#and the lowest part of his back was a full six inches over my head and i was TERRIFIED to fall off of him

[luvteez]

at your service

pairing: san x fem!reader genre + tags: smut | humiliation (in the form of wearing a maid costume bc san is a kinky weeb), begging, master kink, cockwarming, edging, unprotected sex wc: 2.2k

A smirk creeps on San’s lips the moment the door flies open. He’s made himself comfortable on the bed, legs crossed and head resting against the headboard. Before he can let out the comment that’s been lying heavy on the tip of his tongue, you lash out first.

“I fucking hate you for making me wear this.”

“Yes, you told me that around six times already,” he drawls, visibly amused by the situation. “But we had a deal. You lost, so suck it up.”

The neckline plunges too low for your liking, and the skirt — can it even be considered a skirt? — is so short that you’re bound to flash the panties you’re wearing underneath whenever you as much as dare move. Perhaps you’d find the garter belt cute, if only you weren’t wearing it with this skimpy version of a maid uniform. How much did San pay for this? Actually, you don’t want to know.

San gets off the bed, eyes trained on you the entire time. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth once his gaze settles on your exposed legs, making you clench your thighs together. The way he blatantly eye-fucks you has you growing wet, and you fucking hate it. It’s one thing to be put through this humiliation, but wearing this maid outfit and being aroused? Your ego can only take so much.

Once he’s standing in front of you, the power imbalance couldn’t get any more obvious. There’s him, wearing a nice dress shirt with the top buttons undone and black jeans, and then there’s you in nothing but a slutty rendition of a servant costume. The look he sends you makes you tear your eyes away from him and heartbeat rise to your ears, and you just hope for the better that he doesn’t point it out.

Luckily, he doesn’t. Instead, he circles around you, giving you a once-over from every possible angle. It’s silent, save for the sound of San’s footsteps bouncing off the walls. You wait for him to say something with bated breath, but that never comes. Eventually, he stops right behind you, and you’re pretty sure he’s fixated on the part of your ass that the skirt doesn’t cover.

The silence is deafening, unbearable even, but you don’t plan on losing this unsaid game. If San already has you dressed as degradingly as it can get, you’re not going to entertain him any further. But then an arm wraps around your waist and pins your back against his chest, while another hand snakes down under your skirt and cups your covered cunt. You manage to bite back a moan at the sudden contact, but your body betrays you with how you jolt.

“Cute,” San snickers, before propping his chin on your shoulder. “Just adorable.” His breath is hot against your neck as he continues to put his fingers to use. He traces your folds over the panties that are slowly turning damper by the second, toys around with your clit, and even dares to shove some of your underwear into your entrance once you’re leaking enough to his liking. You struggle to stand still on both legs as he does how he pleases, deadset on withstanding him, even if this torture is the cost. 

“I hate you,” you say through gritted teeth, but it comes out rather comical when your knees finally give up on you and you lean on him for support. The subtle moan that follows suit doesn’t help either. San only smiles against your skin before he pushes your underwear aside and slides two digits in you. The messy technique is all over the place, but he curls his fingers in all the right angles and hits all of your weak spots precisely, reducing you into a panting wreck. You throw your head back, overwhelmed by everything that’s going on, and when he pays attention to your clit again, you’re on the verge. 

You’re so close that you can taste your sweet release, but then he stops. You’re about to complain because you know full well what he’s done, but he beats you to it first.

“Come again? What did you say? You’re my maid now, so you better act like one. This is part of the deal after all.” Although he’s muttering in your ear, he enunciates every single syllable with clarity that makes your skin crawl. “Apologize.”

You know exactly what he’s after. San wants to break you. wants to crush your pride and make you his little bitch. You’d put up a longer fight, but your mind is just revolving around sansansan and the desperate want to come. 

“Forgive me.” You cringe at how small your voice sounds, defenseless even. 

“Forgive me...?” he echoes as his fingers start to move again, albeit at a much slower pace than before. You’re confused by the implication, and turn all cogs in your brain in hopes of finding the answer. 

Oh.

Oh.

The daunting realization must’ve flashed across your face because San encourages you to speak. If only you could turn your head and face him, you’d give him a piece of your mind. Not that it would’ve been effective anyway, since he has you locked in his hold.

He whispers the first syllable of the word, and you gasp. Your suspicions were right all along, but the confirmation makes you burn up even more in embarrassment. He’s really trying to stoop you down onto the lowest level. 

But you can do it. you tell yourself you can do it. After all, a deal’s a deal.

“M-master. Forgive me, master.”

San wasn’t prepared for the delivery, judging by the way he flinches. To your dismay, he pulls out entirely, leaving you gaping, and the growl that follows is borderline feral. “You’re the maid, not me. You’re the one who should be doing all the work. If you want to cum, then earn it.” With that, he lets go of you before heading back to the bed. 

You’re at a loss of words. All you can do is stare at him as he makes himself comfy on the bed again, but you quickly scramble to him when he motions you towards him with a flick of his hand. 

“What do you want me to do?” San cocks a brow as if to say is this your best? and you quickly rephrase. “Is there anything I can help you with... master?” The word feels so foreign on your tongue, doesn’t slip the right way. You hate how it’s enough of a confirmation that he has the upper hand; a confirmation that you’re nothing but his little servant. 

He smiles lazily. “Sit on my cock.” And that’s all it takes to have you straddling him. You don’t waste any time pulling his pants down along with the black briefs, letting his length spring out. He’s fully hard and flushed red, just looking inviting to suck on, and it has your mouth watering. But then: “Keep the uniform on.”

Of course it was too good to be true. There’s no way San would let you forget who’s in absolute charge here. You can’t complain though, because you’re getting dicked earlier than expected. 

You manage to slide him inside of you without any complications. Breathy moans leave his mouth as you take him in inch by inch, and the way he struggles to lie still is a tiny victory for you. Meanwhile, the way his cock stretches you out has you whining in pleasure, and your head is only spinning around sansansan by the time you’ve taken him up to the hilt.

“Can I— do you want me to move, master?” 

Maybe it was because you got your hopes up to high, but you can’t help how disdain spreads all over you when San reaches for his phone on the nightstand. “No. Sit still.”

And just like that, he dismisses you nonchalantly and starts tapping rapidly on his phone; as if having you sit on his cock while wearing a maid outfit is a daily occurrence. Your jaw nearly drops when you realize he’s fucking texting. You’re about to speak up, but then the thought of him chastising you because you’re supposed to be a maid pops up in your brain. He’d definitely do that, and he’d definitely punish you too. The question is, how far is he willing to go?

You don’t want to find out. 

So you sit still, losing track of time. You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on his lap, trying your best not to think about his cock pulsing in you, but it must’ve been a fucking while when San suddenly tilts his phone, thumbs no longer moving. That’s when you become acutely aware of the camera facing you, and you can’t help but wonder what on earth he’s watching. 

Or what if he’s filming you—

That thought has you unknowingly clenching your walls, and you inhale sharply as you realize he’s still snug in you. Luckily, San doesn’t stir, and that realization has you going on your rounds. Maybe if you do it one more time and he doesn’t budge, you could get away with it—

“A-are you recording?” The words are spoken out loud before you even realize it.

San looks up at you and tilts his head. “No, I’m not. Why?” His voice is dripping in innocence, but then he lifts a brow and you know you’re doomed. “Do you want me to record you? Does it turn you on? Is that the reason why you keep tightening around me? Why you’re quite literally dripping on my cock?” 

Your heart almost stops dead in its tracks. So he noticed the entire time.

“Please let me move, master. Please,” you blurt out, no longer caring about your fucking dignity. “Please let me come on your cock. W-want master to fuck me dumb and show me my place.” The number of times you said please in the last few seconds is pitiful, but you don’t find it within you to care. 

“That would imply that you were thinking in the first place. If you weren’t stupid, you wouldn’t have insulted me and said you hated me.”

“You’re right, master, I wasn’t thinking earlier. Please,” you beg, vision slowly getting blurry. San truly outdid himself and got what he fucking wanted, reducing you to the point where you’re so desperate you’re about to cry. Of course you’re desperate because there’s a cock filling you up but you’re not being fucked. And as if that wasn’t hell in itself, you’re wearing this godforsaken maid outfit because you lost a bet.

“Ssh, I got you, baby.” San’s eyes instantly soften and there’s fondness lying in them. You know what he’s about to ask, but you quickly give him the green light to continue. He mouths you an ‘okay’ and reassuringly squeezes your hand before settling both of his hands on your hips. 

There’s a playful glimmer in his eyes, and then he sets back into character, smugness written all over his face. “You want me to fuck you dumb? I’m gonna fuck your brains out, alright.”

In a split second, his grip on your hips tighten. the next thing you know, he snaps his hips against you, and you’re sent three dimensions over. 

His cock manages to reach you even deeper if that’s humanly possible, and you sob. Your moans overlap with his grunts as he thrusts in and out of you at a brutal pace. You barely find the energy to keep your body up, and it’s all San’s doing as he slams your hips down on him. Eventually, he manages to flip your positions around so that you’re pliant underneath him. He doesn’t let down with the intensity when he fumbles for your clit, and your eyes roll back as you feel your orgasm approaching. 

And just a few seconds before you unravel, he pulls his cock out entirely. Fighting back the tears welling up in your eyes, you choke when he nudges his head against your clit. Precum dribbles down your slit and mixes with your own slick, reminding you that he’s not letting you come again.

“Why?” you wince. San is unfazed by your desperation.

“You wanted me to show you your place, didn’t you?” He slides his head along your slit for good measure, and raises his voice to add, “I’ll show you your place and give you what you want if you do what master wants.”

Despite the buzz in your head, you get the underlying order. San isn’t fucking around and means business, always has, so you muster up the energy to ask, “What do you want, master?”

The sly grin he flashes is the only thing you see. “I want you to say my name over and over again. And once you’ve said it loud enough, I want you to scream it.” He gently grabs your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. “I want the whole neighbourhood to know who’s making you feel good.”

#ateez smut #atz smut #choi san smut #san smut #luvsmut

[yeenybeanies]

A Little Lost

it’s star wars day!! what a fine day to have my heart torn from my chest with the clone wars finale :’) WELL THIS IS VERY OLD LMAO it’s been in my drafts since may 4th i did not proofread this & i probably will not do so until tomorrow EDIT i have proofread it & made my tweaks & it is Good To Go :>

star wars | rex & pomfree ( oc ) 

4,395 words

mild language warnings

reblogs > likes!! feel free to leave comments in the tags!! thanks!!

Breathe! Air and dust and dirt rush into his lungs. The clone jolts, consciousness returning like a punch to the face. If only it was a simple punch that knocked him out, though. That would have been way less painful . . ..

Soft grunts and groans fill the air as the clone trooper pulls himself from the him-shaped indentation in the dirt. He can still stand. He can move his arms and his back and his neck. Nothing seems broken ( miraculously ), but everything is sore regardless.

“ This is Captain Rex; can anyone hear me? I was––– ”  static. He looks down to the comlink on his forearm, all the buttons smashed and broken. Useless. He grimaces, then turns his attention to the surrounding jungle. Where is he? Where’s the ship? . . . Where is his helmet? A cursory glance at his immediate surroundings shows no signs of the blue-painted headgear.

Rex stands up with a final groan and takes a few steps, searching for signs of––well, of anything. Smoke, blaster fire, voices, tracks . . .. The ship was going down, and he fell out of it before it crashed. Surely it’s not too far off. He curses a little under his breath; the jungle canopies of this planet are too damn high and thick for him to be able to see anything more than a few feet away. The only option now, as far as he can see, is to start walking in the direction he thinks the ship landed in.

“ Hello? Anyone out there? ”  Even cupping his hands around his mouth doesn’t help his yells travel very far. The jungle is tight. It’s a hassle just to walk around. Rex grumbles as his boot catches on a ground vine for the umpteenth time. He hasn’t tripped yet, but––ack! Spoke too soon. Just seconds later, he’s snagged again, and falls forward, onto his hands and knees. Teeth clenched, the trooper slams a fist into the spongy jungle floor, allowing his frustration to vent for just a moment. How the hell is he going to get out of this one?

