some long trousers, of which kind I could think not to name. I had previously decided against Hell-ton Hash, and had skipped the meal - another - as a result. I were hungry, though I felt bitterly ill. Sick to my stomach for the ache that rolled behind my eyes, and clattered within my head. 

Not often, I could recall, did I find myself burdened by the fester of a rotten migraine, and they usually left me lying amongst thick darkness, unmoving and aching for days, upon hours; though when they did come knocking, come crawling, they were the worst kind of pain I had ever experienced. As I moved, sluggishly, to extract my Latin book, and I flipped the pages beneath my shaking fingertips, I knew that that night were not a night to wallow in self pity. 

“Agricolum, Agricola, Agricolarum, Agricolis, Agricolas, Agricolis.” I uttered, a monotonous whisper beneath my breath. I read the list once more, repetitive and utterly drawling, and turned the page.  

CARPE DIEM, I wrote, the ghost of amusement to slip within my scowling eyes, SEIZE THE DAY, MAKE YOUR LIVES EXTRAORDINARY. I layered it, I scribbled unto it, and I lined it beneath, until the paper tore through, and I ripped the page free from it’s binder. I crumpled it up, until the jagged formation of a paper-ball glanced me back, and I threw it, carelessly, with not but an ounce of effort, across the room. 

It landed with a bounce, and I paused, watching for a mere moment or so, before a sigh fell from my lips, and I returned to my prior position: hands in hair, massaging the deafening ache with a subtlety about it, and eyes tiresomely scanning the text upon the page, as I read throughout the book, and I simply hoped to be retaining such information. 

The chair was uncomfortable, though I didn’t truly mind, and the room were of something cold, as I found a soft shiver to run through me, and a sudden shock to pulse through my skull. I gritted my teeth, for - Oh - I hadn’t experienced a migraine quite the same since… Well, not since the beginning of summer. 

The shuffle of feet entering the desolated room caught my attention, though I remained unmoving, eyes fluttered to a scrunched close, and I gripped to the roots of my locks. Boys began to file in, gradual, yet somehow at the same time, and the level in which the volume seemed to progress were something manageable, though greatly uncomfortable. I dropped my head, rested upon the cool surface of the open pages, and I awaited the company of the guys I found myself somewhat familiar with. 

“Latin that bad, huh?” A familiar voice - Charlie - called, a teasing glint to his tone, as he withdrew the Latin textbook from beneath my elbows, crowed upon the table, my head bowed between them. My expression collided with the table surface, another shrill ache to erupt within the depth of my brain, and a particularly pained groan fell from my gritted teeth. “Jane?” Charlie called, once more, though somewhat softer this time - concerned. “Hey, you alright?” He mumbled, a gentle hand to caress the back of my head. 

I bit back the uprising tears, a sharp gulp, and I begged myself to simply hold it together, nodding something tender, as I sighed a great heave. “Yeah,” I muttered, tone - unfortunately, for I - thick with the moisture of unshed hurt. 

“What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” He asked, dropping within the seat to my left, as his digits lightly pawed the roots of my curls. It felt nice, comforting, and thus I allowed my arms to drop upon the table, and another sigh left my lips. 

I rested my cheek upon the cool surface of the smooth wood, facing the boy in question, as the soft glimmer of moisture remained blurry to my eyes. His eyebrows; they were furrowed, and his eyes large and round - childish, as they always seemed to be, though suddenly tinted with a darkened concern. “I’m fine.” I smiled, a weak, pathetic, smile. “My head just hurts a little.” I lied, my tone a mere mumble against the bustle all around. For I could not open my mouth any wider, the ache a splitting ferocity if I even tried. I knew that routine all too well, unfortunately, and silence were a true virtue for such times. 

His gaze softened further, as he mumbled a short, “Oh,” and I merely shrugged lightly. “Well,” He continued, tone quiet - considerate. “I brought you some bread.” He said, withdrawing a bundled up clump of napkins, and resting them upon the lip of the table, with a small smile to occupy his features. “I figured you’d be hungry.” He added, “And, let’s be honest, I’m bettin’ it’s caused that headache, too.” His eyebrow raised, a playful glint to those eyes, and I merely smiled something wider, raising myself to a slouched sit. 

“Thank you.” I muttered, somewhat sheepishly, as I unwrapped the buttered bread, and I took a bite of small desire. I was, in fact, utterly starving, and surely thankful for such a crumb, though I wished not to spew it all up, within a moment’s digestion, for my migraine rung true within the depth of my ears, and my stomach clenched, unclenched, and clenched a heartbeat once more. “Oh,” I maundered, placing the nibbled slice back upon the cloth, as I reached for the leather-backed notebook, and I swallowed my mouthful. “Here, look at this.” I said, spoken quietly, as he furrowed his brows, and he leaned a little bit closer. 

I handed the book to his extended hand, and watched as his frown merely deepened upon ingesting the title. “A Steady Man's Grave?” He read, aloud. “What’s this?” His gaze upturned to meet my own, and I found myself smiling something small upon deliverance. 

“It’s a play.” I said, “A play script.”  

“I’ve never heard of it.” He mumbled, a brief flicker through the pages, “Any good?”

A breathy laugh fell from my tongue, and I shrugged lightly, “I’d hope so.” I said, “Considering I spent most of my summer writing it.” 

His eyes returned to mine, eyebrows raised something high, and his orbs greatly enlarged. “You wrote a fucking play?” He echoed, “That’s amazing! Why didn’t you mention it before, Shakespeare?” Another breath of laughter dripped from my tongue, and I ignored the heat that erupted within my scalp, merely shrugging softly. 

“It never came up.” I said, “And I’d forgotten all about it, ‘til I went back to my room, today.”  

“Well, shit,” He smiled, delicately tracing the leather of the cover he held so gently. “Can I read some?” He asked, glance hopeful and slightly hesitant. 

“You can read it all, Dalton.” I chuckled, “Read as much as you want.” Charlie grinned, resting back - with a tilt to his chair - as he swung slightly, and scoped upon the first ounce of text. I were surprised - albeit only that little bit - for his ability to read my writing; it was so scribbled and awful, I felt almost sure he’d be struggling. 

He read on through, nonetheless, and the calling of Neil’s tone caught my fixated attention. “Jane,” He smiled, “How are you? You missed dinner.” 

“Yeah,” I sighed, a little quieter than he, “I- uh-” I paused, licked my lips, and continued, “I’ve a headache.” I mumbled, “Didn’t feel like eating anything.” And I turned to face him, smiling softly in his own direction.

“Oh.” He said, eyebrows raising momentarily, “Well, have you taken anything for it?” I shook my head, for I disliked the idea of taking drugs - not unless I were greeting Death at my door, of course. “Okay,” He mumbled, a furrow to his expression, “You probably should. I think Charlie brought you some food- Hey, Charlie,” Neil called, gaining the brunette's attention, as his gaze slowly lifted to meet us both. He shot me a small smirk, as though slightly distracted, and focused upon Neil. “Did you give her the food?” He asked. 

“It’s right there, dumbass,” Charlie grinned, rolling his eyes something fond, as he motioned toward the nibbled slice of buttered, white, bread. “Leave her be, she’s feelin’ rough.” A little worse than rough, I thought, though I smiled nonetheless. 

“Oh, right, yeah.” Neil said, a small grin stretched upon his face, “You don’t have any painkillers, do you?” 

“Unless you count PlayBoy Magazines, by the dozen, no, I don’t.” He smirked, a subtle wink thrown our way, as he retreated - again - to the words within my notebook. I rolled my eyes - ever the perverted mind - and returned to Neil. 

I had hardly noticed the company of the other boys - Meeks and Pitts (with a kind of device I could hardly make out, though it looked a little like the scraps of a naked radio) perched within close proximity to each other, speaking in hushed whispers as they went, and upon a separate table, though only inches apart from our own. Charlie to my left, and Neil across from me, with Cameron perched to his left. Knox was - Knox. Knox was not there. I frowned deeply, “Where’s Overstreet?” I mumbled, similarly noticing the absence of the dirty blonde - the new boy, Tony - No, no. He was- he was... Todd! Todd Anderson. “And Todd?” I added. 

“Knox had dinner someplace else.” Neil said, “Friends of his parents’. And Todd hasn’t left the room - something about History work, I think.” I nodded subtly, jaw clenched upon the grave ache, as it spread throughout my head in a ruckus of great frustration. 

I glanced upon the closed textbook, resting beside where my cheek had once lay, and to the several others - Chemistry, Trigonometry, and Latin - and I felt my eyes sting, aching deeply with a thickening sense of moisture, crowding amongst my gaze. The pulse, the pressure, within my skull only seemed to worsen, the harsher I fought to digest my upcoming tears, and I pondered whether it would simply explode. If that would be the end of I, and of the end of the room’s company as they knew it. 

“Neil?” Cameron called, his tone loud - God, it was so fucking loud - and nasally. “Neil, what’d you get for- uh-” He paused, “Question two?” I could hardly concentrate upon swallowing such a sharp urge to ball my fucking eyes out - never mind the impending gloom of twenty-unscoped-questions, in advanced Chemistry - all of which I had failed to pay any attention to, during the minutes occupying the lesson. 

The boys discussed their answers, babbling about this, and about that, and I tried - I truly tried - to focus my attention purely upon the black mark of ink, displaying something small among the red of my textbook. I couldn’t do it, I decided, I could not finish any kind of assignment. Not with that consistent pressure within my skull, at least.

Perhaps I’d Carpe Diem another day, instead, I thought, and thus, I reached - slowly, with desire to please the ache amongst my mind - back for the bread, and I chewed lazily upon its crust. 

I had not but a clue for how long I had been sat, staring blankly into nothingness, with my teeth sinking into, and digesting, lumps of plain white bread, though it were surely long enough. “Hey, Dalton,” Cameron practically sneered. I winced, be it only slight, as his tone vibrated around my head. Thump, thump, thump, it bellowed, thump thump thump. “Pick up your textbook, would you?” He paused, glanced to I - where I sat, having finished my food, with a scowl of greatly pained proportions - and said: “You too, Jane.” 

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Cameron?” Charlie bit, waving the parted book within the air, as he rolled his eyes, and returned back to my work. 

“You can do that later.” Richard scoffed, shoving the textbook far closer than it were before, as it slid across the smooth polish of the wooden table. “What - are you busy, too, Darling?” He snapped, suddenly fixated on myself. 

I rolled my eyes, though only slight, for it riddled me elusive with pain, and I spat a little something back. “It’s Jane, Cameron.” I said, “Lady Jane, if you please.” 

“Should you even be here?” He scoffed, a contorted frown to cross his features. 

I scowled bitterly, “In case you hadn’t noticed, Bootlicker, you all sat with me. Not the other way ‘round.” I said, tone slightly raised, and somewhat defensive. The grave throbbing within my skull seemed to rush like a wildfire, and I clenched my jaw awfully tight, attempting to remain stoic amongst the great rush of intensely dreadful warmth. “Jesus,” I breathed, “Just leave me alone, would you?” 

“Whatever.” He scoffed, once more, as he returned to a frowning Neil, and a challenging gaze - occupied by none other than Dalton, himself - rolling his eyes, and murmuring about a continuance in studious idioms.   

Averting my gaze, I stumbled upon the antics of both Pittsie and Meeks, as they told their jokes and threw their insults, neither heartfelt nor aggressive, and laughed somewhat quietly together. They fiddled with the mechanics of the radio, mocking the other upon the realisation of a simple mistake, and they’d breathe a laugh - carefree, they seemed. It was something quite surprising, to say they were so incredibly intelligent. I decided, as I rose gradually from my uncomfortable position, that I was in grave need of… Well, of being cheered up, I suppose. Meeks was excellent for comfort, and Pittsie was dopey, alike - a wonderful form of entertainment, you understand, and I merely assumed I needed the company. 

I wandered slowly, a slight saunter to my stride, and I ensured not but a ragged movement were to be made. I slumped gently within the chair beside Steven, a grovelled sigh to slip my lips, and reciprocated the smile I received. “How’s it goin’, Jane?” Pittsie grinned. “You look like hell.” 

“Yeah,” Meeks agreed, and I merely scoffed. “What is it? A headache? Nausea?” 

I breathed my response; “Migraine, I think.” And I tilted my head to rest upon his shoulder. A sympathetic coo rang through the pair of them, and Meeks wrapped me beneath his arm, tending to the joint of my shoulder with gentle strokes as he went. 

“Well,” He said, “Pittsie and I are working on a Hi-Fi system.” He shrugged. 

Pittsie grinned, an utterly enthralled and toothy smile, with an enthusiastic nod to follow. I smirked, “A radio?” I asked. 

“Yep.” Pittsie grinned, “And it’ll be the best radio you’ve ever seen.” 

The breath of a chuckle fell from me, “I don’t doubt that, Pitts.” I said, “I don’t doubt it at all.” 

“I mean, it would be,” He grumbled, “But we can’t find a sufficient connection.” 

Meeks nodded, holding up a… a… “Meeks, what the hell is that?” I muttered, pointing to the coiled metal, wrapped loosely amongst his grip as he waved it around. 

“Anteni.” He smiled, “It’s what we use to find a connection. Catches the radio waves.” 

I nodded, following the wire in which it was connected by, and the breath of a giggle fell from me, “Ever think to plug it in?” I smirked. The pair frowned, glancing quickly to observe my comment, and Pittsie grumbled a light-hearted insult, picking up the loose wires, and connecting such with its correct positioning. 

“Duh,” He mocked, a scowl flashed to Meeks’ blank surprise, his tongue shoved behind his lower lip, as another laugh fell from me. 

I returned my gaze upon the other boys’ - Neil, of whom stared dumbfoundedly to a question of (what I were led to believe) Trigonometry; Charlie, who shared a glare of grave distaste with the red-headed mutt, his textbook open and hardly revised, and Cameron; who seemed just about ready to tear his hair from its roots. “Just replace these numbers, here,” He pointed to them, a hover above Neil’s shoulder, “for ‘x’ and ‘y’.” 

“Of course.” Neil muttered, unmoving and quiet in himself. 

Charlie, his pen loosely contained among his grip, shifted his gaze to meet mine own - eyes wide, and his eyebrows drawn down; the Dalton Disbelief, as he so often dispelled. “Help.” He mouthed, and I found myself snickering softly. 

“Of course?” Cameron echoed, “So what’s the problem?” And thus was greeted by silence. 

My laugh came slightly louder, and it flew around my mind in a whirl of great dizziness, of heightened pain, as I winced, and clenched my eyes to a tight close. The flare in which the heat progressed simmered amongst my skull, and I found my teeth gritting subconsciously, a shaky breath falling from my lips. I needed to sleep, it should seem, and await the pain away. Though I found myself unable to rid for the small smile, slewn across my face, as I gazed upon the scene before me. 

“Look, I- What’s not to get?” Cameron sighed, a hand to slither down his expression. “I’ve explained the best I can, Neil.” 

Perry nodded, and he mumbled a curt, “I know, I know.” and fell among silence once more. There was a beat to pass, of thickly confused quiet, until he spoke up once more, and Cameron simply frowned, his features a clump of awful impatience. “But how does it apply to finding ‘x’?” He asked. 

“Or ‘y’.” Charlie mumbled, a whirl of confusion to crown his stare, as he blinked something blank at his work. A moment of nothingness passed - I shared a glance to Richard, and dared to notice he seemed rather teary eyed - and my smile simply widened. Idiots, I thought, every single one of them. 

The red-head turned, a gradual movement, to meet that of mine own stare. “Darling, you’re good with this,” He sighed, a particular furrow to his brows, “Lend a hand, would you?” 

“Lady Jane, Cameron.” Charlie said, “Her name is Lady Jane.” 

A heaved breath fell from him, and my eyebrow rose. “Whatever.” He sighed, “Lady Jane. Would you just do it, please?” 

“Oh, but Cameron! You were doing so well.” I smiled, a bitter smile, one could admit, and caught the infamous smirk of the Dalton boy, himself, as he shot me a wink - a continuous pattern I were beginning to grow accustomed to - and awaited Richard’s response. 

His gaze hardened, “Why do you have to be so difficult?” He sneered, “God, it’s like working with bricks!” 

“Well,” I scoffed, “Building is a noble pursuit. You live in a brick-built house, don’t you, Dick?” 

“Very funny, Lady, you really tickled me there.” He all but snarled. 

“Glad I could be of service.” I mumbled, something quieter, now. Quieter, for the pulse within my skull had enforced a great deal worse - flashing, almost, with a sharp shock of subliminal pressure. A thick kind of silence engulfed the tables, and not but a word dared to interrupt it as such. 

The door swept, opening a slither, and a creak, as the frame of Knox’s bereft expression eloped with the space. He rested back upon the door, allowing it’s closure a click, and tilted his head for the crown to kiss the wood. “How was dinner?” Charlie called, a sudden breach of such silence. The boy remained unmoving, his jacket held over his shoulder - like that of a romantic poet, stricken by such woes of amorous pain. I felt myself smile at the thought, as he turned dazily, and he raised his eyebrows. 

“Huh?” He maundered. 

“How was dinner?” I echoed, maneuvering myself to sit in that of my original seat, slightly to the right of Charlie. I ushered the wooden frame closer to the boy, shuffling in regard to the little room remaining for Knox, as he muttered his reply. 

“Terrible.” He sighed, a mere mumble upon anticipated silence. He strode away, a swing to his jacket, as he draped it upon the spare seat to my right, and he said, a little louder; “Awful.” As though we hadn’t quite gathered such beforehand. 

“Why?” Charlie asked, “What happened?” 

I frowned, for the boy’s gaze were so solemn - so woven with grave emotion - and I leaned my elbow upon the lip of the table, chin resting within its palm, as he slumped down within the chair. “You okay, Overstreet?” I said, quietly, for the ache had yet to retrieve. 

The boy shook his head, a blank stare upon the wooden table, and he breathed a sigh. “Tonight,” He began, the slither of a gentle smirk to caress his face, as he glanced up, just that little bit. “I met,” He drawled, another pause to be known, “The most beautiful girl I have ever seen, in my entire life.” I snorted a scoff, rolling my eyes - charming, I thought - and harmonized my expression at a similar time to Neil. 

“Are you crazy, what’s wrong with that?” Perry breathed a laugh, just the same as I muttered my: “Oh, thanks, Knoxious. Glad to know I’m not Loverboy worthy.”  

He smiled, something toothy and bright - and his gaze, it lightened - as he turned to face I. “Don’t take it personal, Jane.” He said, “You’re pretty, but man-” He paused, he visibly swooned, and a laugh fell from me. “Oh, you guys should have seen her.” 

“Oh, yeah?” I grinned, “What’s with the moping, then, Romeo?” 

He sighed, a curt deflate to his shoulders, and his smile seemed to drop. “She’s practically engaged.” He said, a shake to the head, “To Chet,” He paused, gauged the reactions, and finished with; “Danbury.” 

A chorus of groans spilled amongst the boys, mumbled protest to be known, as Charlie uttered something bitter. “That guy could eat a football.” He said. I held not but a clue for who Chet Danbury was, nor did I particularly care for such, though it seemed to have riled the boys up, and - Well - I supposed that were enough for me to develop a stained disliking for him. 

“Who is he?” I mumbled, not quite loud enough for any other than Charlie to discover. 

“Chet used to go here,” He said, “He’d pick on Meeks, and on Pittsie. ‘Til Pitt’s grew, of course.” 

“Ah,” I hummed, and I turned back to meet the group. If I had little to no reasoning behind my disdain before, I certainly had one, now. 

“That’s too bad,” Pittsie mumbled, a quick glance - as though disappointed for his friend - to the naked radio before him. 

“‘Too bad’?” Knox mumbled, utterly dejected, and - unfortunately, though I could not help myself - rather amusing. “It’s worse than too bad, Pittsie, it’s a tragedy.” He paused, and he motioned with his hands. I bit back a laugh. “A girl this beautiful, in love with such a jerk.” He spat his final word, and I found my giggles breaching the barricade of my lips. 

A nudge met my shoulder, and I turned to glance upon a smirking Charlie, his eyes alight with amusement, as I merely returned to a smile, shook my head, and spun back around. “All the good ones go for jerks,” Pittsie said, “You know that.” 

I scoffed, my tone overlapping with that of Richards own. “Ah, forget her.” He said, as I spoke to my own defence. “We do not.” I said. 

“Oh, sure,” Pittsie scoffed, “It’s not like you would know.” 

My eyebrows raised - ouch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“When have you ever gone for a guy? Let alone a jerk.” Meeks said, “You just don’t count, Lady Jane.” 

I paused, frowned, and mumbled my reply. “Uncalled for.” I said, and we left it at that. 

“Yeah,” Cameron said, utterly unphased by the entire ordeal. “Open your trig book, and try figure out problem fi-”

“I can’t just forget her, Cameron.” Knox scoffed, a riddle of slight annoyance to coax his expression. “And I certainly can’t think about trig.” The group fell into a silenced agreement, and I found myself bemused by my thoughts. Perhaps he would go and write her some poetry, I pondered, maybe compare her to the moon. A breathy giggle fell from me at the thought, and I held no doubt it’d ring true. 