Calm. He needs to be calm. Getting mad isn’t going to solve anything. ( Blast, he sounds like a Jedi. ) Rex takes a breath and tugs his foot free yet again. He shifts himself into a crouch, runs a hand over his short, blond hair, and tries once more to assess his surroundings. In every direction, there is just more jungle. But––oh? He catches a glimpse of white amidst all the green undergrowth to his right. One brow raised, Rex pushes his way through the brush to investigate. He parts the vines and leaves and finds . . . yes! His helmet! At least something is going his way in this god-forsaken jungle. Rex leans forward to pick the familiar item up, silently praising that he managed to stumble across it ( literally ). As he brings it to his head to put it on, though, a startled cry makes him jump. Rex looks up to see a little . . . creature dangling from the helmet lip. It screams when it looks at him, and he yelps right back, immediately dropping both it and the helmet. The latter clatters to the jungle floor, but the former––unexpectedly, the former drifts down in a much more controlled manner, gliding on thin membranes––or perhaps clothing––between its arms & legs. It lands a few feet away and stares up at Rex, eyes wide.

What the hell?

Rex stares back for a long moment. It . . . isn’t running away. It’s not attacking either, though. It’s a curious-looking little thing. It looks almost human, though significantly smaller––maybe five, six inches tall at most. Slowly, tentatively, Rex kneels down to retrieve his helmet, though he doesn’t take his eyes off of the creature.

“ Easy now . . . ”  he says, hoping to placate any potential hostilities.  “ Not gonna hurt you. I’m with the Grand Army of the Republic. ”  Hell, he doesn’t even know if the damn thing speaks Basic.

“ You are a clone. ”  Ah. So it does speak. Rex blinks, a little surprised, but nods his head. The creature looks up, way up to the high canopies.  “ You came from the crashed ship? ” 

“ Huh––erm, yeah. Yeah, I, uh, fell out of it. Did you see where it landed? ”  A spark of hope flares up in his chest. This little critter might be the key to finding his comrades!

They shake their head––a gesture that nearly goes unnoticed due to their size.  “ Knocked me down from the top when it came through. Best way to see would be . . .. ”  They point up. This time, Rex follows their gaze, confused. 

The top? This thing was at the top? The trees have to be a couple hundred feet high! How could they have gotten all the way up there? So many questions flood the trooper’s mind, but he shakes his head. Focus.

“ I gotta climb all the way up there? ”  The very thought is daunting. ( Really, how could something so small make it up there? ) Rex gives the creature a disbelieving look, but they just nod right back at him.

“ It is the best chance, ”  they assure.  “ I need to go up too. It’s dangerous down here for us. I need to get back home. ” 

Rex narrows his eyes.  “ So what you really need is for me to take you up there. There’s no benefit at all for me. Just a waste of time. ” 

“ No! ”  The creature waves their little hands, alarmed.  “ No! You really can see! And it’s easier to move up there! ”  There’s obvious panic in their voice, but Rex isn’t sure if it’s because of him, or because he might leave them. He rolls his eyes and takes another look up the giant tree trunks.

One thing is for certain: he cannot see anything down there. Flares wouldn’t go above the treetops either, so they’d be useless from the ground. Rex contemplates, tossing the idea around in his head, and wrinkles his nose when he reaches a decision.

“ Alright. I’m going up there. I’ll take you too, but if this turns out to be for nothing, I’m gonna drop you back down. ”  It’s an empty threat––something the little creature quickly picks up on. They beam up at him, looking just elated. Rex dons his ( now unoccupied ) helmet and . . .––well, he isn’t sure if he should just grab them, or if he should go about carrying them some other way. Thankfully, they solve the problem for him. They’re fast; they race to his boot and scale his leg like it’s nothing, and then the rest of him, all the way up to his shoulder pauldron. He wasn’t expecting that, but . . . it works.

“ Right . . .. Hold on tight. ”  Rex pulls a blaster from his holster and attaches an ascension cable. The lowest branch on the tree before him is . . . still pretty damn high up. His grimace deepens; he isn’t sure that the cable is long enough to reach, but he takes aim and shoots. It flies out with a hiss, racing parallel to the trunk for a good few seconds before . . . yes! It just barely reaches  the branch’s underside. Were Rex a few inches shorter, he’s not sure it would have made it. 

One last check to make sure the creature is secure on his shoulder ( somehow they seem even smaller up close ), then Rex starts the climb. He has to pull himself up the trunk a few steps so he can secure the cable to his belt, but then he’s able to activate the wench that gradually pulls them up.

“ So. ”  Even with the wench, it’s still going to take a while to scale a tree this tall. Rex keeps his eyes upward, but he does nod slightly towards his company.  “ Got a name? ” 

“ Yes. I am Pomfree. My friends call me Pom. ”

“ Pom. My name’s Rex. You, uh . . . you said you live up in the canopies? How’d you get up there to begin with? ”

“ Oh, my kind comes from up in the treetops. We are many tribes that have always been up there. Those that fall to the floor . . . ”  Rex feels them shudder,  “ usually they do not come back up. It is dangerous. And impossible for us to climb so far. ”

“ No kidding . . .. ”  Rex isn’t sure he would be able to climb this thing without an ascension cable, let alone someone like Pom.  “ You can glide, though, right? ”

“ Yes, but . . . ”  they pull one of the membranes from their sides––Rex can now see from his peripherals that it is indeed clothing––and show a stitched-up tear, presumably recent.  “ I tore it on a branch in the confusion, and I hit my head shortly after, so . . .. ”

So that’s how they got to the ground. Rex feels a pang of sympathy for the little creature. He knows all about being thrown into hostile environments, but he’s a soldier. Pom, he imagines, is not.

“ Why are you here? ”  Their question pulls Rex from his thoughts. He shoots them a glance, a brow raised under his helmet.

“ Told you: I fell from my ship while it was––– ”

“ No––why are you on our planet? We are not a part of the war . . . are we? ”  There’s a twinge of fear in their voice––something Rex is, unfortunately, quite familiar with. This terrible war has ravaged many planets.

“ Erm . . . well, the Separatists have established a fort here, despite your apparent neutrality, so we’ve come in to deal with it. ”  That’s putting things a little lightly. He doesn’t really want to scare Pom more.  “ It’s pretty far from here, though. Don’t think you’ll be seeing any part of it anytime soon––if at all. ”  Hopefully. Civilian casualties happen, but Rex still would like to minimize them wherever and whenever he can.

His answer seems to calm Pom, if only a little. They look up the cable that’s pulling them along. They’ve almost reached the branch. Once Rex gets a hold on it, Pom moves to somewhere a bit more stable so the clone can have his full range of motion and climb his way up to the branch’s top. It’s easier said than done; the damn thing is thicker than Rex is tall. He nearly slips once, and gets both of their hearts racing. He does assure Pom that he’s okay and he’s got them, and manages to make it to the dorsal surface. Thank God the bark is rough and filled with handholds.

They’re not even halfway up the tree, though. Rex cranes his neck, looking up at the vertical distance still ahead of them, and sighs. The droop of his shoulders makes Pom scramble for a moment to maintain balance.

“ This . . . is gonna take a while. ”  Dismayed but determined, the captain readies his cable again, takes aim, and shoots for the next-nearest branch, way high up. It’s going to take, he suspects, at least three or four more cable trips to get up to where they need to be.

Pom is fairly chatty, full of questions. Rex answers what he can. Being an older clone, he’s a bit more aware of the universe around him, and of the nuances of the war. The little being watches him with those wide, curious eyes, soaking up all he has to say. It’s cute, in a way; Rex just wishes he had more to tell them than stories and news about violence and suffering. He’s sorry that the war has come to this planet.

Once they reach the underside of the second branch, the two rinse and repeat as they’d done with the first. Rex expels a breath bordering on exasperation as he looks upward. Only now are they about halfway up the gigantic tree. He notices that, at their current height, their surroundings look different than they had on the jungle floor. It’s brighter, if only marginally so. The foliage is comprised more of leaves and vines, as opposed to the heavy roots and trunks and ferns on the jungle floor. Rex pushes past a curtain of moss as he walks along the bough, searching for another spot to aim his cable.

“ Wait. ”  Pom knocks their little fist on the side of the trooper’s helmet.

“ What? You see something? ”  He does not like the sudden worry in their voice. Reflexively he rests a hand on the hilt of one of his blasters.

“ No, I hear . . . –––get down! ” 

Rex ducks just in time. Mere moments after their warning, a beast erupts from the foliage, its claws and teeth just barely missing his head. Rex crawls forward a few feet and twists onto his seat. Whatever it is, it seems to be only about half the size of a man, but it is mean. It looks like an alien cross between feline and reptile, and sports two sets of climbing arms and a smaller set of what appear to be prey-grabbing arms. He doesn’t get to observe much more of it before it launches at him, all arms outstretched. Rex falls backward, letting the beast sail over him again. He quickly flips himself over and jumps to his feet, ready to move, when a sharp cry brings his attention back to his passenger. The little being clings to his pauldron, legs flailing. Dammit. He’d nearly forgotten about them in the–––

“ Look out! ” 

Rex throws up an arm just as the beast reaches him, its teeth clamping down on his gauntlet. A few reach his skin, but he pays it no mind, much more distracted by the claws slashing at him.

No . . ..

The beast isn’t aiming for him; it’s aiming for Pom! The little one yelps and struggles to maintain their hold amidst the panic and the pandemonium. Rex shoves the creature off with a heavy knee to its gut and, without really thinking, grabs Pom. They squeak and struggle in his hold, but he keeps firm. He turns and dashes to put some distance between them and the creature while its still recuperating, his free hand aiming the cable launcher upward. There isn’t any time to pick an optimal branch; he selects one that looks suitable enough, shoots, and starts ascending as soon as it hooks in.

“ I’ve gotcha, kid, ”  Rex says,  “ that thing isn’t gonna–––augh! ” 

Sharp pains pierce the flesh between his armor. The beast jumped up after them, and has its claws dug into his left leg. With both hands occupied, the trooper can only curse and kick at it, quickly growing desperate to shake it off. It’s not interested in him in the slightest; it’s trying to climb him to reach Pom, now held as far out as possible.

Bastard. Rex grits his teeth and rams his heel into the creature’s face. His grip on the blaster is starting to slip; he needs to ditch this thing fast.

“ Pom, I’m gonna throw you, ”  he says. He doesn’t give the little one any time to protest before he launches them upward. Their fear-filled yell doesn’t sit well with him, but he’s left with one hand free to grab his other blaster. He shoots the beast in the shoulder, making it shriek out in pain, and pistol whips it right along its temple. Its claws unhook from his person, leaving it to fall a few feet and land bodily onto a branch below. It’s still alive, but stunned, and hopefully convinced to leave them be. Rex watches it for a second, then snaps his head upwards, eyes searching the foliage.

“ Pom? “  He doesn’t see them, which sends a pang of worry through his brain. They fixed the tear in their gliding suit; surely they managed to slow their fall . . . right?  “ Where are you, kid?  That thing’s gone now. Pom? ” 

The longer the silence persists, the more unsettled Rex grows. He stops his ascent and pulls himself up the cable enough to hook it to his belt, then looks down to the branches below. The creature is nowhere to be seen, but the same can be said for Pom.

“ Hey, Pom! Come on, kid! Tell me you’re alright! ”  What if they fell back to the floor? What if the thing ultimately managed to snatch them and run off? Dank Farrik, what if–––

“ Rex! ”  The tiny voice snaps his attention upward. Relief washes over him when he spots them perched atop a branch several feet above him. They jump, gliders spread, and drift down towards him. He meets them with both hands outstretched, giving them a platform to land on. Immediately he can feel the shivers coursing through their body. Another pang spikes in his mind. Carefully, he draws them nearer.

“ Pom, I––listen, kid, I’m sorry. I should’a given you some more warning. You alright? ”  Other than their pallid features, they don’t look any worse for wear physically. They nod, still shaking.

“ It’s––n-no, I am okay. I am just . . . I have never seen a grekesa up close . . . and I never want to again. ”  They pull their gliders in and sit in his hands, hugging their knees to their chest. Rex presses his lips together. It does make him feel a little better to know that his actions didn’t scare them so much as the beast. As a soldier, he’s faced things far worse than that  “ grekesa, ”  but he recognizes that he is both battle-hardened and far to big for most things to make a meal out of. Pom would be but a snack.