The shrill buzz of a static connection erupted from the naked radio, as I winced and clenched my jaw to the ache within my mind. A sharp pulse of things bitter caressed the grit of my teeth, and the light began to sting my eyes. “We got it!” Pittsie exclaimed, a swat to Meeks’ arm, as the two shared glances of elate measures, and they drew the headphones tightly to their ears. 

A wafted breeze brushed me by, as the dark oaked door swung open, and the stature of Dr. Hagar’s stern expression greeted us all with a glare of aged disgust. “Alright, Gentlemen,” He cawed, “Five minutes-” His eyes, they caught my own, and his frown merely deepened. “Miss Darling.” He said, “You should have left thirty minutes ago, no?” He turned to gaze upon my company, an eyebrow raised; “And to be situated with the male students, Miss Darling - I’m afraid such breach of the rules will simply not be tolerated.” 

“Dr. Hagar, Sir,” Charlie began, “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.” I turned to face the boy, his expression a reciprocate of great innocence, and his eyes a twinkle of mischief. “See, Jane, here,” He motioned to I, and continued, “was simply lending a helping hand.”

“Yeah.” Neil nodded, “I couldn’t wrap my head around question five.” 

Charlie motioned to Perry, a pout to his features, “He just couldn’t do it.” He said, undoubtedly mocking the aged man, as he shared a calculating glance, and moved on. 

“Lets go.” He clapped, as though rounding up sheep, and Charlie made the effort to stand, his pencil tucked behind his ear, and a smirk drawled upon his expression. He bent toward Knox, of whom reciprocated a glance of something pained, and said:

“Did you see her naked?” With a wink and a widening smile. A snicker fell from my lips, as I swatted his stomach, and he brushed me by, digits clutched upon the leather that was my own notebook, and  Neil let out a breathy giggle at the comment. 

“Very funny, Dalton.” Knox uttered, monotonous and faux. The room were engulfed by muffled shuffling, of boys collecting their things and finishing conversations. Pittsie leaned awkwardly, with his elbows rested upon the table, and I dared to notice that the radio was gone. 

I furrowed my eyebrows, and Dr. Hagar spoke with that grovelled tone. “That wouldn’t be a- uh- radio, in your lap, would it, Mr Pitts?” 

Pittsie glanced down, as the wail of static connection ran through myself with a great shock, and a slight shiver. “No, Sir.” He said, a short pause to follow. “Science experiment.” He lied. I raised my eyebrows momentarily, for it were an excuse well thought of, as he added a curt; “Radar.” And Meeks raised the anteni with an innocent nod. 

Hagar hardly believed them, I dared to notice, though he hardly cared, too, spinning upon his heel and exiting the perimeter. “You’ll come to breakfast, tomorrow, won’t you Jane?” Pittsie asked. 

“You have to.” Meeks added, “You haven’t eaten for two days.” 

I merely nodded - perhaps I could suffer one meal - and said: “Sure.” With a tight lipped smile.

#dead poets society #nuwanda #charlie dalton #fanfiction #fanfic #steven meeks #gerard pitts #pittsie #meeks #neil perry #carpe diem #seize the day #mr keating #o' captain my captain #knox overstreet #chris noel #todd anderson

[shabre-legacy]

81? Ocs of your choice!

Ok, so sorry this is so long in writing. I might have had a very busy few weeks and a case of writers block and also might have written this in a hurry so I could get something done before I lost all motivation again. Anyways I wrote a little thing between Aric and Nyaisa taking place after the second time they go to  Tatooine but before they get their next set of orders. Enjoy. 

81. Sweet Dreams

Nyaisa was still sitting at her desk when Aric returned to the ship. They didn’t get much downtime and he’d long ago learned to take advantage of what time they got. He’d left the ship hours ago. He’d called up a few old friends and went to have a drink in, not quite celebration more like, acknowledgement of finally getting back to his old rank. After the extraction of that SIS agent and working with that obnoxious man, Balker, again, they’d reported in. Balker was annoying as ever, flirting with the Captain constantly, and worse, Shabre flirted back. It grated on his nerves. Once they returned to Coruscant and done with the debriefing, the Captain gave everyone some time off the ship until Garza called with new orders. She’d insisted she had reports instead of taking time herself. The others likely wouldn’t be back until morning. He thought about stopping in and talking with her. Once he’d gotten over his initial bitterness over the demotion, he’d come to find the captain rather interesting. There was no denying that she was an incredible warrior, and a beautiful woman; but it was her spirit he’d been drawn to most. Well, that and somehow she made all that armor look damn good. He’d even tried flirting a bit, unintentionally of course, but still. He wouldn’t lie to himself, he was attracted to her and talking off duty was usually a highlight of his day. She was confident and charming, optimistic and passionate. 

She’d been off for a couple weeks though. At first he’d thought it was just the reality of the hunt for Tavus being over. She’d told him a bit about her time with them, about what they’d shared and how it hurt when they turned on her, how each one they took down seemed like another part of her was shot at the same time. They’d managed to save Fuse on Tatooine and keep his bomb plans safe. It was a major victory in his book, but the whole thing seemed to have taken a toll. 

She’d gotten a holocall just as she dismissed everyone. Whoever it was from was enough for her to head straight to her quarters. He’d been the last to leave. Maybe slightly hoping to catch a moment alone with her. 

Jhasis and Dorne had left together. Seemed like they were becoming close, which might be a problem. He’d need to keep an eye on that, there were regulations and team effectiveness needed to be maintained. Maybe Jhasis just didn’t want the poor girl to spend leave alone on the ship. She didn’t seem to have any friends left. At least none that she mentioned. 

He’d finally left when he’d noticed Shabre, in her civvis, pulling on boots in a hurry, while still talking to the Mirialan man on the holocall. She’d broken up with her last partner, he’d seen that. Maybe she’d found a new one. He couldn’t help the stab of jealousy that he felt at that idea. He yanked himself away from staring at her, and the way she bit her lower lip as she focused or how a stray hair escaped from the tight style she kept it in and drifted across her face; gently brushing her lashes with each breath. 

He quickly moved to the galley and pulled a bottle of water from a cupboard and promptly dropped it, gripping the countertop and growled in annoyance. It shouldn’t be this hard. He shouldn’t be doing any of this. He’d spent part of his leave at a jewelers commissioning the perfect piece to fit the Captain. Nyaisa, why did she have to have one of those beautiful names that fit perfectly and made him want to say her name. This was ridiculous. There were rules. She was his CO and he was a soldier. He should be able to just push things aside and move on. But he was also Cathar and emotions ran high in his people. She was just so beautiful and stars, but she made him feel invincible just being in her presence. He had to get these feelings under control. He’d call the Jewelers in the morning and cancel his order. 

“You’re back early.” He heard an exhausted voice say behind him. 

He spun around to see the Captain standing there. She moved past him, grabbing a ration pack, her movements slow and strained, like she was about to fall asleep where she stood. She’d been like this a few times after particularly rough days during their mission. “Did I actually manage to startle you? Where is that famed constant awareness?” She actually laughed. It had been weeks since she laughed. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.

“You didn’t startle me. I was just lost in thought for a moment. It’s been a long few weeks.” 

Nyaisa sighed. “It certainly has.” 

Aric immediately regretted bringing down her mood. But any chance to talk to the captain. He gestured over to the table and grabbed his water as they moved over and sat down. “Seemed like you had someone to meet earlier. I would think that’d make the day better.” 

Nyaisa giggled at that, actually giggled. It was adorable. “That was my brother!” 

Well, that made since, she had mentioned a brother. “He’s a Jedi, right?” That would explain the rush as well. Jedi seemed to get less downtime then soldiers. 

She sighed again, “Yes, the famous Hero of Tython, as they’re calling him now. He was on Coruscant for a quick meeting before heading out again. He’s already left. Just fucking saved Tython and avenged Uphrades and the council can’t give him a break.” 

“Avenged Uphrades? Didn’t some Sith burn the entire planet?” 

“Yes, Angral, I think the name was. He was upset my brother killed his son in a fight and decided to destroy the Jedi and the Republic in vengeance. Like that was ever going to happen. Nic stopped him. He didn’t want to talk much about that.” She fell silent, staring at the table, her eyes suddenly seeming a million lightyears away. “Captain?” no reply “Captain” she was lost in her thoughts and clearly tired. “Shabre.” She blinked and focused on him again. He suppressed a shudder at having the full attention of her gaze on him. “What did your brother tell you that has you this shook up? We’re all mourning Uphrades, but seems more personal than that.” He instantly backpedaled. That was too personal a question to get with his CO. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get that personal, sir.” 

This time she glared a bit. “We’ve talked about this, Jorgan. No need to call me Sir when we’re off duty.” She deflated again. “It wasn’t Uphrades. I mean, it's horrible and if Angral wasn’t dead, I’d be trying to kill him myself. It’s yet another reason the empire has to be defeated. But no, he…” another sigh, “He found out about our father and it’s just a lot to deal with.”  

That was his Nya. Destruction of planets, Traitors, Plans going to hell, Impossible missions that never stopped, those she could handle without blinking. Personal issues though, that was what shook her. She was a soldier through and through. His Nya? When had he started to think of her as his? Where had that even come from? And since when did he think of her as Nya? This wasn’t good, but he couldn’t seem to find the motivation to leave. Instead, he simply stepped over to the Cafpot and poured her a cup. Setting it down gently in front of her as she began to speak again. 

“I think I mentioned that I never knew who my father was. Mother never told us and then the injury, she’s barely ever lucid enough for me to ask when I visit. Apparently, he decided that Tyrenic’s confrontation with Angral was the perfect time to step the hell up and try to be a parent. Not when our village fell. Not when my sisters were dragged away. Not when I spent a year in refugee camp or years on Mirial under imperial occupation. Not when my brother survived the fall of the Coruscant temple and could have used his father. No, never any of those times.” She shook her head and sipped at the caf smiling at him gratefully as she picked at her rations. Why she was eating them when there were thousands of restaurants and cantinas here and many delivered, he’d never know. “Turns out our dad is a Jedi Master. ‘Riqr’, Nic said his name was. Same Jedi who used to come over a lot as kids, same Jedi who took Nic away to the Jedi. That’s our dad and I don’t know... I guess I’m just angry about it and hurt. I know they can’t have families, but still.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. I’ve heard rumor's about lots of Jedi families. Even Jedi getting married. But it seems more like they have to be discreet about it. Guess that makes sense when you’re making personal enemies of Sith all the kriffing time.” That was not the right thing to say. Nyaisa just shrugged and stared into her mug. “He must have had his reasons, even if they aren’t good ones. How is your brother holding up with this?” 

“He’s not as angry as me. He said that he talked to Riqr and his reasons made sense. But I’m not a Jedi. I can’t just get over everything the way they do. I’ve already lost everyone else. I can’t lose Nic too, not to some stranger that’s convinced him that he’s somehow not a terrible excuse for a parent.”

That was that, the pain in her voice, it hurt HIM. Thank the force the others weren’t around or they’d have given him so much shit, but he couldn’t let her think she was alone. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing gently. “I doubt you’ll lose your brother. He took the time to come here and tell you right? If you don’t want anything to do with this Riqr, then don’t. I don’t understand what you’re going through. My parents are protective and have always been there. But I know that you’re a strong woman and smart and kriffing good at sorting out messy situations. You’ll get through this and figure out what’s next..” He took a breath himself. “And if you need an ear, I’m always around.” 

He’d intended to thank her for the promotion tonight. But it didn’t seem right with everything else going on. Her eyes fluttered, struggling to stay awake as she stared into the mug and gently squeezed his hand back. “Thank you Aric, really. I…” Her head dropped and fell onto her other hand, barely missing the mug. He sat there stunned for a moment. She’d used his name. It was the first time that he could think of that she’d called him Aric. It was always Jorgan, they were in the military after all. But still, it meant something to him, something he was NOT going to think about. He smiled down and shook his head. The Captain was dedicated to her work. Usually falling asleep at her desk or in front of one of the terminals because they’d fought for days and she’d had paperwork for more. But this time, he could do something about it. If she was angry with him in the morning... Well, she was never shy about making her disapproval known. 

He stood and gently turned her chair away from the table, glad he hadn’t gotten as drunk as his friends had tried to get him and was mostly sober by now. Aric reached down, picking up his captain and gently carrying her to her quarters. He laid her on the bed, pulling off her boots and covering her with one of the thin blankets that she seemed to prefer. He went to leave, but had a thought and stepped back. Reaching down he quickly undid the tie that secured her hair and placed it by her bed as her hair unraveled. Sleeping with it that tight couldn’t be comfortable. On impulse, he gently brushed the back of his fingers across her forehead as he smiled down at her, she looked relaxed in her sleep, at peace. If only she could always have that kind of peace. “Sweet dreams.” He whispered as he slipped out and sealed her door behind him. At least she’d get a few hours of rest, he thought as he moved towards his own quarters. She deserved at least that much.

#swtor #Nyaisa Shabre #Aric Jorgan #asks #fanfics #my ocs #my writing

[dadolorian]

A Second Chance - Part 1 Whiskey x F!Reader

A/N: I had an idea for a slow burn with Whiskey i couldn’t shake. Reader is Agent Schorle ,a short, curvy female employee at Statesman (Not a field agent). She works in the ‘PR’ department and is good friends with Tequila. This is a mix between canon and Fanon Whiskey, set after Golden Circle so it rewrites canon and he’s not a secret bad guy, living past the events of the movie. But he is still a womanizer while he is single. Like with most my x reader fics its more OFC than a traditional reader but i change it up so it can be read as a reader fic, meaning the reader is more of a character. This chapter is just their introduction/first impressions.  Also! I AM NOT American, so if i get any shit about America wrong, IDGAF. Credits: No Beta reader. HMU if you wanna be one for this series

Title: A Second Chance Fandom: Kingsman; the Golden Circle. Ship: Agent Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/Reader Warning:  Bit of womanizing behavior from Whiskey (Surprise surprise), it’s not rejected by the reader character so its consensual. Nothing else for this chapter. Heads up before you get invested, not in this chapter but there will be triggering stuff as part of the plot in later chapters, and there will be kids in later chapters too, just in case either of those things aren’t your cup of tea. No use of Y/N in this chapter. There are two narrative perspectives in this story, 3rd person Whiskey perspective and 2nd person Reader perspective. Promise not to flip between them too often. Word count: - 2K Master List - coming soon Request status AO3 Link - coming soon Next part - coming soon

The first thing Jack Daniels noticed was not the way her pencil skirt hugged her ass, or the way her blouse struggled to contain her breasts, as much as his colleagues would later claim. He was well aware of his reputation as a womanizer and didn't exactly blame them for that immediate assumption, it was what most people noticed first about her anyway, why would Jack Daniels, the womanizing Cowboy be any different? No, the thing he noticed first was her laugh. It was so warm, angelic, he was entranced hopelessly from the first moment he first heard it in the Statesman hallway. He would give his damn hat to hear that sound grace his ears again.

He had gravitated over to her immediately, joining in on the little conversation she was having with Tequila. He tried to be subtle, he really did, waltzing up to the two of them with his best, charming smile, checking her out as he did so and nodding a greeting at his colleague. She was short, and curvy, her attire was office professional, meaning she probably wasn't a field agent, tidy, small heels showing her shapely curves of her legs, and soft, professional curls hung loosely, framing her round face. She was gorgeous. “Hey there Tequila,” he smiled, before nodding in her direction. “You gonna introduce me to your pretty lil friend here?” She blushed slightly, he noticed, as she pushed some of her neat hair behind her ear, she had a small shy smile on her face too, ‘cute as a button’ he thought. “Ahhh come on Whiskey, leave her alone,” Tequila groaned dramatically, making her giggle. Jack couldn’t help his smile growing at the sound. “Now now Boy,” he chuckled, patting Tequila's shoulder. “You can’t be hiding this pretty little thing from me and not expect her to catch my eye,” he added, shooting her a playful wink. She hugged the files she was carrying closer to her chest, blushing more and avoided his eye contact. Jack might have assumed she was uncomfortable if that smile wasn’t still playing on her lips. “She’s off limits, Whiskey,” Tequila sighed. “I think she can make her own mind up about that,” Whiskey grinned, elbowing the younger agent. “She’s a big girl. Now come on, show some manners and introduce me.” She giggled again and Tequila groaned, pissed off that already Whiskey’s stupid southern charm was working already. “Whiskey,” he sighed, already expecting the ungodly amount of flirting that was about to rain down upon his friend. “This is Schorle. One of our ‘behind the scenes’ agents.’PR’ department.” Jack flashed her a crooked smile as Tequila continued, motioning to the senior agent. “Schorle, this is Whiskey. I’ve told you ‘bout him before.” “Oh, have you now?” Jack chuckled, he put his hands on his hips and faced her more directly. “All good things I hope?” he asked her. She gave him another shy smile and Jack felt his heart soar. “I am well aware of you Agent Whiskey, and not just from Tequila here,” she said, now his heart felt like it had skipped a beat. Her voice was as angelic as her laugh! “Again, I hope it's all good things,” he laughed.  “Most the time, yes,” she hummed playfully. “My main job is hiding Statesman true existence from the public eye.” She flashed him a more coy smile and his grin grew. “Which means i tend to hear about certain escapades, such as a cable car sledding down a mountain.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, laughing nervously. “You certainly don't make my job easy sometimes, Agent,” she teased. Jack's expression was one of pleasant surprise, she wasn’t as shy as she appeared. Tequila laughed, pleased his friend was at least able to bite back at the other man. “She’s still off limits old man,” the younger agent muttered to him. “I am not that much older than you,” Jack retorted, making her giggle some more. “And as i rightfully pointed out earlier, she can make up her own mind about me i am sure.” Tequila was about to bite back but she interrupted whatever thought he was about to say. “He’s right on that Tequila. I can make up my own mind,” she said, giving Jack another smile. “And right now my mind is telling me i need to get back to work.” She gave Jack a nod and Tequila a friendly wave as she turned on her heels and went back to wherever her office was. Whiskey let out a long whistle when she was out of earshot, admiring her ass as her hips swayed. His staring was interrupted by Tequila wacking him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Hey! I’m only looking!” he pouted. “She didn’t seem to have a problem with me.” “Dang it Whiskey she's my friend!” Tequila groaned. “Just leave her alone, she don’t need none of that. “ “She’s not married,and I know she ain’t your girl,” Jack remarked. “She’s still my friend Whiskey,” the younger agent sighed. “I don’t want her gettin’ hurt.” Jack frowned at him. “Hey now that’s not fair,” he said sternly. “I know I have a reputation an all but you’re acting like I plan on breaking her heart.” “She’s one of the nicest people I ever met, she doesn’t deserve to be your current flavor of the month,” Tequila defended. “Now I take personal offence to that Tequila,” Jack countered. “I would like to think myself a gentleman and my intentions are purely honorable.” “The way you were staring at her ass tells me otherwise,” Tequila mumbled. “C’mon Whiskey, you don’t even know her. She’s just another pretty piece of ass to you and we both know it.” Whiskey gave him a disappointed look. Slightly upset his friend would think so lowly of him, but he had to admit his reputation did nothing to counter it. “It’s really bothering you isn’t it?” he asked, sighing when Tequila nodded. “Fine, look, I won’t chase her. If it means that much to you,” he sighed in defeat. He was still enamored with her, but if hooking up with her bothered Tequila so much he wouldn’t in good conscience be able to do so. “That a promise?” Tequila asked, holding his hand out for Jack to shake and seal the deal. “Yeah,” he sighed, taking the offered hand. “She must mean a lot to you,” he added, only getting another nod in return from the younger man as they shook hands. 

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

You first noticed Whiskey long, long before the two of you ever actually met in person. You hadn’t been joking about dealing with the results of his missions, constantly having to kill stories in the press or send out false reports to police and media so that Statesman’s business remained out of the public eye. Your ‘PR’ department was often quite busy, constantly searching social media to kill any evidence that might have been captured by the public. It was a 24 hour job, one you were in charge of now.

Years ago, when you were a new hire, just one of the lackeys, your first assignment was to comb through social media to kill any evidence of Whiskey’s latest mission. You hadn’t slept for two days during that time, surviving on caffeine and an ambition to make a good impression at your new job. You could vaguely remember complaining to one of your co-workers about the agent who had gone in guns (and Lasso) blazing without considering the fact that smart phones were now a thing and that the target was a very public figure. That was the first time you heard of him, as your more experienced co-worker gushed over his skills as an agent while you sat and seethed at the ungodly amount of work he had caused you on your first assignment.