“ I’ve got you, kid. We ought’a keep moving before another one shows up. “  Were that to happen, he’d drop the bastard where it stands. Rex deposits Pom onto his shoulder where they quickly huddle up to his neck, and resumes their ascent.

Pom is much quieter now, but, after a few minutes, Rex feels their tension start to ease. A part of him wants to reach up and comfort them, but he’s not sure how he’d do that. What, would he rub their back or shoulder with his finger? Give them a little hair ruffle? How would he comfort someone so small?

“ Thank you, ”  they say, drawing Rex from his thoughts.

“ Hm? What for? ” 

Pom shrugs, though the gesture goes unseen.  “ For saving me from the grekesa. For helping me get back home. ”

A tinge of warmth fills the trooper’s heart. He shakes his head.  “ Don’t mention it. In fact, don’t thank me just yet; we still have a ways to go before we get to the canopy. ”

As they climb ever higher into the treetops, Rex takes note of the drastic changes in scenery. The difference between the jungle floor and the upper levels is like night and day––literally. While the floor was quite dark, at this height, there isn’t nearly as much foliage to block out the sunlight. Something as simple as a bit of sun has Rex feeling more optimistic that he’ll be able to see his fallen ship when they reach the top.

Once they reach their next branch, Rex pauses a moment and removes his helmet. He’s mindful of Pom as he does so, careful not to jostle them too much. He fishes into one of his pockets to retrieve a rations bar. All of this crashing and climbing and fighting with local fauna has his stomach growling. Before he takes a bite, though, he breaks off a piece and offers it to his companion, who gratefully accepts.

“ Shouldn’t be too much longer, ”  Rex says after swallowing down a few bites.  “ One more good placement of the cable and we’ll be up near the top. Any of this starting to look familiar to you? ”

Pom finishes off their piece of ration, then stands up on the trooper’s shoulder, one hand to his neck for balance.  “ Hmm . . .. Not really. I have never left the canopy before. But . . .. ”  They leap from their perch, gliders unfolding. They drift over to a cluster of leaves on a neighboring branch. Rex watches with one brow raised as they inspect the branch, looking for who-knows-what.

“ Aha! ”  They declare. They hold up a leaf that, to Rex, looks like any other dead leaf. He blinks, confused.  “ This is from my tribe! We must be approaching one of the lower villages! ”

“ That leaf . . .? ”  He tilts his head, still lost.  “ How do you know it’s not just . . . some leaf? ”

“ Because! ”  Pom jumps and glides back to Rex, who holds out a hand for them to land on. They hold up the leaf to him.  “ Each tribe grows special leaves that we graft onto trees to mark our territories. This one––see these? ”  they point to the veins in the leaf, which swirl in intricate patterns.  “ Over the generations, my tribe has designed this pattern and color. It is unique to us. ”

“ Uh hunh . . .. ”  Rex squints. Upon closer inspection, it does stand out. However, other than the color––a bright red to contrast the greens––he wouldn’t think anything of it. Then again, this isn’t his culture; he wouldn’t think to think anything of it.  “ That’s good news then. Means we’re gettin’ somewhere. ”

Pom beams up at the trooper. They scurry along his arm, back to his shoulder, and settle down for the continued journey. Rex finishes off the last of his ration bar, replaces his helmet, and takes aim at another branch. This one, he hopes, will be the last stretch. He clips himself in and activates the wench, thus resuming their ascent.

It doesn’t take long for Pom to point out more markers of their tribe. There are carvings and paintings in the bark, more clusters of leaves, and even a few abandoned homes––all of which would have gone under Rex’s radar were he alone. The more he sees, the more he realizes how resourceful Pom’s people must be to live up here.

The excitement and wonder come to a grinding halt, however, when the ascension cable lurches. Rex only has a moment to realize what’s happening before it comes loose. After a brief fall and an undignified yell, he manages to catch himself on a branch, hands clinging to the bark and legs dangling.

“ Dammit! Pom, are you––– ”  He looks to his shoulder to find it unoccupied. He isn’t given any time to process this, though. A sharp smack to the side of his helmet draws the trooper’s attention to his left, where he finds four little humanoids, each armed with a slingshot.  “ What the hell . . .? ”

“ Stop! Leave him alone! ”  Calls a familiar voice from up above. Pom drifts down, landing atop Rex’s helmet.  “ He is my friend! ”

The four beings pause, each of them looking shocked and confused.  “ Pomfree? Is that you? ”  One asks. All at once, they rush forward towards Rex and Pom. He has to stop himself from flinching as they scale his arms and shoulders. The one that spoke clambers up to meet Pom on his helmet where the two embrace. Rex feels . . . awkward.

“ We saw you fall into the dark beyond! ”  The one––Rex assumes them to be the leader of the group––says.

“ I did! I fell all the way to the floor, ”  they say.  “ I tried to stop myself, but I tore my wing and hit my head and then I woke up down there. This one––– ”  they pat Rex’s helmet,  “ helped me back up. He saved me from a grekesa too! ” 

Though he can’t see any of the little ones from where they are on his person, he can feel all of their eyes on him. Rex clears his throat.  “ Er, hi. I hate to break up the reunion, but do you mind letting me pull myself up? I don’t really want to stay hanging here. ” 

Pom is the first to disembark. The others are quick to follow. Once they’re all off, Rex hauls himself up to straddle the branch. He breathes a sigh of relief, and rolls his shoulders to work out some of the stiffness from holding himself in place.

All five of the little beings stare at him. Pom is the only one that does not look wary. Rex can’t blame them, he supposes. He clears his throat again.  “ Right. I am Captain Rex of the Army of the Grand Republic. It’s true, I met Pom down on the jungle floor. “

“ He is good, ”  Pom insists, though their companions do not seem fully convinced. They huff and approach Rex, frowning. They climb up onto his thigh and gesture to him.  “ Show your face. Let them see you. ”

With some hesitancy, the trooper complies. He pulls his helmet off and tucks it under his arm. This somehow feels even more awkward.

“ Look, I don’t want to cause you any more trouble than we already have. I’m just trying to find my squadron; Pom told me I’d have a better shot at seeing where they landed up here. Only fair I bring them up with me. ”

The four regard him with scrutiny, then huddle up to whisper amongst themselves. Every few seconds, one of them glances back at him before returning to the conversation. Rex grimaces.

“ Well, Pom, I think this is where we’re gonna have to part ways. ”  Gently, he scoops the little being off of his leg and sets them down on the branch. Before he can pull his hand away, though, they catch his thumb and wrap their arms around it. This, he realizes, is the closest thing to a hug they can share. He glances to the group, all of whom are staring at him again, then gently lets his fingers curl around their back.

“ Hey now, no need for any waterworks, kid, ”  he says, mustering a half-smile.  “ Glad I could get you back to your people. You be good now, alright? ”

Pom gives his thumb a squeeze before letting go. They take the leaf they’d kept from when they’d first found signs of their tribe and place it in Rex’s palm.  “ Thank you, Rex. I am sad I cannot do more to help you than wish you luck in finding your own people. ”

“ Don’t worry about it. ”  His half-smile grows into something softer, more genuine. Fingers close around the leaf, then he pushes himself to stand. The four new little ones retreat a few feet, and Pom joins them after a moment. Rex offers a small wave, then puts on his helmet and tucks the leaf into one of his pockets. He takes his blaster and launches his ascension cable to a higher branch.

Pom is home. That’s good. Now he needs to figure out how the hell he’s going to keep the war away from them and their people.

#g/t #g/t fiction #g/t writing #star wars #g/t star wars #rex #pomfree #hyena writes #hyena ocs #hoo boy this is a longer one

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter six: dark veils

“So I'm gonna be the date to your wedding and she asked you to be her maid of honor?” Joey asked her. It was at least another month away from spring break and exactly two weeks from Anthrax's brand new tour, and instead of studying for a couple of tests ahead of time, Sam and Joey took a little day trip out to the lake shore in North Syracuse. He offered to take her to the hockey rink but they soon found the place was closed for a bit of cleaning. They sat by the shore with cups of ice cream in hand and an umbrella over their heads, despite the overcast skies. Even though the first dates were in New York, she knew it would be the last time they would hang out together in a long time.

“That's what it is,” she told him as she lifted a bite of vanilla ice cream and rainbow sprinkles to her mouth. “Take it or leave it.”

“Pfff, no contest. You know I'm gonna take it. The problem is what can I wear to it, though. I got chocolate sauce all over the suit I wore to Kirk and Rebecca's wedding.”

“How'd you get chocolate sauce all over it?” she asked him, stunned.

“No idea. I just took it out of my suitcase when I got back home and I spotted sauce all over the sleeves and the pants. Checked it, too—it was in fact chocolate sauce.”

“It's nothing a little wash can't fix, though,” she pointed out with a shrug.

“Dry clean only. Kinda hard to come by 'round here, too. And we've got a tour coming up!”

“Oh, I see. Well, if it's any comfort, Joey, it's gonna be a steampunk wedding, though—Aurora said she's going to make myself, Marla, Belinda—and, interestingly enough Alex, wear a lot of brassy and metallic colors. It's interesting especially with her being Korean and everything—you would think she would play into her own heritage a bit. But she told me she wants a straight up American one.”

“Alex is gonna be part of the bridal party?” Joey laughed, but Sam could see the vindictive look in his eyes.

“Yeah, he's gonna be the bridesman, instead of the bridesmaid. Aurora told him he can wear anything as long as it's an earthy tone or something metallic.”

“Did no one else take up the offer? Not even Marsha or Bel?”

“He suggested it,” she told him. “And no, Belinda is gonna be with us. Rebecca pulled out last minute and Zelda's got problems of her own right now with the Cherry Suicides. So he called Aurora and she told him what was going on, and he put his hand up and said, 'let me be part of it. I'll do it. I'm an adult now.' And she was like 'okay, yeah!' Speaking of the Cherry Suicides, those girls are finally getting what they deserve, Joey. They're finally gonna embark on a big tour—if Aurora's notes are anything to go by, we might be seeing a record from them in the future, too!”

“Yeah, that's right! They're going on tour with us. If they do make a record, you have to be a big part of it, though. You and Zelda being friends and whatnot.”

“It's only fair,” she added.

“Right. It's absolutely positively only fair—” He stuck a bite of chocolate ice cream into his mouth and nodded his head. “This is so good,” he remarked.

“Oh, yeah—easily some of the best I've had in a long time.”

“I just think about Zelda's worries that they could break up if something didn't give for them,” she recalled in a soft voice. “And the kiss she gave Aurora when the news let out.”

“So what's next?” he asked her with his eyebrows knitted.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you do next? Go shoppin' for nice dresses?”

“Yup, we go looking for nice dresses... tomorrow, actually. Tomorrow being Saturday. Aurora, Marla, and I are gonna take Mr. Alex up to Scarsdale, and Belinda's coming with us, too. The three of us are gonna look for beautiful dresses, he's gonna look for a cute little suit, and Belinda is going to see if she can score something at a glass shop.”

“For a second, I thought you were gonna say she's gonna get you drunk as hell,” he joked, and that brought a laugh out of her.

“Nah, not for another few years with Alex around.” Every mention of his name made Joey grimace a little bit, but she didn't mind. If Joey was to coexist with Alex, he had to learn to live with him. Things on the tour need not be awkward.

“Besides, the date is June first. You guys are gonna be touring in Providence on that day.”

“Yeah, we are.” The grimace disappeared in favor of that lopsided grin once again.

“So she and Emile are gonna do the legal binding stuff first thing that morning and then the actual wedding will take place right before the Cherry Suicides go onstage out there. Gonna be so special in Rhode Island on that day.”

“Said you're gonna be in Scarsdale tomorrow,” he recalled.

“Yeah. Why?” She squinted her eyes at him. “You're gonna be in Scarsdale tomorrow, too?”

“Gotta get a new rack for myself—new microphone rack so I can hear things from the sound board while I'm singin'.”

“I'll keep an eye out for you,” she promised as she raised her cup to him, and they made a toast with each other.

Joey set down his cup of ice cream and took another large spoonful of it. He gazed out to the dark glassy waters of the lake with a distant look on his face.