You could look back on that memory fondly now, and since then your opinion of him had changed as you heard more and more about him. He was a skilled agent, had a strong sense of justice and always got the job done. Sure, his methods were sometimes a little unorthodox and he was often quick to jump into the fray, but there was no denying his skill. He was a senior agent for a reason after all. And of course, you had heard about his reputation, no woman in the office hadn’t. He would flirt with any pretty thing that caught his eye. You used to think that your co-workers that fell for his charm were foolish for falling for it, given his well known reputation among Statesman, but that was before you met him in person. You had seen him in passing before, from afar, or glimpses of him in the social media posts you killed, he was handsome, sure, but it was a whole different level when you met him face to face. You thought you were safe from his charm, believed you were smart enough not to fall for it should it happen to come your way, but you also doubted you would ever be on the receiving end of it. You had been in the same room as him plenty of times in the past and he had never paid any attention to you, and not to mention you didn’t exactly fit his usual type. You were short, plump, nothing like the field agents he was used to working with, women who were physically fit enough to work alongside him and fight. Not to say you thought you were completely unattractive, sure it sometimes bothered you that your blouse could barely contain your breasts and that your stomach and thighs were a little too soft for your liking, but you weren’t blind. You could see the not so subtle looks as you walked past, the way people would try to discreetly check out your ass as you walked. It was a confidence booster for sure. It just never occurred to you before that you would be Whiskeys type. So the day the two of you met officially, you couldn’t help the blushes, he was attractive, and paying attention to you, perhaps it wasn’t so hard to see why women fell for his charm even with his reputation. You were just like every other woman he flirted with, but when he spoke to you it made you feel special. You supposed that was the appeal, why it was so easy for him. It wasn’t until you had excused yourself from his company and were able to calm down that you began to chide yourself for falling for his charm. You reminded yourself of his reputation, as handsome and charming as he was you didn’t want to be just another roll in the hay for him.

You sighed as you made your way into your office. Now the head of Statesman’s ‘PR’ department you were officially considered an ‘agent’, the perks in which included your own private office. You dropped your files off before making your way inside, ready to get back to work, trying to ignore the way Whiskey's attention had made your heart flutter and pretend you weren’t looking forward  to seeing him again.

TAG LIST: None yet

#Agent whiskey x reader #Agent Whiskey x you #Agent Whiskey x ofc #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x ofc #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x you #agent jack whiskey daniels x reader #agent jack whiskey daniels x you #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #agent whiskey fanfic #my fic #Second chance #SC #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

[vanwartime]

Flashback to a little domestic terrorism at the Vancouver courthouse...

The Vancouver Sun November 4, 1942, Pages 1; 10

Blasts Mystify Police 'Short Man' Seen On Court House Steps

One of the two majestic 10-ton granite lions-symbols of British justice guarding Vancouver's Court House entrance-was split in two on Tuesday night by mystery dynamite blasts which smashed windows within a block's radius, rocked the entire city centre and were heard miles but in the suburbs. There were two explosions. The first came at 9:37 p.m., and the other seconds later. The lion on the right of a person facing the Court House was shattered. The hind quarters were blown away from the rest of the body and three blocks of granite at least a foot in diameter, were blown on to a nearby parking space. Smaller chunks were scattered over the roadway and lawn. Windows were smashed in Hotel Vancouver, in the Devonshire and Georgia Hotels, in the Court House itself and in another building on Howe Street.

FUSE AND WIRE Experts of three police forces the City, Provincial and Royal Canadian Mounted Police are co-operating in today's investigation of what they believe is "an isolated act of vandalism." The dynamite "time-bombs" were placed one on each side of the stone lion, in small depressions just below the animal's flanks. The space would allow insertion of about two half sticks of dynamite on each side. A lengthy piece of fuse and another length of wire both found near the shattered granite lion are to be examined by Inspector J. F. C. B. Vance, city police scientist. One opinion is that the length of fuse was blown out of one of the bombs when the first explosion set off the second charge. The wire to be examined is believed to have been used to bind the half sticks of dynamite together.

SAW SHORT MAN A number of persons saw the flashes of the explosions and at least one person a soldier saw a man running down the Court House steps when the first blast went off. This witness is Sgt. P. E. J. Tomey, and here is the story he told police: "I was in a building on Howe, overlooking the Court House. There were two blasts, about five seconds apart. The second was the loudest. "Right after the first, I saw a short man dash from the steps. I saw him in the light of the explosion as he started to run across the grounds to ward Georgia and Hornby," A few minutes after the dynamite went off, City Police, B.C. Police and RCMP were on the job. Until a heavy guard was thrown around the building, hordes of curious spectators trampled over the Court House lawns and up the steps to peer at the battered lion. In addition to the long piece of fuse and the wire, police found seven other bits of fuse all about one foot in length, All the fuse is the waterproof variety.

CHECK SALES Inspector Vance will test it to determine how long before the explosion the fuse was lit. City detectives Jack Horton and Gordon Ambrose, who are investigating the case, are back on the scene today to look for dynamite caps or bits of metal There have been no recent reports of dynamite being stolen, and since a permit is necessary to purchase the explosive all sales in this area will be checked in an effort to apprehend the vandal. It is estimated that between two and three feet of fuse may have been used for the first bomb, since the mysterious "short man" was seen at the bottom of the steps when it exploded. In addition to placing a heavy guard around the Court House, Assistant Commissioner John Shirras of the Provincial Police ordered an exhaustive search of the building itself a few minutes after the explosions.

WINDOWS SMASHED Provincial Police were called in from as far away as New Westminster. Greatest damage, outside of the wrecked lion, was the smashing of windows. Twenty were broken in Hotel Devonshire, across the street from the Court House. One was cracked in Hotel Georgia. Five were broken in Hotel Vancouver, and every one of the wire-mesh windows in the front section of the Court House was shattered. Forty windows were broken in the Court House alone. Most investigators believe that the dynamiter is a "crank."

[article 2] [photo caption: Damage to the carved granite lion which has symbolically guarded the west side of the Georgia Street entrance to the Court House since 1910 can be seen in this picture. Despite the huge split caused by the mysterious double blast which shook the city Tuesday night, the "guardian" appears as unperturbed as ever. Estimated weight of the huge granite beast is 10 tons. The explosions shifted the hindquarters of the lion approximately a foot, and scattered pieces of rock and dust over a wide area. The detonation was the second act of defacement the statuary has suffered in three years. On September 6, 1939, the "Lions" which surmount the pillars on either side of the entrance were defaced with green swastikas.]

Thought The Japs Were Here Hotel Guests Fled To Bomb Shelter

Residents in hotels near the scene of Tuesday night's mystery explosion thought that war had come to Vancouver when two blasts shook the area in quick succession and shattered a total of about 70 windows. Guests in Hotel Devonshire, which' felt the greatest effects from concussion, ran to the basement garage in the building, convinced that enemy bombers were overhead. One of them, a merchant navy seaman who has seen action, ran past the switchboard in the hotel to take shelter in the basement, as other guests made frantic inquiries of Miss Ada McLennan of 1915 Haro Street, the operator on duty. H. D. Cura, the desk clerk, rushed to the door when the first explosion shook the building, and opened in time to witness the second.

SAW BRIGHT FLASH "I had just reached the door and started to open it," he said, "when I saw a bright flash across at the Court House. A split second later I felt the impact, which was great enough to force the door out of my hand." Closest man in the city to the granite Court House lion when it was blasted in two by the dynamite charge was probably Sidney Kelland, Vancouver organist. He was cutting across the Court House lawn to enter CBR studios in Hotel Vancouver for a rehearsal when the explosion occurred. I was only about 12 paces away," he said. "Another few paces and I would have been right there in front of the steps." Mr. Kelland does not remember any flash or sheet of flame, nor did he notice the man seen running away from the steps by Sgt. P. E. J. Tomey. He reported that for a moment the air was filled with flying bits of granite, none of which fell near him. 'I expected to see more dam age" he said. He felt that the force of the explosion expended itself in the open space of the Court House grounds. William Benekritis, a peanut vendor, also saw and felt both blasts. He was standing in the door of the Devonshire Hotel, in which about 20 windows were broken. "The first thought that entered my head was that the Japs had come," he recalls. "But the lights were still burning, so I decided that it must have been dynamite. "I wasn't looking in the direction of the Court House at the time of the first explosion.

WISELY SEEKS REFUGE "A moment later the second explosion came, and glass started to fall from broken windows in the hotel. I decided I would be better off indoors, so I picked up my basket and went in the beer parlor." Russell Escott, sitting at a table in the Hotel Devonshire beer parlor with his wife, said people inside thought that a bomb had exploded in the street right outside the hotel. "Glass fell within five feet of us," he told a reporter. Miss Odette Ainsworth, telephone operator at CBR studio: on the ground floor of Hotel Vancouver, narrowly escaped severe lacerations when a window two feet from her chair was shattered and blown across the foyer. She was showered with glass but unhurt. Two other CBR windows were shattered, and two in other parts of the hotel were blown in. People in the hotel thought boilers of the steam heating system had blown up.

STUDIO NOTED TIME Bill Herbert, chief announcer at CBR, timed the first blast by the studio's stop watch, which he was watching at the time. "The first explosion occurred exactly at 9:37 p.m.," he said "The second one was about 15 seconds later. I just got out on Hornby Street in time to see the flash." Professor F. G. C. Wood of the University of British Columbia was broadcasting when the explosions occurred. "He never batted an eye," said Herbert. "He just kept on talking." Only one window in Hotel Georgia was cracked by the blast, but the entire building shook, according to Leslie H, Davies, night room clerk.

IN THE COURT HOUSE Also close to the explosions, but behind closed doors was F.H. Brown, night janitor in the Court House. He was cleaning floors in the main entrance of the building when concussion from the two blasts hit the building like waves. "I ran into the centre of the building after the first explosion, he said, "and then ran downstairs into the Provincial Police offices when the second one occurred." Detective John Cameron, seated in the Provincial Police offices, said the whole building shook. Shatterproof glass windows on either side of the main entrance crumpled and were left hanging from their steel mesh protection. Intensity of the explosions can be judged by the fact that inquiries from Point Grey residents were received at The Sun office. "The explosions were quite distinct out here," one Point Grey resident said.

#newspapers #wwii #vancouver #courthouse #art gallery #lions #crank

[dorizardthewizard]

The Revival of Akillian: Chapter 5

Prologue / Chapter 4 / Chapter 6

5. THE HOLO-TRAINER

After making a few final adjustments, Clamp touches - not without a hint of apprehension - the white launch button on the touchscreen of his console. No lightning or spitting this time: the controls turn green and data is displayed, indicating that the system is charged to its rated power and ready to operate. Clamp leans back in his chair with a satisfied smile and folds his hands behind his neck.

- Voila! It should work perfectly now.

- "Perfection", - emphasizes Aarch. - That is exactly the word I was looking for to describe your machines... when they work!

Much more relaxed, Clamp still makes a few adjustments, which do not cause any catastrophic reaction from his devices: on the contrary, they beep, chirp and click with gusto.

- Do you think we’re going to get much turnout? Maybe football doesn't interest anyone on this planet anymore...