“You know, I hate to take ya out all this way only just for ice cream,” he confessed. “I kinda wanna... do something more.”

“Like what?”

“Well... have you listened to Spreading yet?” To which she shook her head.

“No, I haven't heard a peep from Danny since Kirk and Rebecca's wedding—and he's the one who offered me to use his record player, too.”

“I'll take care of ya,” he promised her as he took one last bite of chocolate ice cream, and he gestured for her to follow him back to his car. He held the door for her and she slid right into the warm and dry front seat: she still hadn't eaten up the rest of her ice cream by the time Joey started up the car and they rolled out of there. She savored it all the way down to his apartment in Camillus lest she cover the floor of his brand new car with a bit of trash.

He held the front door for her and he offered to take her coat for her. She showed him a warm little smile.

“Where'd this come from?” she asked him as he lay their coats across the top of the couch.

“Where'd what come from?” He hesitated with a befuddled look on his face.

“All this. Holding the door for me. Taking me home with you. Taking my coat.”

He nibbled on his bottom lip but he didn't reply to that.

“Joey,” she started, and her heart fluttered inside of her chest. He was silent as he strode on past her into the kitchen. Bewildered, Sam watched him reach for a glass out of the cupboard and he poured it full with clean water. He drank it down in four large gulps, albeit with his back to her.

“Joey,” she repeated.

“Yes?” he said, still with his back to her.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

He sighed through his nose and then he filled the glass with more clean water.

“Not really,” he answered in such a soft voice that she could barely hear him. He guzzled down the next glass of water right there, and then he set the glass down on the counter next to him. He strode back into the front room to meet up with a confused Sam.

“Also, um... about the time you and Belinda were here. If I'm being perfectly honest with you, I—I kinda felt free. Like empowered.”

“I thought so. You really looked—comfortable in front of us there.”

“I got nuthin' to tell you, but—” He lowered his gaze down to her body: she had lost a little weight, especially since Cliff died, but then she gained back some of it since the start of the winter quarter. He brought his eyes back up to her head and shoulders, and he moved in closer to her with his hands tucked inside of his jeans pockets. He stood before her with his chest pointed out a little bit.

“You thinking what I'm thinking?” he asked her in a low, husky whisper.

“I don't—know,” she confessed. He took his hands out of his pockets and he put them around her upper back so she moved in closer to him. There was a half of an inch between her and his chests, but she could feel his pounding heartbeat. She could feel his lust.

But she shook her head.

“Joey, I can't,” she begged as she pried away from him.

“Why not?” He kept his hands on her shoulders and his gaze fixated on her face. She swallowed at the sight of him.

“I don't think I'm ready to open my heart again,” she confessed.

“I'll take care of your heart, though,” he promised. “I swear to you that I'll take care of it.”

He then ran his fingers through the black curls on the side of his head so she could see more of his face as well as the edge of his ear.

“You're all about my feeling comfortable,” he pointed out.

“Yeah. What's that got to do with it?”

“Well, I want you to be comfortable, too.”

He gestured for her to follow him, and before she could ask where they were headed, he led her down to the couch cushions. Once she was seated across from him, he inched in closer to her. He rested a hand on her knee, and she hesitated for a second.

“We'll go slow,” he started, and then he turned his head a bit to the shelves across the room. “Sit tight. Sump'n's missing.”

He stood up right then and walked past her to the shelves with the records. He crouched down to the lowest one for a record she hadn't seen before, or at least one she didn't recognize at that given moment. He took the piece of vinyl out of the paper sleeve and he cradled it right in between his finger and his thumb as he lifted the glass covering on the record player. She raised her eyebrows at his turning it on and his setting the record on the phonograph: he set the needle upon the groove, and then he turned to her.

She recognized those hard crunching guitars. That big guttural bass. Those drums that sounded like a blacksmith hammer.

That voice.

Her face lit up at the sound of it and he nodded his head. He took his seat once more, right in front of her so their knees brushed against each other.

“Welcome to Spreading the Disease—and now we are Among the Living,” he whispered as his own recorded voice rang out right there. He leaned in closer for the kiss on her lips but then he stopped himself.

“What's the matter?” she asked him in a soft voice.

“Touch me, my young and free,” he told her.

“Touch you? Where?”

“My hair first.”

With a flex of her fingers first, Sam lifted her hands up to the sides of his head. He closed his eyes to better take in the feeling. That soft but coarse black hair against her skin: even softer down by the roots. She never wanted that softness to go away: she massaged his head all the way through Dan's solo and Charlie's rapid fire drums.

“Now my neck,” he whispered as that first song bled into the next one, the one that she remembered from their very first performance for her. “It's a madhouse...” he muttered to himself as she slid her hands down onto his shoulders. He then opened his eyes and gazed on at her.

“Have you seen that video?” he asked her.

“I haven't, no. I don't even have a TV.”

“Oh, man! Another thing I gotta show ya.”

He closed his eyes again to better relish in the full body massage. She swore that, at any given second, he would lean in for a kiss on her lips and they would make out there on the couch. He often came close, especially during that song “Armed and Dangerous”, when she had her hands around his waist for a feel of his extra soft skin there. Those dark eyebrows right in her face. The tip of that straight nose within mere fractions of an inch from her own. She could feel the warmth of his body right in front of her.

He was so soft that even though she swore she wasn't ready for another opening in her heart, she wondered more about him. What lingered within that venom, that deadly nightshade.

She reached his ankles and his feet by the time the closer, “Gung Ho!”, started.

“We're going so slow and yet the music is so fast,” she remarked.

“Fast and loud and hard—this was us the past year, and even more so this year.”

She had to stop what she was doing to his feet and ankles to better pay attention to Charlie's kick drums, as fast and fluttery as a machine gun.

“Crazy, right?” Joey asked her with a chuckle.

“Surprised his legs didn't fall off,” Sam confessed with a beaming smile.

“I guess that's a thing—it's called 'blast beats'—that's been around the New York hardcore scene, and he just picked it up and was like 'yeah, this'll work for us!' Charlie does it, Lars does it, and I think Louie from Testament does, too.”

Indeed, she thought back to the first time she saw the Cherry Suicides onstage: Zelda did do that a little bit and she never broke out a sweat once. The outro consisted of more drum beats plus some shouts from the guys themselves and the word “NOT!” a handful of times, and then it just stopped. Joey laughed out loud at the sight of Sam lunging at the abrupt silence.

“So what do you think about that?” he asked her, out of breath.

“I think you guys are nuts but you rock, though,” she said in a single breath.

“And thank you for the massage, too—that felt really good.” He tilted his head back onto the top of the couch and Sam lingered there by his feet, and she listened to the soft crackling noises of the record behind her.

“So—we're gonna be in Scarsdale tomorrow,” she said.

“And I will be, too.” He lifted his head and flashed a wink at her. “Would ya like me to drive ya home?”

“If it's nothing too much to ask,” she replied with a nod and a shrug of her shoulders.

* * * * *

Alex didn't have his yarmulke on that next day, but he did have on that little Star of David about his neck, and that ring had been upgraded to his middle finger. His long jet black curls had a bit of a sheen to them under the late winter gray sun.

“It's funny, my parents are actually non traditional,” he explained to Belinda. “I just wear a Star of David because why not.”

“You gonna wear it at the wedding, though?” Aurora asked him as she unlocked her car doors.

“Maybe. We'll—see how it goes with the tux.”

“You're not wearing a tux,” Aurora was scorn.

“I dunno, Aurora, he'd look kind of adorable in a tux,” Sam quipped, and she pictured him all dolled up in a black and white tuxedo, complete with a little bow tie and the yarmulke. She took to the front seat next to Aurora, while Marla and Belinda nestled on either side of Alex: his soft cologne filled the inside of the car such that Sam felt like she was in a soap shop. Soft scent for a soft boy.

It wasn't much of a drive up to Scarsdale, especially since the bridal shop was right down the block from the music shop Joey told her he would be at that day. Indeed, once they climbed out of the car, Alex turned his attention up that way and Sam followed his gaze there. She then looked into his deep eyes and the shadow that shrouded them. So serious, so young and yet so serious about everything.

Aurora led them into the small bridal shop where she had asked for those steampunk themed dresses and the suit for Alex, which turned out to be a black crushed velvet coat over a matching vest: he was also supposed to have a white silk shirt to go with it, but even with just the coat, he looked like a proper bridesman. He posed before the tall mirror on the side of the room with his hair disheveled over one shoulder and his face rosy and warm from the cozy clothes.

“Feel like you should be wearing a top hat, Alex,” Marla joked as he posed before the mirror.

“Top hat,” he echoed in a low voice. Meanwhile, Sam and Marla both had put on the sleeveless low cut black and silver bridesmaid dresses; for Sam, it fit her body a bit on the snug side, and the black velvet corset only pushed her breasts up a bit, but it fit her nonetheless. A light silver chain fit around her hips; she adjusted the buckle in the middle of her chest. She showed it off to Marla and Alex, who both nodded at her as she gave them a twirl.

“It's gonna come with gloves, too,” Aurora called from the next dressing room over. “Gloves and little hats with veils, too.”

“Alright!” Sam proclaimed as she ran her hands down the front of the corset. “Proper prom.”

“Is it tight?” asked Marla. “It looks a little tight.”

“It's kind of snug around my chest, but that's about it.” She turned to face them for a second opinion, but Alex nodded at her.

“I like it,” he said, “it's a—it's a really good look for you.” He raised one eyebrow upon saying that.

“Well, aren't you just sweet,” Marla retorted in a singsong voice.

“It is, though! It's a really good look for her.”

Belinda emerged from the third dressing room, in the same dress and corset and silver chain, but her blonde hair sprawled down over her shoulders.

“You look like you're about ready to sell me beer,” Alex told her with a straight face, which brought a big laugh out of her but a look of disapproval from Marla. But then Aurora emerged from her room. The white skirt cascaded all the way down to her feet and it met with a black silk belt and a brassy corset about her body. A fake ray gun was tucked into a leather holster over one hip, and elbow length white lace gloves hugged her arms. A crown of white and black roses adorned her head and a black veil spread over her face.

“Wow,” Alex breathed.

“Oh, my god, Aurora, you look beautiful,” Sam remarked, and she let out a low whistle.

“Yeah,” Belinda added, “thanks for gettin' married!”

“And this is for you,” Aurora said to Sam, and she handed her a pair of black lace gloves with a floral print all around it. “My maid of honor.”

“D'you see a bathroom in here?” Belinda asked her with a shudder of her shoulders.

“Yeah, it's near the front of the building.” Aurora looked as though she was out of breath. But Belinda and Marla doubled back to the front of the shop together; she stood before the mirror with an oblong stare at her own reflection. Sam and Alex congregated on either side of her.

“What's wrong?” Sam asked her.

“Yeah, you look pale,” Alex added.

“Are you nervous?” she asked in a small voice.

“You have no idea,” Aurora replied. “June first is coming up quickly, you two. I don't know if I can even so much as handle it.”

“Well,” Sam started, “—Emile's a good guy, though. He's a good landlord, he's real nice to me and Frankie—and he was nice to Cliff. I mean, look at it this way: you're going to be Mrs. St. Vitus. That is a cool name.”

“Mrs. Young-St. Vitus,” Aurora corrected her, still with a faraway look on her face.

“Ooh, a hyphen,” Alex remarked.

She fanned herself and let out a long low whistle.

“Want me to get something for you?” Sam gently offered her.

“A drink of water and a chair,” Aurora replied in a raspy voice.

“Okay, I'll be right back—” Sam bowed around her towards the front of the shop. There was no water fountain, so she figured to go across the street for something. She stepped outside when she recognized that little bob of black hair and that slender body in a heavy black overcoat.

“Hey, Zelda,” she greeted her out of breath.

“Hey!” And once she took off her sunglasses, she fawned over that black and silver dress about her. “Oh, wow—beautiful maid of honor! How ya doin'?”

“I should ask you the same thing.”

Alex emerged from behind her, still wrapped in that crushed velvet coat and with a black velvet vest on over his shirt.

“Hey, Samantha, d'you see any—” He stopped, and he nodded at Zelda. “Hey, you,” he said to her.