As if in response, the doors of the elevator at the back of the room - the first thing Clamp repaired so he could get all his crates of equipment down there - slide squeakily and dump a dozen young people, proudly led by Micro-Ice.

- Voila! - he declares to his buddies, who are amazed by the vastness of the place and the buzzing machines. - There are still plenty more coming! - he tells Aarch and Clamp.

The coach looks at the scientist with a mocking smile:

- How’s that?

Eyes wide, D’jok considers the enormous white cube in front of him, which seems to him like an elevator car for giants. From the open door springs a dazzling light.

- What is that thing?

- Well, it's… (Clamp clears his throat: he hadn't thought of giving his device a name yet). Uh… it's a holo-trainer, - he improvises. - A virtual training machine, in a way.

- Okay well, I'll be leaving now... I’ve got no reason to be here, - says Micro-Ice, returning to the elevator.

- You don't want to take part? – queries Aarch.

- No thank you, no way! Tests aren’t really my thing. Just hearing the word makes me feel like I'm in school!

- In any case, thank you for everything, kid... we can really say you fell in at the right moment!

Micro-Ice smiles at this joke that only he understands and stands in front of the elevator, ignoring D’jok's look of disappointment at him. The moment he raises his finger to press the call button, the doors creak open again...

On a dream creature.

Thin oval face carried by a slender neck, delicate nose, curled lips, huge brown hair pulled up in a thick ponytail, a perfect body in a princess costume… and huge blue eyes that land on an amazed Micro-Ice. His joke in Maya's cave, about the pretty girl and the treasure, comes to mind… if he hasn't found the treasure, he sure found the pretty girl!

The girl pulls away from Micro-Ice and enters the room, along with a dozen new candidates. A woman follows her, much older, also dressed elegantly in a coat with a Garo fur collar: her mother is oblivious, because she speaks vehemently to the visibly annoyed girl:

- Are you listening to me, Mei? You have to show them that you are the best! You understand? The best!

- Enough, mom!

“Wow, even her voice is awesome”, thinks Micro-Ice to himself, contemplating her graceful step dreamily. Love at first sight? He isn’t sure what that is, but what is certain anyway is that his heart is pounding hard and it is making him so hot inside...

- What's the matter, Micro-loser? You look even more silly than usual!

Sinedd! In terms of cold showers, it doesn’t get worse than this. Micro-Ice suddenly descends to earth, but his natural wittiness quickly takes over:

- What are you doing here? We came to practice football. Not your nutty card game!

- Exactly, losers like you and your friends don't stand a chance here! -  Sinedd scoffs. - Make way for the real players!

- So you think you're a real player, huh, Sinedd? - D’jok intervenes.

- Maybe my ball is causing his ankles to swell, - laughs Thran.

- Can't wait to start the trials, so I can humiliate you all! None of you come close to my level. You're going to take a huge beating!

Pushing past Micro-Ice and his buddies, Sinedd joins the crowd massed in front of the holo-trainer with an already victorious stride.

- We’ll see about that! - challenges Micro-Ice.

- Ah, so you're staying after all? - remarks Ahito.

- By the off chance, it wouldn’t have anything to do with that girl over there, would it? – quips D’jok, nodding at Mei, who is stamping her foot, still being harassed by her mother.

- You need to position yourself on offense, - she explains to her. - The biggest football stars are strikers!

- I get it, mom!

- A girl? What girl? - Micro-Ice blushes, ostensibly turning his back on him.

His friends burst out laughing, which makes him blush all the more.

- Well, we can start, - Aarch decides. – As far as I can see, we will not have more candidates...

- Think again, Aarch, - Clamp rebukes. - Look, the elevator is bringing more people!

Indeed, the doors slide open again with a horrible squeak of rusting metal. But it is not more candidates who come out this time...

It's Ballow and his three thugs.

- Hello, everyone! I see you have decided to have fun without us?

Aarch and Clamp exchange a look of apprehension: will this situation ever come to an end?

- Always so good at ruining the mood, this guy! - murmurs Micro-Ice from the middle of the crowd.

- Don't worry, guys, he's not going to stay long. - promises Thran, mysteriously.

- Okay, kids, get the hell out of here, and fast! - hollers Ballow at the gathering. – It’s not you we’re after...

With that, he walks wickedly towards Aarch, followed by his henchmen, who have drawn their tasers again.

Suddenly a bright light swirls down from the hole in the ceiling, accompanied by the characteristic whistle of turboprop engines. In the light a rope unwinds along which Callie Mystic, the Arcadia News star reporter, glides nimbly, filmed by her trusty flying holo-cam. She lightly jumps to the ground and immediately begins her speech:

- What did I tell you, dear holo-spectators? With Callie Mystic, nothing remains a secret for long!

She winks and gives the thumbs up in the direction of Thran, who returns the gesture, to the amazement of his friends.

- Did you call her? – blurts D’jok.

- Well, - Thran answers with a smirk, - I thought since we knew where Aarch was, it was worth telling Arcadia News...

Callie walks confidently towards Arch, sticking her microphone right under his nose.

- Aarch, it can be said you’re hard to find. But it takes a lot more to escape Callie Mystic's curiosity!

- So what do we do, boss? - asks Ballow’s big bald henchman.

- Arrrgh! Well, we massacre everyone on live television, that will give us publicity! Is that a stupid enough answer for you or do you want me to think of some more? - He shoves past his men and walks back to the elevator with an angry step - Come on, come on, let's get out of here!

- Well! - Callie resumes. - Aarch, how about explaining to our dear holo-viewers a little bit about this machine and what you expect from all these kids?

***

Onboard his jet-snow, Rocket rushes towards the Windy Plateaus, where he can hit real bursts of speed on this flat and empty plain, cracked with faults that add a little spice to the pleasure of sliding. The odometer is already reaching 150 km/h, but it can easily go up to 200. Beyond that, it becomes risky from a grip and stability point of view: you are at the mercy of the slightest bump or rut... but where’s the thrill, if there is no danger?

Suddenly a weird sound complements the regular growl of his turbo: a sort of roar accompanied by spitting... he checks his controls - it would be a problem if he broke down so far from Arcadia - but everything is normal: the sound is not coming from his vehicle…

It is coming from the sky.

A flying machine passes him with a thunderous noise, at a dangerously low altitude. Rocket slows down to better identify it: it's a Red-Bee-type shuttle, commonly used by moon dwellers on Obia or Tanaga to descend on Akillian. It seems in trouble: ominous smoke escapes from its reactor, the roar of which is interspersed with jolts and rattles. The shuttle plunges behind a hill - an instant later a low rumble echoes and a large plume of smoke rises.

The shuttle crashed!

Rocket steps on it and reaches the crash site in less than a minute. The Red-Bee is buried in a snowdrift, its cockpit broken, its wings twisted, its engine is spitting out sinister black smoke. Without thinking, Rocket jumps off the jet-snow, runs towards the machine and slips into the cockpit through the broken glass.

A young girl lies unconscious in the pilot's seat.

“She's not old enough to fly this,” thinks Rocket. “No wonder she messed up!”

There is not a minute to lose: smoke is invading the cockpit, it smells of burning in the back, sparks fly from the circuits... he gives violent thrusts against the airlock with the twisted door, which he manages to unlock. He grabs the girl by the shoulders and drags her outside. No sooner has he walked a few yards than the Red-Bee explodes, throwing burning debris around. Rocket throws himself into the snow and covers the girl with his body to protect her.

The blast and the sound of the explosion pulls her from her unconsciousness. She half-opens her eyes, flickering a pretty sea green. An Obiane, Rocket recognizes by her small size, her pale complexion and her silver hair.

- Aarch… I have to find Aarch… - she mumbles in a faint voice before relapsing into unconsciousness.

***

Rather than giving Callie Mystic a private interview, Aarch prefers to present his project live to all applicants:

- Let me introduce myself: my name is Aarch. You must have heard of me... whether for good things or bad. I was part of Akillian’s last great football team, before the Catastrophe. I came back because I intend to create a new, even more talented one. And this will be thanks to you! I am sure the Akillian Breath can be reawakened. Professor Clamp, here, will co-lead the trials today. We will only take the best. I'm counting on you to give your all! Well, good luck!

During Aarch's speech, Ahito almost fell asleep, awakened by a nudge from D’jok. Micro-Ice, placed "by chance" near Mei, kept his eyes fixed on her… eyes full of stars. He was paying attention, though, for he asks:

- By the way, sir, how are we going to do the trials? I see no football field...

- An excellent question, - Clamp intervenes. - I just need a volunteer. Come closer, boy, and put this on, please (he hands him a yellow and purple jersey and shorts filled with sensors). You're going to get changed in there (he points to the second white cube, the smaller one). And then you'll go in here.

He nods towards the illuminated entrance behind him.

A minute later, Micro-Ice shows up in front of the holo-trainer. Half blind by the light, he can only make out a white floor and black walls. Nothing very exciting in principle... he turns to his comrades, who support him:

- Yeah, go ahead, Micro-Ice!

- Show them what you can do!

But it's Mei's gaze on him - at whom he smiles - that gives him the courage to step into the light box. Clamp taps on his console, and the door slides closed again behind Micro-Ice.

He walks to the middle of the cube, taken aback. Is this a training ground? Where's the ball? Where are the goals, the opponents?

Suddenly, the black walls are erased, replaced by an artificial "sky"; the white ground turns green, the lines of the center and the penalty area are imprinted, virtual goals appear at each end. The whole place takes on the dimension of a real football field, much larger in appearance than the cube itself.

- Woah! – marvels Micro-Ice, breathless.

He kneels down and feels the ground with his hand: it seems real...

- Okay, let me explain (Aarch's voice comes from everywhere at once). See the red line at the other end of the field? You have to get there as fast as possible, dribbling the ball.

With his hand as a visor to protect himself from the bright light, Micro-Ice spots the line in question, in front of the goal that seems very distant to him. A ball materializes near him. He feels it with the tip of his foot: it is solid... he holds it under his heel and gets into position.

- Yeah, piece of cake!

- Obstacles will appear on your route - Aarch continues. - You will have to dribble past them without wasting time.

- Ah… smaller piece of cake.

- Ready… and go! – sounds Clamp’s voice.

Micro-Ice takes a leap forward, kicking the ball away. A few meters in front of him is virtualized a Shadow player, a completely realistic Fulmugus avatar… not that realistic actually, because Micro-Ice dribbles past him easily. Then markers appear on his course, which he must avoid in an increasingly tight slalom. If he touches one, it flashes red, emitting an unpleasant sound: a deducted point, no doubt.

- Uh oh… looks like things are getting complicated!