“Hey, YOU!” she declared. “Lookin' sharp, Alex!”

“It's just part of it—it comes with a frilly scarf, bit of silk, and some boots, too. I'm gonna look like a pirate.” He gave his black hair a little toss with a flick of his head and he held onto the lapels of his coat. “Besides, what're you doing here? I thought you were chillin' with Zetro and Gary and all those crazy dudes.”

“I split up with him about a week ago—Exodus had another party and it really got raucous between them. So finally I was like, dude, I'm a punk chick, not a party animal.”

“Oh, I see,” he said. “You know when I tried LSD a while back, afterwards I was like 'no way I'm doing that again.' So I get it.”

“I do, too,” Sam added. “And not to change the subject but you should play that show dressed like that.”

“I dunno, Samantha, it's gonna be June and we're gonna be inside a good sized theater, too.”

“You could always hold still,” Zelda suggested.

“What's the fun in that?” he teased her.

“You can do a power man pose,” she continued. “Rosita does that all the time especially during the particularly dead crowds. Does it to make fun of 'em.”

“I kinda like you,” Alex told her with a chuckle. “So you ladies gonna do an album for this tour or what?”

“I think so?” Zelda glanced over to Sam.

“At least that's the plan,” Sam said, “that's according to what Aurora told me. They got the time allotted but they don't have a name yet. I'm just the assistant. The one getting coffee and holding papers.”

“You're still important, though,” Alex pointed out, and then he softened his voice. “By the way, you comin' with us to any of the New York shows?”

“I might as well,” she said, “school's out, and it's close to home, and I got that wedding to worry about, too.”

“Sam?” Aurora called from inside the shop.

“Where's our maid of honor?” Marla chimed in, and Sam raised a finger to them. She doubled back inside, where Marla awaited with a long sleeved black silk bolero for her. She put her arms into the sleeves and held them over her chest.

“Something to actually look like the maid of honor,” Marla pointed out; Aurora looked like she was about to collapse when Belinda returned with a folding chair. Alex and Zelda returned inside to see what was going on.

“Oh, good, you found a chair!” he declared.

“We were just coming back when I heard she needed something,” Belinda explained as she helped Aurora have a seat there.

“Dark Veils,” Zelda blurted out.

“Huh?” Sam asked her.

“Dark Veils,” Zelda told her. “We're calling our album 'Dark Veils', after Aurora's wedding dress.”

“I'll remember that,” Aurora vowed as she continued to fan herself. And then Sam remembered the water, and she bowed back outside for a cup from the restaurant across the way. She swore she saw Joey down the block, and he looked on at her with a smirk on his face even from afar. Maybe the wedding wasn't going to be so awkward after all.

#chapter 6 #fanfic #fanfiction #anthrax fanfic #anthrax #testament #testament fanfic #testament band #joey belladonna #alex skolnick #oc tag #book three #a skeleton in the closet #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #also on ao3 #also on wattpad #steampunk #writing #text

[bangtanmythology]

In The Name Of Song. Witching Hour.

Part six: Witching Hour:

Jungkook is plagued with nightmares about a shiny emerald mermaid and maybe they aren’t going away any time soon, maybe, you’re having nightmares about a werewolf that wants to hurt you. 

Words: 1.9K

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It had been 3 days since their little conversation about you and Jungkook and Namjoon was adamant in finding you and bringing you back to their reality. Trouble would be how to find you and the fact that even though it had only been 4 days since you had left for them, it had been almost 6 months for you.

“Just, summon him?” Taehyung’s voice was bold, full of a statement that had Hobi rolling his eyes,

“don’t you think that if I could do that, I would have already done it by now?” Hobi’s eyes were trained on the ceiling, the games console controller heavy in his left hand that sagged off the sofa and hovered inches from the floor. Taehyung was holding a clear bag with the letters AB- written across the front, a deep red liquid disappearing from within, passing through his lips with the curly metallic straw he had shoved through the top of the bag.

“How does he reach out to you normally?” Namjoon sighed, his controller discarded by his feet, his eyes focused on the bright red ‘GAME OVER’ that had been flashing on the television screen for the last 7 minutes. Hobi sighed and Seokjin peered in from the kitchen,

“I don’t choose when he comes you know, he’ll send me a letter, they don’t have a postage address or anything, they just appear and then he gives me a meeting point, which by the way is different every time he needs me, and I just show up there at the date and time he gives me and then wow, he appears, except this time he didn’t send a letter, he just appeared at the allotment whilst I was collecting herbs for my medicines and well, he just begged me to come with him and I went,” Hobi was listing off useless information, falling on deaf ears. His eyes remained glassy and unblinking as he continued to find interest in the swirly patterns of their white ceiling.

“Well, he keeps the peace between supernatural, maybe we just need to have a big fight and he’ll come,” Seokjin was shrugging, one hand on his hip as he wiped the other across the cooking apron that tied around his waist that read ‘HOT MAMA’.

“You say that so seriously as if you weren’t dressed like that right now,” Taehyung was giggling, a red tint to his plump lips as he swiped his blood-stained tongue across it. Seokjin rolled his eyes,

“I’m making chicken casserole, we need Jungkook to eat something, I thought maybe he’d enjoy that,”

“He’s not home, and another thing, I think he’s a true alpha,” Namjoon hadn’t slept since he was told the youngest pack members eyes had ‘glowed red’, especially since it was only possible to become an alpha if your pack dies or you’re a beta and the alpha dies. Namjoon would never forget the day when he became an alpha. His brothers, his whole family had been killed, cut to pieces at the hands of a witch.

“what the hell is a true alpha?” Taehyung now had a blood bag with the letter ‘A+’ written across it, this had been his 4th one of the day.

“A true alpha is someone who doesn’t need to climb the ranks, they don’t need to lose their packs, they don’t need to kill their pack to become one, they are destined to be one, they are born as an alpha. It’s extremely rare and the alpha gene doesn’t take control of someone unless they kill someone who is innocent, that’s the only way that they can become their true alpha selves, they’re more powerful than any other alphas, it’s a 1 in 500 chance,”

 Jungkook had been running for hours, panting, his body aching and wanting to give way, a feeling of fear embedded into his brain. He had left in his wolf form, sitting outside the pool house for 20 minutes or so, waiting for Y/N to come back. He had not remembered changing back to his human form, he had not remembered coming back to the forest, he had not remembered anything. He had woken up 40 minutes from the house, covered in blood and dirt, the blood smelt human to him, and he knew he had hurt someone, the feeling sinking into the lowest part of his heart.

For days he had been plagued by nightmares, green emerald eyes piercing holes into his face from the intensity they held as they stared at him, pain stricken and cold. Every night he would reach out for the person and he would be consumed by a wave of water, engulfing him and all he could see was a bright emerald tail with gold fins swimming away from him. He knew it was her, his mate, Y/N. Nightmares about your mate were not normal, they did not happen to any of the other werewolves he had spoken to who had found their mates. He knew something was wrong, the group of 4 women that chased him, shouting gibberish words that pierced through his ears and caused a vice like sensation to shoot pain through his head.

The world span, the leaves and trees blurred into his eyes, green and brown and then all black. His knees met the solid ground, cutting the exposed flesh and his hands came down to steady him, palms digging into the sticks and stones beneath then, his nude body collapsing onto the dirt.

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

“So, what, you actually want us to have a full-on fist fight?” Hobi muttered, standing face to face with Taehyung whose eyes were glowing crimson and fangs were on full display, an unpleased look apparent on his beautiful features. Seokjin nodded eagerly, his face lighting up at the prospect of finally summoning the fallen angel.

“That won’t be necessary,”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

“I’m not the devil, what childish things do you all come to just to get me here,” Yoongi was shaking his head, eyes glaring at Namjoon who just stared at the floor, embarrassed that his thoughts had been heard by the shorter male.

“Well, we were going to fight to bring you here but apparently you’re already here,” Hobi felt dejected, his shoulders slumping as he threw himself onto the dirt of their back garden.

“I’m here because your youngest pack member, who I have left on your living room floor by the way, is having some witch problems and soon enough he is going to lose all control, if I hadn’t stepped in today then he’d be dead,” Yoongi was glaring at the 4 men that stood in the garden, blank stares and creased brows on each of their faces.

“what ar-“

“A witch had gotten a hold of Jungkook’s dream sequences, she’s been plaguing him with the same dream for almost a week now, she’s a direct ancestor of the witches who cursed the ancestors of his mate, who I’m sure you already know is a mermaid called Y/N. Now, Y/N is a siren, you know what, I do not have time to explain everything again. The point is, said witch found him whilst he was out today and she brain washed him, she had him go inside of a house and kill an entire family, he has no memory of this, and I cleaned everything up so you don’t need to worry about anyone sniffing around. They were inside his head, killing him slowly from the inside out when he did not immediately become an alpha. The problem here, which is a problem for him but a great thing for all of us is that he cannot become a true alpha unless he has his mate by his side. So, for your own protection, I will not be bringing Y/N back, she’s going to act as an anchor to him however, we need him to be able to control the power he has before we can even consider such things,

He needs to train, his body won’t handle the power he has, however, with his mate sickness it’s going to get extremely hard for him, you need to do whatever you werewolves would usually do when it comes to training another one to be an alpha,”

_______________________________________________________________

“Why is Yoongi always disappearing just when we need him?” Jimin groaned, legs swinging over the side of the cliff, the clear water 15 feet beneath him glistening in the bright sun. Y/N laughed and sat up, grass stains covering her hands and elbows and she pushed herself to stand and lean her knees on her brothers back.

“We don’t need him, he didn’t help me when I learned to swim using my tail, he didn’t help me when I first learned to use my voice to lure the men in, he didn’t help me when my siren took over and I almost killed the whole ship full of men. You and grandma were the ones who had done that,” Y/N was carding her hands through the top of Jimin’s hair, curling small strands through her fingers and he sighed.

“I know that but you heard what people are saying about the witches, do you think we can take them on with just swimming powers and the ability to manipulate water?” Jimin groaned as he leaned back, pushing Y/N onto the heels of her feet. She quickly lost her balance and fell back, head landing on a pile of daisies Jimin had pulled from the ground, as Jimin quickly leaned back and rested his head on her thigh.

“Okay, they’re powerful but we are so strong when we work together, we can do it Jimin, we’re not weak, we sunk two whole ships last night with a huge tsunami, I’m sure if we have to we can kill 3 witches.” Y/N was staring at the sky, something that had mesmerised her since she had arrived her almost 8 months ago, the sky was always a hue of purple, pink and blue throughout the day and became a dark crimson, evil red at night.

“How have your nightmares been lately?” Jimin asked, eyes trained on the pink cloud that passed slowly over their calm bodies.

“They’ve been getting worse, I keep getting scared Yoongi will find out about it, I don’t want him to worry about me, I keep just seeing this same werewolf that I always saw near my pool house, except in my dream he turns into this boy with red eyes and he has the snarling teeth, they’re not fangs, they’re just like the teeth of a wolf but he’s so angry and out of control and he charges toward me and just attacks me, it’s so scary,” Y/n was mumbling, a shiver raking through her body as she remembered the saliva coated teeth that were bloody and on full show as they charged towards her.

“Why do you keep dreaming about it, I mean from what you told me it was clearly after you, it wanted you because it would sit there and watch you, what do you think it wants?” Jimin was now turning his up to look at Y/N’s face, despite only being able to see the underside of her chin and jaw.

“Clearly it wants me Jimin, but someone else is causing these nightmares and I want to know who it is,”

#bts fic #bts au fic #bts mermaid au #bts werewolf au #bts werejaguar au #jimin x reader #jimin mermaid #jimin #yoongi x reader #yoongi angel #yoongi #seokjin x reader #seokjin werewolf #seokjin #jungkook x reader #jungkook werewolf #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook #jhope #rapmonster #taehyung #taehyung vampire #bts vampire au #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts x reader

[vtscasefiles]

Case File # 321-5

Trigger warning: blood, gore, violence, death, firearms, injury, rape mention

Case begun: 5/09/20**

Case Concluded: 5/11/20**

Case Locale: [REDACTED], Florida

Marked as Closed

I arrived in Florida, the humidity already fucking with my sinuses. How anyone can live in this swampy shithole I will never understand. But I was offered a job, and my bank account was practically beating me over the head with it’s need to be filled. The pay was too good to turn down, so I loaded up my gear and headed out.

What I wasn’t expecting was a fucking ghost pirate. I mean, of all things, how fucking cliché can you get? The client, Rosie [REDACTED], welcomed me with that famed “southern hospitality” that I’ve heard so much of.

“You the girl with the gun? I expected you to be bigger.”

Fuckin’ peachy. “Yes. I’m the girl with the gun. You got a haunting problem?” I replied, trying not to let my irritation get the better of me. I’m fucking 5′9″. I’m not that small. For fuck’s sake, I can bench two hundo with no problem. Why the -- 

[Editor’s note: this continues for fifteen minutes. For your convenience I have removed VT’s rant.]

After getting a brief rundown of the case, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Everything pointed to a simple haunting, it wasn’t something I was considering a challenge, or even something that’d take longer than a few hours.

After doing this job, you think you’ve seen just about all the SC* has to offer. My two best friends are a lich and a witch. Yes, they rhyme, shut up. Point being is that I have never seen a haunting manifest on such a massive scale. Usually it’s restrained to a building, or a patch of land, but this...the whole fucking coast line was haunted. It wasn’t even a Cluster**, it was one. Singular. Spirit.

My first day, as the usual, was spent at the library. The spirit in question, one Captain Fresni, was an infamous pirate in the seventeen hundreds. Played a role in the American Revolution, albeit a small one. According to the books I’d found (mostly useless, but I did manage to glean some insight), his ship The Crooked Jess, was riddled with canon fire by the British. Captain Fresni, a violent fighter if ever there was one, realized there was no way out...lit every barrel of gunpowder he had on board and rammed his ship into the oncoming fleet. The following explosion wiped out three ships, packed with soldiers and set fire to another six.

I was impressed. If the spirit was Captain Fresni, as Rose claimed, then it could simply be a case of the body dying so suddenly and violently that the spirit didn’t realize he was dead. There was one passage that stood out, I won’t repeat it due to it being hella long, but in summation it stated that near the southern tip of Florida there was a hidden cove that served as the pirate captain’s base. Might as well start there.

It was around 9pm on the tenth before I even stepped foot in the cove. Immediately, the air changed. Despite it being disgustingly humid, the air turned frigid and dry. I walked up and down the coast to find a spot that wasn’t freezing, but to no avail. The whole place was a spook zone. We’re talking a good three hundred acres of land completely under the spirit’s influence. Even by a Cluster’s standards, that’s a massive area.

This area was mostly undisturbed, being a historical site. Being in the profession I am, meant that didn’t mean a roasty pile of dogshit. If I got caught disturbing anything here, it only meant one thing: prosecution, if not a bullet through my head. I’m aware of what my ethnic background means; prejudice, racism, outright hate. Hell, it’s dangerous to drive, let alone stand somewhere that I shouldn’t. So I try to be subtle. Try not to pack too much ordinance. Today I only had my duffel bag full of Elinor’s*** special ammo. I’d say it “kills” ghosts, but you can’t kill a spirit. You can however, force it to reconcile with it’s past.

The worst part about this job was I was going to wind up in the water. I hate swimming. Forget what chlorine does to the dye in my hair (red. Blood red. Always.), but just the thought of driving across the country with my clothes soaked in salty water was already putting my teeth on edge. Looks like I’d be hitting a thrift shop on the way home.

I dropped my duffel bag on the beach and sat in the sand next to it, pulling off my dad’s old combat jacket and stowing it inside. I did a quick inventory. I hadn’t brought anything major. Salt. Blessed water (courtesy of Ramona****). A black beeswax candle and, my trusty companion, Peace.

Peace is the name I’ve given to my custom-made revolver. All together, the setup weighs about three pounds. Each part bears a custom engraving that’ll combat just about any supernatural force...even so, there are some things that Peace can’t solve...even with the right ammo. But I had one solution sitting in the backseat of my car: a can of kerosene. If bullets don’t solve the problem, a liberal application of fire will.

The time was midnight, the opening of the “Witching Hour”. I had until 3am to get something. Anything. The spirit wasn’t answering to any of the usual callouts (their name, questions, requests for an audience), so I settled in on the beach to doze. Wasn’t much else to do.

Mother fucker, I wish I hadn’t.

When I woke up, it was to the freezing cold iron around my wrists. The bob and weave that told me I was on the sea. The air smelled of something...something that every fucking time I smell it, I almost lose my lunch.

Corpses.

The deck outside my cell was slick with blood and viscera. I’ve seen my share of gore, don’t get me wrong, but this was a massacre. What was worse...it looked (and smelled) fresh. The good captain had been busy, it’d seemed. What began as a simple haunting was quickly turning into something more sinister. Rosie hadn’t mentioned that the spirit was violent...though I should have assumed, given the amount posted on the job. Even still, this was...a little more than I’d prepared for.

But first there was the matter of the shackles on my wrists.

Lockpicking is an artform that every PE invests time in learning. But that’s usually deadbolts or doors made post 1970. The manacles on my wrists (though they looked brand new) were easily something seen in the eighteenth century. There was even a maker’s mark next to one of the keyholes. I’ll spare you the details on how I got out, but my thumbs ache to all hell.

The second I laid hands on the bars to my cell, they swung open...I’d never been locked in. This worried me. The spirit wanted me free...the manacles were just a precaution. Each step I made was met with the squishy splort of combat boot on viscera. I took my time, as I didn’t relish the thought of slipping and falling into the mess beneath my boots. Proud to say that I didn’t fall. Not once.

[Editor’s note: judging by the stains on VT’s clothes, she fell.]

As far as I could tell, I was on the lowest deck. The stairway didn’t lead up into the fresh air of day, but rather into what I assumed was a galley. Tables and benches had been scattered, and cooking implements rusted on their hooks. Dangling from one of those hooks was my firearms...just waiting for me.

I expected a trap, I anticipated the trap. By that I mean I picked up a piece of busted bench and hurled it at my gun. It fell off the hook with a loud clatter which had me willing myself to fade into the shadows. Nothing. Nothing but the creak and groan of the ship.

Well, I say nothing, but I distinctly heard laughter from the top deck. Feminine, bright laughter. I picked my gun up off the floor, holstered it and climbed the stairs.

There was no ghost crew, as I’d anticipated...but at the helm was a sight that still gives my heart a jolt. It’s no secret that I’m gay. I love women. But what I saw at the helm...fuck me, sideways. She was tall. 6′6″ if she was an inch. Her raven hair captured the moonlight and practically sucked it in. Her breasts were bared to the wind, heavy tattoos that seemed to glow covered just about every inch of bared flesh. I’d have thought her living if not for one thing: her eyes. Pitch black like the void.

“Ahoy, mate.” she purred, setting my teeth to clench. “Found you on my little hideaway, snoozin’ like an infant. Come to join Captain Fresni’s crew, little pet?”

“I ain’t your pet.” I snapped, glowering up at the spirit. “You’ve been killing people, Captain...and everything I’ve read says that you’re a man. Are you actually Captain Fresni, or is that just some title you picked up?”

“Funny how men’ll give the most vicious fighters a cock in death that they never had in life, hm?” the pirate snickered. I took notice then that her arms were like two thick pythons that, any other time, I’d like to see just how much weight they could hold. “I offered my services to old Georgie and he thought me funny. At least until I broke his nose.”

“Georgie? As in Washington?”

“Ye know of him? Interesting. He refusing the afterlife, too?”

Everything I’d assumed about this spirit was wrong. Captain Fresni wasn’t a man, for one. Not to mention she knew very well that she was dead. That still didn’t answer the most pertinent question on my mind. “The bodies...or what’s left of them. Was that you?”

“Aye.” she smiled, wickedly, but offered no further explanation. I was being baited.

“Can I ask why?”

“Ye just did.” a hard spin of the wheel almost sent me tumbling. “But I suppose I can oblige a pretty little thing like you.” I fucking hate being demeaned. And all attraction for this undead bitch was flying out the window faster than you could say “eat my ass”. 

I can’t remember most of her explanation. Looking back, now...it’s like the whole of that night is just a drunken fever dream. What stands out to me is her reasoning. “I only murder the dregs, girlie. Rapists, mostly. Kidnappers. Violence done to women is met with brutal retaliation. It’s the simplest way to clean up this world, savvy?”

Oh, I was savvy. Quite savvy. If anything, I agreed with her and her method. Trash like that shouldn’t be allowed to breathe, let alone exist. “If that’s all you’re doing, Cap, then I see no reason we shouldn’t go our separate ways. You have your work and I have mine.”

“Aye? And just what is your work, lovely?” I didn’t detect any further demeaning playfulness...only curiosity.

“I’m a PE. A Paranormal Eliminator. Usually, I’d have to ask or make you pass on, but as it stands...I think we can say live and let live. Well...live and let un-live.” she’d laughed at that. A warm sound that had my guts twisting around my stomach like some sort of horny serpent.

“So, you came out all this way to end the dread Captain Fresni...only to find a kindred spirit, is that what I’m hearing?” she asked, grinning like the Cheshire Cat with a Glasgow grin. “And now you want to leave, just like that. Don’t a get a kiss or a nice romp? I think I’m owed something after all. I didn’t kill you for trespassing.”

That raised my hackles. Again, this pillar of muscle was underestimating me. What I’d fought, what I’d killed. For fuck’s sake, I’ve killed enough Wendigos to put half the men in my profession to shame. There was that weird case where the woman who hired me was fucking the Wendigo, but...that’s another story for another time.

[Editor’s Note: We’ve never discussed the Wendigo-coitus case. I sincerely want to hear it.]

“Fuck you. You got the drop on me, like a coward.” I regretted the words the instant they left my mouth. I was on her ship and at her mercy. She could sink this ship and I had no idea which way shore was...let alone the hazards that went with swimming in open water.

Instead she’d only laughed. “Little girl, I’m a pirate. I’ve no intent to fight head on when I can sneak up on someone. Honor is a man’s game. It’s what gets them killed, more often than not.” Again, I agreed. I’d put enough bullets in the back of a head to know that stealth is preferable than a face-to-face fight.

“Look, I lost my temper. Can we just...end this and I can go home? We both agree on your method, and I see no reason to stop what you’re doing. Sure, the “authority” of the living world won’t like it...but no one likes them, so they can eat a steaming pile of shit.” I said, frowning. “I don’t want a fight. I just want to get paid and go home.”

The look about the spirit changed, marginally. The tattoos seemed to be rippling along her flesh(?) and her smile faded into a frown. “Missy, we still have a glaring problem we’ve yet to address. I’m one woman...and I need a crew. So, unless you’ve got a solution to that particular snag, you’re it.”

All my like for this spirit (begrudging as some of it was) vanished in an instant. “So I’m being kidnapped.” I responded, feeling my heart start to hammer in my ears. “Just like those men you killed. So, what I’m hearing is, you’re no better.”

“Watch your words, girl. Your pretty face won’t save you from my blade.” she’d snarled. It took all that was in me not to balk, though my teeth desperately wanted to chatter.

“I’m using your own words against you, Captain.” I responded, hoping I sounded calmer than I felt. “Don’t blame me if they don’t line up the way you want.”

“One more word out of you -- “

“I’ll give you two: get. Fucked.” that had torn it. The rippling gave way to something that I’d come to expect. This was no run of the mill spirit: Captain Fresni was either a wraith or a revenant. The only real difference between the two was the level of violence capable. A wraith tends to hunt one person, or their family. A revenant hunts whoever they want...and now I was on the list. I couldn’t fight her here, not out in the open. She’d tear me to shreds. Already her jaw was gaping, revealing razor teeth. Her nails, cut short, were lengthening into something akin to talons...and believe me when I say those things hurt. 

I feel no shame in saying I sprinted below deck and ducked into the galley proper. I wish I hadn’t. She wasn’t just killing people, she was eating them. Body parts, half chewed, dangled from the ceiling and littered the ground. My hand clapped over my mouth and nose to keep the smell out and my dinner in. I heard her footsteps and, as silently as I could manage, I checked my firearm. Peace was still locked, cocked and ready to rock. Well, not cocked. Gun safety, kids.