Seven terminals suddenly stand in front of Micro-Ice and rush over to him. He has no choice but to jump over them while maintaining control of his ball. As soon as he touches the ground and retrieves the ball, three Fulmugus avatars try to stop him, as the virtual goal appears in sight. He manages to dribble past the first by squeezing the ball between his legs, narrowly avoids the second with a turn-back, then shoots towards the goal from which the goalkeeper appeared - who catches the ball in his chest and disintegrates. The ball returns, Micro-Ice leaps to retrieve it and shoot at the goal again. But he doesn’t make good contact with the ball, he falls and slips on the pitch, pushing the ball with his foot… slipping between the spread legs of the third Shadow defender… who fades behind him. Micro-Ice turns his head… gives a smile of victory: the red line is there, just under his neck!

- Woooooooo!

The holo-trainer's door opens on a radiant Micro-Ice, immediately surrounded by his pals.

- So? How was it? - asks Thran.

- Absolutely awesome! – exclaims Micro-Ice.

- Very good, - Aarch smiles. - And now, who's next?

A good thirty arms rise immediately: “Me! – No, me! - Me, sir, me! - To me, to me! - Please, sir! - I am the best! … ”

***

Finally, she regains consciousness.

Rocket had carried the little Obiane on his jet-snowboard to his secret cave. Along the way, he considered taking her to his father's house, but quickly gave it up, imagining the scene: “Who is this girl? Where is she from? What were you doing on the Windy Plateaus instead of going to deliver my flowers? We must call the police and send her to the hospital! As if I don’t have enough worries without this…!” In short, the adventure would quickly come to an end, but it's not every day that Rocket meets someone - better: save a girl from certain death. A very pretty girl in addition: thin and petite, the face of an angel with thin, silver hair that he wants to stroke, and beautiful green eyes...

Raised by his father, his only family (since his mother passed away when he was a baby), Rocket is a loner, with no friends, and of course no girlfriends - girls are a total mystery to him. He's out of school, educated by Norata and Educator, TTV's (Technoid's) interactive education network. Norata fears that his son will one day leave the family home. This is why he employed him very early on in his small florist business, and plans to make him his partner and then his successor. Rocket only knows the world that his father allows him to know, and what he secretly learns from TTV - especially Galactik Football... because this reclusive and lonely life would be very sad and miserable if Rocket had not maintained that secret passion for GF. Like D’jok, who believes he has an extraordinary destiny, Rocket also dreams of becoming a great soccer player, of following the path of his revered uncle. But Rocket knows very well that this is only a dream, that as long as he lives by, for and in the flowers, this destiny will never knock on his door.

Until Aarch's miraculous appearance last week... his dream suddenly took shape and substance, and turned into a mad hope. A hope that Norata is working to bring down, but Aarch exists, he's on Akillian to recruit a new team - Rocket saw Callie Mystic's report on TTV. If he could be part of it... but how? Now here is this girl falling from the sky, who also wants to find Aarch… another sign of fate?

Lying on the only seat in the sparsely furnished cave, she stirs and sighs… her eyelids blink, her large green eyes rest on Rocket in surprise.

- Hey, are you okay? - he asks her, full of concern.

He tries to tend to the large bump that is blooming on her forehead with ice and bruising spray he has from the pharmacy. She puts her hand to her head and grimaces, but doesn't answer.

- What... where am I?

- Don't worry, you’re safe here… my name is Rocket.

- I'm Tia… (she walks around the cave lined with football posters, a surprising sight) Do you really live in this cave?

- Uh, not exactly, but let's say I come here very often. Do you need some ice?

Rocket breaks a piece of icicle, which he hands to her.

- For what? - Tia is suspicious.

- For your injury... it keeps it from swelling.

She carefully places the ice cube on her forehead: indeed, it relieves the pain.

- What happened?

- Your shuttle crashed... I pulled you out of it just before it blew up. You're from Obia, aren't you?

Again, Tia ignores his question. She throws the ice cube and stands up abruptly before Rocket's stunned eyes. It is true that the Obians, despite their fragile appearance, are actually very hardy… the harsh living conditions on this small moon without an atmosphere have something to do with it.

- I have to meet Aarch as soon as possible! - Tia looks at the photos, banners and posters again, stopping at Aarch's giant figure. - From what I can see, it looks like you're interested in him… do you know where he is?

Shy, Rocket can't think of anything better to do than kicking his ball, making it jump from one foot to the other.

- Well… to tell you the truth, Aarch is my uncle.

Tia's eyes light up, a smile on her face.

- For real? But that’s awesome!

Rocket pouts and kicks his ball, which bounces off a shelf of odds and ends, dislodging the box containing his collection of badges.

- Yeah, except I barely know him… I only spoke to him once.

- Is that so? - The ball returns to Tia's feet, who blocks it. – Still, I have to find him at all costs!

- Why? Do you want to be part of his new team?

Like nothing, she also kicks the ball, apparently without even aiming. Still, after a twisted trajectory that Rocket rarely did, the ball went straight into the hole next to Mark 10 - the most difficult one. His eyes go wide in disbelief.

- Yes, I’m counting on it! - Tia smiles. – What about you?

- Well… it’s not like I don’t want to, I just… hey!

Tia had rushed outside and jumped onto the jet-snowboard that she's now trying to set in motion. Rocket runs up to her.

- What are you doing?

She manages to start the vehicle, which begins to whistle.

- You have exactly two seconds to get in behind me. Otherwise, I'm going without you!

- Wait a minute, Tia. First, it’s my jet-snow, and I prefer to ride it myself. And you don't even know where Aarch is!

She backs up into the passenger seat, letting him take the handlebars.

- So go ahead, take me there!

#galactik football #the revival of akillian #gah sorry for the wait! end of semester was crazy #we finally see tia and mei here; and some cool details on where tia comes from!

[girlofmanyfandoms]

A/n: Next chapter is out! This one has a lot of setting up of the future plot points, it’ll be fun if y’all can pinpoint it. If the next chapter takes too long, I’ll post more of “The Plot out of context,” if it’s wanted!

Key:

Tater - @a-lonely-tatertot

Lynn - @lesbilynnette

Gray - @silver-snow

Lilah - @tribblemakingalicorn

Cadence - me

Ivy - @imaramennoodle

Molly - @molly-sencen

Farris - @everyonehasthoughts

Speens - @an-absolute-travesty

Holes - @holesinmyfalseconfidence

Connor - @linhammon-roll-bromance101

Panda - @worldwidepandamonium

Meg - @ultralazycreatorfan

Word count: 2,740

Warnings: Nothing makes sense.

“Lynn, can you have the next shipment of the Gatorade sent to my address in Peru?”

“Farris, what did you do now?”

“Nothing!” They grinned nervously.

“I swear if you moved to Peru just so you could buy an alpaca, I will-”

“It’s not that, I swear! Well, not just that. Boss called and said I have to be at the excavation site by tomorrow, that it might be a big break.” Farris scoffed. “As if. Last time, the only thing I found with my metal detector was someone’s Betty Boop keychain.”

“Yeah, I can ship them there,” Lynn sighed, exhausted from a night of getting a deal with the investor and setting prices for the products. “And that’s crazy.”

“I know right?” Farris answered. “Betty Boop? When was this person born, the 1950s?”

“That’s not- yeah, you’re right, Farris.” Lynn changed her sentence halfway through. “Any word back from Panda?”

“Yeah, Panda got back to me. Said that her sign is a Scorpio.”

“What?”

“Exactly, who would’ve thought Panda was-”

“Farris, you were supposed to ask about the chain restaurant idea!” Lynn massaged her forehead. “Why did we agree to be partners?”

“Because I threatened to blackmail you,” they responded, taking a bite out of an apple. “And I did ask about that. The zodiac sign was probably the question I wrote on my arm so I wouldn’t forget.”

“And?”

“She said the chain restaurant idea is a good thing to look into, as soon as we can make a good menu, hire some staff, good prices, nice locations, accessibility, y’know, all that jazz.”

“Because that’s so simple.” Lynn sighed, shuffling through the paperwork that had accumulated within the past week. “Alright, tell you what, I’ll get an artist to make an ad, maybe a social networker, I’ll set up a blog and we get the word out. As soon as you get back from the gig, you call me, alright?”

“Yup,” they agreed. “Oh, and Connor just texted saying he needs your help. I told him to wait ‘til I got back so I could teach him how to properly rollerblade, but the kid’s a madlad.”

“Anything broken?”

“His sanity.”

“Farris.”

“And a lot of furniture.”

“Guess I’ll have to find out for myself, huh?”

“You sure will.”

“Alright, I’m checking in with the supplier. Talk later?”

“Cheerio, mate,” Farris grinned, saluting her before ending the call.

Lynn opened her laptop and emailed her supplier, who had requested to remain anonymous. This was fine though, identities shouldn’t be known when dealing with the black market and pyramid schemes. Lynn was fine with using her real name because of her position as co-founder of Forbidden Incorporated. If she was going to go deviant, she’ll be damned if she didn’t do it with style.

_________

Cadence’s phone buzzed, as an email from a client had just arrived.

“Forks do not work with ice cream,” Tater yelled for the umpteenth time.

Holes clutched their head in a mixture of disappointment and annoyance. “Why would you use a spoon? It’s not soup, you can’t just spoon it out!”

“Then pop it in the microwave for a few seconds, for fu-”

“Crank it down 12 notches,” Molly suggested.

“-for Pete’s sake,” Tater acknowledged Molly. “And didn’t you just eat an entire bag of flamin’ hot Cheetos in one sitting?”

“They were good! And I’m fine,” Molly insisted. “Sure, we’re out of milk, and I have strep throat, but I just took a shower and I don’t think I’m gonna pass out just yet.”

Tater and Holes pulled out a Lysol can, masks, gloves, and a plexiglass barricade within seconds, clearly getting flashbacks from 2020. Cadence wasn’t paying attention, as usual, and kept writing her response to the email.

“Relax,” Molly laughed, clearly not finding it strange that they had those on hand at least a decade later. “I got my antibiotics, it’s not contagious anymore. And hey, good news: I made a questionable decision, and that’s also not contagious.”

They threw the equipment behind them, seemingly into the abyss, and relaxed a bit.

“Ok, now to address the real problem,” Holes started. “Who is Pete and why are we doing everything for his sake?”

“Oh my gods, it’s an expression, Holes,” Tater sighed.

“No, no, Holes, is onto something,” Molly said, grabbing the detective hat Lynn had designed for her and putting it on. “And I intend to find out.”

“Cadence, please make it two against two,” Tater pleaded.

Cadence glanced up from her phone. “What’s happening?”