I pulled one of Elinor’s special bullets out of the cylinder. What made these so special is that, instead of lead, bone served as the projectile. The easiest way to deal with something dead is by using something dead against it. I don’t ask where Elinor gets her bone, and I think I’ll be perfectly happy to continue not knowing.

[Editor’s note: I know. It’s horrific.]

“Little pet, little pet, where are you?” she crooned. Well, I say crooned...more like...rattled. A revenant’s physiology is strange, but once they reveal their form it’s almost as if their bodies begin to decay. I peeked around the corner to see her back facing me. I took aim and...nothing. My gun clicked loud enough to sound like a scream in an empty hallway, but no roar of igniting gunpowder. She turned and...smiled. I think. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” I responded, standing on shaking legs. “Soup’s on, Captain.” she ran at me, talons held out at her sides like sabers. I did the only sane thing I could think of: I ducked as she swung. Luckily, the big swing didn’t hit me. Unluckily, she had another hand. Claw. Whatever.

So, there I was, a talon embedded in my shoulder and blood gushing from the wound like a waterfall. A little known fact about revenant wounds: leave the talon in. If it’s withdrawn the wound will immediately fester and become gangrenous. A lot of PEs have died that way.

I slammed the barrel of my gun against the base of her claw and it snapped off. She screamed her pain and rage and took another swipe at my torso. I barely managed to get far enough back in time. The fact I had to compensate for a long talon still imbedded in my shoulder didn’t mean much, as I was operating off a cubic fuckload of adrenaline. She did however manage to shred my tanktop. Which sucked, because I loved that thing. Said “Boss Ass Bitch” on it and everything...I guess I could see if Ramona would make me another one...

[Editor’s note: RIP tank top. Ramona is making another one at the time of writing.]

I sprinted past her, she’d over balanced and given me time to escape. I went down, back to the cells. I was soaked in a cold sweat by now and thankful that my hair tie had held, despite my panicked movement. I smoothed the strands away from my sweat soaked face and looked for a place to hide. Nothing was presenting itself...but an idea struck. It was a stupid idea. A terrible idea. I ran into a cell and pressed my back to the wall.

When Fresni reappeared, she was smiling. “Ran out of room to run, little rat?”

“Seems that way.” I panted. My head was spinning from the loss of blood. Thankfully, that brief moment I spent pressed against the wall had redoubled my courage...and helped me remember one little fact. “Look, Cap...I’m dead. We both know it. The second this talon is removed, my life is over...so...I guess I’m askin’ if that place on your crew is still available.”

That shocked her, if only for a moment. “You can’t lie your way out of this one.”

“No lie. Kill me now. I’d rather just go ahead and get it over with, thanks.” I said, praying that this would work. If it didn’t well...you wouldn’t be seeing this, would you?

She approached, brandishing those eight inch talons. She clicked them together, thoughtfully. “Stand still, then.” she snarled as I held my breath. “One through the heart, and it’s all over.”

Three more steps. Two. One. I stepped in and latched onto her arm, and...I bit down. I felt fetid blood fill my mouth and choke me. I immediately began to gag and then...voided my stomach, all over my aggressor.

A revenant’s true power isn’t from the change they make, though it definitely looks it. A revenant is best known for it’s insidious way of making the unreal real...so long as its concentration remains undisturbed.

When I finally finished tossing my cookies, I looked up. No ship in sight. Just a revenant, me and glorious land. The sand was disturbed, probably from all my running, and my blood left trails showing my passage. I’d been running in circles for the last hour...while she just watched.

“Shouldn’t play with your food.” I coughed, wiping my mouth. “It’s how you get killed.” she screeched in rage, her partially coagulated blood oozing from the bite mark I’d left. The talon was still lodged in my shoulder. I reached for my gun, ready to put an end to this only to pull out... “A fucking banana? Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

She roared and charged. My weapon, my baby was strapped to the rotten leather of her belt. She’d touched it. No one touched my weapon except Ray***** and myself. Not even Ramona. 

That pissed me off in a way that nothing else does.

Naturally, I charged straight for her. She took a swipe with her injured arm, but instead of dodging out of the way, I leapt into it. She made contact, but only with her palm. I felt one of my ribs crack and gasped in pain, pure instinct was the only thing that drove my fist into the shredded flesh on her arm, courtesy of my teeth. She balked and I snatched.

Peace was in my hand, albeit barely. She noticed and lunged again, sending us both into the sand. Her pirate nature showed in the way her head collided with my nose, sending fresh gouts of blood over the both of us. She thought me stunned. An easy kill. She thought wrong.

“Any last words, my pretty?” she cackled, her maw open wide. She wasn’t just going to kill me...I’d pissed her off enough that she was going to bite me. My death wouldn’t just be painful, but slow...and my soul would erode right along with my body.

“Yeah.” I croaked, feeling the end of my stamina quickly approaching. “Choke on it.” I rammed Peace as hard as I possibly could into that gaping maw, hearing her gargle in rage around it. My wrist jerked as I fired once, twice, three times. Bam. Bam. Bam. A faint gargle, a twitch...and about two-hundred pounds collapsed on right on my cracked rib, finishing the job her arm had started and broke the damned thing.

I wheezed beneath the re-corpse for...ten, fifteen minutes? When I finally managed the strength to push her off of me, I immediately emptied the last three rounds into the ruined mess of her skull. Say what you will about my methodology, but I like to be thorough. 

It wouldn’t have done just to leave her body there, for a mundane to see. The SC likes it’s secrecy and to risk exposing it? There was no faster way to end a career than to leave a loose end behind. I made the long trek back to the car and returned with the kerosene can. I stood by the raging fire until there was nothing but ash and blackened bone...though I know a certain lich who could make use of revenant bone.

All in all, a happy ending. Had a vampire doc fix up my shoulder to avoid dying of infection. Rosie paid me what I was owed and Elinor bought the bone off of me for further profit. Sure, my shoulder still hurts so damned bad that I can barely lift it, but...thanks to Ramona, it’ll be healed up in no time. Probably.

Yo-ho-ho, mother fucker. Case closed.

Editor’s farewell: This is the first case file VT asked I upload. It’s one she’s particularly proud of and one with a satisfactory ending. There may be names or terminology that you are unfamiliar with, but I have taken the time to star each of them as to explain. They are as follows:

SC*: Supernatural Community. This is self explanatory. Includes all beings, regardless of death, undeath or birth. IE vampires, ghosts, revenants, werewolves

Cluster**: A colloquial term amongst PEs. Used in reference to a small locale with a massive collection of spirits. Usually all working as a coordinated group.

Elinor***: Elinor Lyktor. Lich. Proprietress of Ellie’s, a shop frequented by PEs for their gear. Specializes in Osteomancy.

Ramona****: Ramona Torrez. Witch. A close friend of VT’s. Offers support, healing and consultation. A good 75% of VT’s equipment is blessed by Ramona.

Ray*****: Raleigh Kane. Gunsmith. Took the name Ray from her father, proprietress of Ray’s Armory. Forced into the Supernatural Community by VT during a case. Since, she has dedicated her craft to making weapons to deal with the malignant forces that threaten the community as a whole. Extensively researches customers and will not sell her works to those she does not trust.

#tw: violence #tw: injury #tw: blood #tw: gun play #tw: gun violence #tw: gore #tw: death #tw: dark content #tw: rape mention #horror #pirates #ghosts #VTverse #writing #OC

[mytwilightimagines13]

You will be fine, darling (Part Two) (Demetri Volturi)