“Oh my- you know what, I should’ve expected that, considering the Paint Water incident.”

“Ok, the Paint Water Incident was ONE TIME!”

“The what?” Holes looked interested.

“We don’t talk about it,” Cadence chimed in. “Think of it as the Great Gulon Incident of our group.”

“Great,” Holes sighed. “Another mystery. You’re all high.”

“I was fully aware of what I was doing in that incident.”

“Even better,” Holes commented dryly. “Nevermind, I don’t need to know.”

“Besides, there are great puzzles to be solved,” Molly continued enthusiastically. “Onward! We must scavenge for our first clue of Pete’s identity.”

Tater closed her eyes, telling her conscience to shove it for a moment. “Where do we start, Detective?”

Holes raised their eyebrows.

“If you can’t beat ��em, join ‘em,” Tater shrugged.

Molly looked at Holes in expectation. “Alright, fine,” Holes caved. “But I’m taking Cadence with us, I’m not going crazy alone.”

“That ship has sailed for both of us,” Cadence commented, not looking up from her phone.

“Yeah, haha, very funny. Let’s check out the corner opposite of the one they’re searching.” Holes paused, waiting for them to be out of earshot. “We don’t have to do anything, just pretend to search, I’ll be watching to make sure they don’t get killed.”

Cadence looked down at the email from her client. A shipping of 500 bottles, and 3,000 containers of newer products. And to Peru? Why had they changed the shipping address? She sighed. It was going to be a long day.

________

Connor’s house was on fire. Connor’s house was on fire. Why was Connor’s house on fire, you ask? Well, if you need to ask, you clearly haven’t met him. Lynn gazed at the sight in front of her tiredly, not knowing how she hadn’t expected this to happen.

Speens was calmly watering the bushes surrounding the house, not giving a second thought about putting out the fire with the water they had.

Lilah appeared beside Lynn, startling her. “Oh, good, you came. Gray has been trying to help Connor stand up for the past 30 minutes, but he’s way too drunk and he keeps refusing to ditch the rollerblades. Oh yeah, and his house is on fire.”

“About that, how’d it happen?”

“He was rollerblading on the stair railings when he fell onto their lamp, which tilted over and fell onto the seance that he was holding earlier in the day so the candles fell onto the hardwood floor, and then he spilled vodka everywhere, and then the flames turned blue, so here we are,” Lilah recounted all in one breath. “It’s kinda beautiful to be honest.”

“Beautiful isn't the word I would use to describe it,” Speens called. “It’s interfering with the plants. Well, except for Suzy, she’s a stubborn one. She wouldn’t burn, and believe me, I tried to make her.”

“I believe you,” Lynn said, quite understandingly. She had seen Speens around on the Deep Web, but had respected their secret. They all had secrets, after all.

Lynn walked inside where the hose was already uncoiled and ready to be used. Connor, however, was clinging to Gray’s leg. “NO, DON’T USE A HOSE, THE HOUSE DOESN’T LIKE SHOWERS.”

“Connor, the house is an inanimate object, it does not care,” Gray told him, trying to get control of the fire in the kitchen.

Connor gasped. “How DARE you talk to Cynthia like that?! She deserves better!” He crawled over to a wall that was, inevitably, about to burn down, and he stroked it. “You’re gonna be okay, sweetie. Don’t listen to the mean person, they’re just a hater.”

Gray shook their head and sighed. “Hey, Lynn. Can you increase the water pressure?”

Lynn did so, much to Connor’s dismay. To make up for it, Lynn handed Connor a piece of a floorboard that had undoubtedly been broken into pieces when they fell off of the stairs. He hugged the floorboard close to his face, crying happy tears, not thinking about the possibility of splinters. Lynn was confused, but had a feeling she would need him as an ally soon, and this was the best way to start.

Lynn babysat Connor as Gray put out the fire. When they had finished, none of the house had fallen down. It was weaker, and very charred, but somehow it hadn’t fallen.

Gray reached behind them and pulled out a ladder and a blueprint covering the new design of Connor’s structurally damaged home. Everyone had become acquainted with such things being summoned when needed. “Alright, I got the materials in the car, but we need to fix this house, er, Cynthia, up.”

“Renovating a house, huh,” Lynn muttered. “Better than spending all day dealing with paperwork. But if I’m going to help you and Connor, I’m going to need both of your help. So, how about an offer?”

Gray narrowed their eyes. “What would that offer entail?”

“Well, for you, Gray, I’d need help renovating a certain building. We’re talking about new elevators, knocking down walls, putting up new ones, new furniture, everything businessy. As for you, Connor,” Lynn paused, waiting for him to look at her. “I need a spy. You don’t have to be sober, but you have to keep them talking alright?”

“I’m feelin’ woozy,” Connor giggled.

“Can you overhear what people say and report back to me when you hear something important despite the wooziness?”

“Yup, and I can be a skater dude, too,” he grinned goofily. “We can all live our dReAmS.”

“Well, I’m in,” Gray said, helping Connor lay down. “I’ll certainly need a team for that building of yours, but I’m in. I can’t repair a house on my own anyway.”

Lynn nodded. A team, huh? For that she needed customers, crazy, loyal, and determined enough to support her products. She had a few people in mind who might be able to deliver.

______

“Meg, you got the snacks?” Ivy called over her shoulder, setting up the gaming consoles. They had finally stopped procrastinating and organized a group hangout between Speens, Ivy, and Meg, making it a game night. Ivy brought the video games, Speens brought the hands-on games, and Meg was in charge of snacks.

“Yup,” she smiled, wheeling in a wagon of junk food. “Anything you could want, it’s here. What games you got?”

“Rocket League, Mario Kart, only the best of the best. How about you, Speens?”

“Uno, Jenga, Connect Four, Scrabble, Twister, Monopoly, you name it, I got it. Where do you want to start? Virtual or hands on?”

“Virtual, I guess,” Meg decided. “Haven’t played in a while, ever since a pigeon yeeted my controller out of a window.”

Ivy tilted her head, asking for an explanation.

“T’was like a message from an angry god,” Meg said wistfully, resting her head in her hands. “A god who preached ‘live, laugh, yeehaw, and stop playing The Last of Us 2 because it’s a trash game.’”

“Are you on drugs?” Ivy looked sincere.

“I mean, I wrote ‘gay’ and ‘yeehaw’ all over my dad’s truck, and later that night I had a dream about falling in love with the sister of this prince that I had to stop from destroying everything at exactly 12 AM, but I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for.”

“No, that answered my question,” Ivy said, setting up the board out while the sunset shined brightly onto their faces in the cool evening light.

Meg chose the monster truck token. “Refresh my memory, how do you play again?”

“It’s literally just capitalism for kids, and I am above you mere mortals,” Speens helped, choosing the rubber duck token, and taking a Snickers and KitKat from Meg’s snack wagon. What happened next was ungodly. Speens opened the KitKat bar and ate it. Without. Separating. The Bars.

Ivy reeled back in horror, and Meg hid behind her, terrified of the scene going on before their eyes.

“What?” Speens finished the chocolate and wiped their hands with a tissue. “Are we going to play this game or not?”

“Oh no,” Ivy said, pulling her hair slightly. “You don’t get to gloss over that. The Forbidden Spicy Gatorade is for all of us to share and enjoy once we get our hands on it, but you never, never, disrespect the KitKat bar.”

Speens scoffed. “You’re really going to dwell on that?”

“Going to dwell- I can’t even-“ Ivy took a deep breath to steady herself.  “I will not allow this in my house. So you know what? Let’s raise the stakes. We need this Monopoly game to be a game-changer.”

Speens narrowed their eyes. “What are you saying? You’re betting something?”

“Yup. If I win, you have to wear a hoodie that says “I love Holes” and you have to help me with a plan of mine. If you win, I’ll help you get revenge on someone.”

“And if I win,” Meg continued. “Y’all owe me a lifetime’s supply of fro-yo and you both have to agree to each other’s bet deals.”

“Deal from my end,” Ivy pitched in, selecting the top hat token. The other two agreed, and the game commenced.

By 3 o’clock in the morning, Ivy had been in jail 17 times, and Speens had one hotel left. With a few lucky turns, Speens was bankrupt.

Ivy smirked, having a good feeling about this. “I call upon the power of the almighty Top Hat!”

“Oh, don’t look so smug, Ives,” Speens scowled, opening their suitcase of vodka and pouring their version of two shots. “You can still lose to Meg, and she bet a lot.”

“True, but in reality, would you rather lose to Meg or me?” Ivy flashed a grin. “The hoodie’s in my room, by the way. Don’t worry- it’s washed!”

Sighing, Speens went to retrieve the hoodie. A deal’s a deal, after all. When they returned, they looked ready to kill someone. They wore a baggy bright pink hoodie with “I Love Holes!” spelled in purple glitter. “You better win this, Meg.”

Meg stuffed a hand in her bag of snacks and nodded. Ivy’s turn was next, and it brought Meg down to $100. Speens muttered something under her breath and waved her hand in an elaborate motion. Seconds later, a loud crash was heard, followed by the breaking of glass and the sound of spraying water.

Ivy frowned. “What was that?”

“Go check,” Speens suggested.

Ivy looked out of the kitchen window to see… no window. The top of a fire hydrant had come bursting off of its mounted position and had crashed through her window. “No!” She frantically ran to the street to assess the damage from outside.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Speens stirred their beverage casually. “She’s not looking, you can win this.”

“Even if it means you always have to pay for my fro-yo?”

Speens shrugged. “Beats having her win. Besides, I’ll eat just as much fro-yo as you do if I’m paying for it.”

Meg went through the cards quickly, ignored whatever magic just went on. With a lifetime supply of such an other-worldly snack, who wouldn’t? Meg found her card just in time, as Ivy came back in, looking surprisingly calm.

“I boarded up the window, insurance will cover it,” she explained. “Your turn, Meg.”

Meg pulled the card she had placed on top of the pile and made her move. She had done it. Ivy was bankrupt. Not only that, but she was going insane. She flipped the board, sending everything tumbling into the depths of her house.

“How did you- you had no chance-”

“Breath, princess,” Speens joked. “I know what’ll take your mind off of this: some good old fashioned revenge on an old rival of mine. Whaddaya say, pal?”

“This day could not get any worse,” Ivy whined.

Except it could. And it did.

The electricity cut out and Ivy let out an ear-piercing screech.

__________

A/n: Not my favorite chapter, but I have some freaking PLANS for the next ones. Stay tuned! And if I made any errors, let me know because I can’t sit still for more than 5 minutes, so I only corrected a few things.

#Forbidden Spicy Gatorade #Forbidden Spicy Gatorade Chronicles #the next chapter is where the real fun begins