Masterlist

word count: 2206

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They were both concealed within smoky gray cloaks that reached to the ground and undulated in the wind. "Let us seek better cover." The one with the soothing voice said. "I'll be right behind you," Edward said dryly. "Bella, why don't you go back to the square and enjoy the festival?" "No, bring the girl," the first shadow said, somehow injecting a leer into his whisper. "I don't think so." The pretence of civility disappeared, making Edward's voice flat and icy. His weight shifted infinitesimally, and you could see that he was preparing to fight. "Felix," the second, more reasonable shadow cautioned, the one whose voice soothed you in an instant. "Not here." He turned to Edward. "Aro would simply like to speak with you again, if you have decided not to force our hand after all." "Certainly," Edward agreed. '"But the girls go free." He nodded towards you, worried about you as well as for Bella. "I'm afraid that's not possible," the polite shadow said regretfully. "We do have rules to obey." "Then I'm afraid that I'll be unable to accept Aro's invitation, Demetri." Demetri. What a beautiful name. The name soothed the voice, it sounded just as mysterious as his voice. "That's just fine," Felix purred. Your eyes slowly adjusted to the deep shade, and you could see that Felix was very big, tall and thick through the shoulders. His size reminded you of Emmett. "Aro will be disappointed," Demetri sighed. "I'm sure he'll survive the let-down," Edward replied. Felix and Demetri stole closer toward the mouth of the alley, spreading out slightly so they could come at Edward from two sides. They meant to force him deeper into the alley, to avoid a scene. No reflected light found access to their skin; they were safe inside their cloaks. Edward didn't move an inch. Abruptly, Edward's head whipped around, toward the darkness of the winding alley, and Demetri and Felix did the same, in response to some sound or movement too subtle for your senses. "Let's behave ourselves, shall we?" a lilting voice suggested. "There are ladies present." Alice tripped lightly to Edward's side, her stance casual. There was no hint of any underlying tension. She looked so tiny, so fragile. Her little arms swung like a child's. Yet Demetri and Felix both straightened up, their cloaks swirling slightly as a gust of wind funnelled through the alley. Felix's face soured. Apparently, they didn't like even numbers. "We're not alone," she reminded them. Demetri glanced over his shoulder. A few yards into the square, a little family, with the girls in their red dresses, was watching us. The mother was speaking urgently to her husband, her eyes on the five of us. She looked away when Demetri met her gaze. The man walked a few steps farther into the plaza, and tapped one of the red-blazered men on the shoulder. Demetri shook his head. "Please, Edward, let's be reasonable," he said. "Let's," Edward agreed. "And we'll leave quietly now, with no one the wiser." Demetri sighed in frustration. "At least let us discuss this more privately." Six men in red now joined the family as they watched your group with anxious expressions. "No." Edward said, making Felix smile. "Enough." The voice was high, reedy, and came from behind you. You dared to take a quick peek, even though your heartbeat was racing against your ribcage. You saw a small, dark shape coming toward you. By the way the edges billowed, you knew it would be another one of them. At first you thought it was a young boy. The newcomer was as tiny as Alice, with lank, pale brown hair trimmed short. The body under the cloak, which was darker, almost black, was slim and androgynous. But the face was too pretty for a boy. The wide-eyed, full-lipped face would make a Botticelli angel look like a gargoyle. Even allowing for the dull crimson irises. Her size was so insignificant that the reaction to her appearance confused you. Felix and Demetri relaxed immediately, stepping back from their offensive positions to blend again with the shadows of the overhanging walls. Edward dropped his arms and relaxed his position as well but in defeat. "Jane," he sighed in recognition and resignation. Alice folded her arms across her chest, her expression impassive. "Follow me," Jane spoke again, her childish voice a monotone. She turned her back on us and drifted silently into the dark. Felix gestured for your group to go first, smirking. Alice walked after the little Jane at once. Edward wrapped his arm around Bella’s waist and pulled her along beside Alice. You slowly started to walk, fear spreading through you even further, making you quite slow. Demetri looked at you and worry seemed to flash through his eyes. Santiago pulled you along quite roughly, making you wince slightly. “I’ll take her from here, Santiago. You go back to your post.” Demetri said, gently grabbing your other arm in his hand. A warmth spread through you, calming you down slightly. Santiago nodded and was gone in the blink of an eye. You slowly followed the group, Felix walking behind you and Demetri supporting you slightly while also pulling you along.   The alley angled slightly downward as it narrowed. "Well, Alice," Edward said conversationally as you walked. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you here." "It was my mistake," Alice answered in the same tone. "It was my job to set it right." "What happened?" His voice was polite, as if he were barely interested. "It's a long story." Alice's eyes flickered toward me and away. "In summary, she did jump off a cliff, but she wasn't trying to kill herself. Bella's all about the extreme sports these days." A soft chuckle escaped your throat, but it sounded more like an animal being abused than a genuine laugh. You felt Demetri’s glance on the top of your head, but you didn’t dare looking up, fear still spreading through you like a wildfire. "Hm," Edward said curtly, and the casual tone of his voice was gone. There was a loose curve to the alley, still slanting downward, so you didn't see the squared-off dead end coming until you reached the flat, windowless, brick face. The little one called Jane was nowhere to be seen. Alice didn't hesitate, didn't break pace as she strode toward the wall. Then, with easy grace, she slid down an open hole in the street. It looked like a drain, sunk into the lowest point of the paving. You hadn't noticed it until Alice disappeared, but the grate was halfway pushed aside. The hole was small, and black. Bella balked. "It's all right, Bella," Edward said in a low voice. "Alice will catch you." Bella eyed the hole doubtfully. You imagine he would have gone first, if Demetri and Felix hadn't been waiting, smug and silent, behind you, Demetri still holding a firm yet gentle grip on your arm. Bella crouched down, swinging her legs into the narrow gap. "Alice?" she whispered, voice trembling. "I'm right here, Bella," she reassured her. Her voice came from too far below to make you or Bella feel any better. You hated heights. Edward took Bella’s wrists and lowered her into the blackness. "Ready?" he asked. "Drop her," Alice called. Edward let her fall. Edward turned around, ready to grab you and lower you into the darkness as well but Demetri took a step forward, pulling you behind him gently. “Go on then.” Demetri said, taunting Edward slightly, daring him almost to try and take you from his embrace. Edward frowned and looked at you with worry, then looked at both Felix and Demetri, both having a daring look in their eyes. Edward sighed softly and jumped down. Your heartbeat increased with fear. Where they going to kill you already? Please no. Demetri released your arm and placed his arms firmly around your waist, picking you up and holding you close to his chest. “Close your eyes, little one.” He whispered softly in your ear. You did as he told you and closed your eyes firmly, almost expecting the pain of a bite, but that never came. You felt him move quickly and soon wind rushed past the two of you as he jumped down, landing gracefully on his feet. He gently placed you down and took a hold of your wrist. You opened your eyes and looked around. It was dim, but not black at the bottom. The light from the hole above provided a faint glow, reflecting wetly from the stones under your feet. Slowly the group started moving forward and you tripped and stumbled your way across the uneven stone surface. The sound of the heavy grate sliding over the drain hole behind you rang with metallic finality. The dim light from the street was quickly lost in the gloom. The sound of your and Bella’s staggering footsteps echoed through the black space; it sounded very wide, but you couldn't be sure. There were no sounds other than your and Bella’s frantic heartbeats and your feet on the wet stones, except for once, when an impatient sigh whispered from behind you. Demetri’s thumb rubbed circles on the inside of your wrist, trying to calm you down, but the opposite was true. You had no idea what would happen or if he was simply preparing your bloodflow for his consumption and his movements didn’t calm you down in the slightest. The path beneath your feet continued to slant downward, taking you deeper into the ground, and it made you claustrophobic. You couldn't tell where the light was coming from, but it slowly turned dark gray instead of black. You were in a low, arched tunnel. Long trails of ebony moisture seeped down the gray stones, like they were bleeding ink. "N-n-no," Bella chattered suddenly, throwing her arms around Edward. Truth be told it was quite chilly down here, but by now you had realised that Bella’s clothes were soaking wet. No wonder her teeth were chattering. The group hurried through the tunnel, or it felt like hurrying to you. Your and Bella’s slow progress irritated someone, you guessed Felix, and you heard him heave a sigh now and then. At the end of the tunnel was a grate, the iron bars were rusting, but thick as your arm. A small door made of thinner, interlaced bars was standing open. Edward ducked through and hurried on to a larger, brighter stone room. The grille slammed shut with a clang, followed by the snap of a lock. On the other side of the long room was a low, heavy wooden door. It was very thick, as you could tell because it, too, stood open. The group stepped through the door, yet you didn’t dare to glance around, too afraid for might pop up in front of you.   Soon the group was in a brightly lit hallway. The walls were off-white, the floor carpeted in industrial gray. Common rectangular fluorescent lights were spaced evenly along the ceiling. It was warmer here, for which you were grateful. This hall seemed very benign after the gloom of the ghoulish stone sewers. The heavy door creaked shut behind you, and then there was the thud of a bolt sliding home. Jane waited by the elevator, one hand holding the doors open for you. Her expression was apathetic. Once inside the elevator, the three vampires that belonged to the Volturi relaxed further. They threw back their cloaks, letting the hoods fall back on their shoulders. Felix and Demetri were both of a slightly olive complexion, it looked odd combined with their chalky pallor. Felix's black hair was cropped short, but Demetri's waved to his shoulders. Their irises were deep crimson around the edges, darkening until they were black around the pupil. Under the shrouds, their clothes were modern, pale, and nondescript. You dared to take another peek at Demetri and felt yourself almost in trance as your eyes met his. He was so beautiful, and the caring look in his eyes made you wonder how anyone could ever call him a monster. Demetri gave you a gentle smile and carefully placed his hand on your lower back, rubbing circles once more. You flinched slightly in fear but had no were to move to. The elevator ride was short; you stepped out into what looked like a posh office reception are, Demetri’s hand still gently placed on your lower back, making sure you would not fall behind. The walls were panelled in wood, the floors carpeted in thick, deep green. There were no windows, but large, brightly lit paintings of the Tuscan countryside hung everywhere as replacements. Pale leather couches were arranged in cozy groupings, and the glossy tables held crystal vases full of vibrantly coloured bouquets. The flowers' smell reminded you of a funeral home. In the middle of the room was a high, polished mahogany counter. you gawked in astonishment at the woman behind it. She was tall, with dark skin and green eyes. She would have been very pretty in any other company but not here. Because she was every bit as human as you and Bella were.

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#demetri volturi #imagine #volturi imagine #twilight imagine #felix volturi #cullen

[viktor-noctis]

Harvest Moon

Anakin Skywalker wanted to kill everyone in the room. And then himself.

Even if they didn’t know who he was, because the chance they might find out was too terrifying to consider.

But they hadn’t. He knew they hadn’t. Because if they had, they would all have died of laughter before he could slice them into little pieces with his lightsaber. Which he didn’t have.

This night just keeps getting better and better.

He had completed well over two-hundred missions since he joined the Jedi Order, from escorting diplomats, brokering peace between nations, and fighting on battlefields the galaxy over. He had traversed forests full of dangerous, man-eating flora, ice cloaked mountains with beasts that could rip one apart in seconds, and even desserts. Full of sand. Which he believed was far eviler than the worms waiting beneath the surface of the dunes, ready to swallow one whole, or any of the previous threats combined. He would take any of them, all of them, even a dustbowl, over his current assignment.

On paper, it looked standard: use secured invitation to get inside of a party of ambassadors, senators, and potential members of the Separatists. Easy. Sneak past heavily armored centurion guards wielding plasma canons and ion missiles that may or may not have heat seeker technology embedded in them. Interesting, without a weapon, but not impossible. Find information regarding the movements of enemy shipments, containing stolen kyber crystals, and potential hostages of their side. Somewhat difficult… If one didn’t possess an encrypted pass code, capable of rapid copying the necessary data in record time. All-in-all, the usual kind of Jedi mission that included a bit of espionage on the side.

Except the teeny, tiny, minute detail of the invitation being formatted for a Lady Skylar Erie.

A woman from a small, noble house on Naboo. She was twenty-two years old, six feet tall exactly, and didn’t speak due to a childhood incident. Her hair was a light brown with touches of golden blond, possessing eyes the color of dark turquoise gems, and skin bronzed by the sun. Lady Skyler had full, dark lips, now shaded to a deep crimson, and high cheekbones. Her shoulders were broad, her legs long, and –

“Luckily,” the stylist had smiled at him in the mirror, “handsome young men make beautiful women.” Obi-Wan didn’t look like he agreed with that statement. His arms were crossed, eyes wide beneath his furrowed brow, and lips pursed within his beard… which he was stroking. Which meant he was looking for something comforting to say. Anakin was almost curious what sort of backwards, reorganized Yoda-phrase he would use, no doubt intended to distract him from that fact that he made a passable woman in a pinch. His former master opened and closed his mouth several times, forming nothing, and eventually just let a burst of air out behind his sealed lips. Which was probably the wisest thing he could have done.

The dress was another monstrous affair. The fact that Padma had been the one to gift the pattern to the tailor made him want to jump off the nearest bridge. Because that meant it was from Naboo, which was notorious for having so many hard to navigate layers, it was like trying to solve a puzzle maze. He’d overheat and die. Either that, or it would be a flowing slip of silk that would immediately give away the fact he was a man, and he could already see the billboard tagline all over the tabloid side of the holonet.

A form fitted, off the shoulder, obsidian gown arrived. There was a deep cerulean, satin sash that wrapped around the top, no doubt to hide his lack of cleavage, and draped down to curl over the low arches of his hips, falling down his buttocks like a tail. The entire thing was accented with ivory stones across the top, coiling in abstract patterns down his ribs, growing smaller till they faded at his thighs. Made from the finest silks, the whole thing had been custom fitted for him a week before.

“It’s a shame you want to destroy it.” Obi-Wan’s voice held six feet worth of lamentation that Anakin was ready to bury him in. “It’s rather beautiful.” One look from Anakin had shut him up for the entire evening. He had his word that when they made it back to the Temple, he was allowed to slice it to pieces with his saber until it was nothing but a smoldering, crumpled ruin of unidentifiable cloth and cracked stones. He was also not to take a single holo of him in it, no matter how much Senator Amidala plead or bargained.

However, he had quickly realized that the most dangerous part of his mission didn’t entail trying not to fall flat on his face while wearing three inch heels (how Padme managed the ‘dagger stilettoes’ that were over five he would never know, but he was going to bow down on his knees the next time he saw her), nor glaring at the men who gave his backside leering glances (he just about managed not to Force push that last one’s face straight into the buffet table), or even punching the last piece of kriffing, snorg-birthed, moose-goose snot brained –

I hate this, I hate this, I hatethis, IhatethisIhatethisIhatethis –

He almost tore his dress. Again.

No, the most dangerous part of his mission was none of the above. It was navigating the toxic snake pit filled with people he knew almost nothing about. Oh, some of them he had seen, certainly: thieves, murderers, drug dealers, and slave traders. They were up to their ears in nothing but filth and injustice, the lowest of the low, scum that he had to smile and play nice with like a mute, pretty girl with only three brain cells to her name would.

Anakin’s face hadn’t stopped burning the whole evening. He only prayed his embarrassment couldn’t melt away the layers of foundation and contour applied to his features. She’d even combed and fixed his hair, plating the strands into a short braid with ribbon that matched his dress, and flowers that curled into the elaborate cuffs around his ears. He hated the jewelry almost as much as the gown… the dainty chains in his lobes had snow drops on the ends, bearing sapphires so deep they appeared onyx. The choker around his neck was emblazoned with them as well, with diamonds that offset the ones on the dress.

He had to wear gloves. To cover up his mechanical arm, as if it were something to be ashamed of. Anakin managed to contain a growl, keeping his fan close to the lower portion of his face. He didn’t dare lower it, least someone find his jaw too strong, his neck too thick.

How can anyone believe this? Maybe everyone around him thought it was just as ludicrous, just as impossible that Anakin Skywalker liked to spend his Tuesday evenings dressed as a woman, strutting around some of the worst moss-pit vipers in the galaxy. He swallowed what remained of his pride.

Get the information. Get out. You’ve done this a thousand times before. Never like this he hadn’t.

He had the advantage of his height at least, his gaze straying over the facades in attendance, knowing his mark would favor a more private location. The mask they had given him was just insult to injury… It covered everything above his cheekbones, wrapping over the bridge of his nose. Carved from delicate ivory, with swirls and coils painted on in black at the top, fading to midnight blue around his eyes, and then a rich silver at the edges. The top of the brow split in a mane of feathers, mimicking the shades already present. According to Obi-Wan, it was meant to represent a delicate, blue bird found on a planet covered mostly in water in the furthermost reaches.

Anakin almost felt relieved when he saw his target in the throng of dignitaries. His mask wasn’t strapped on like his own was, dangling from his right hand, while his left arm remained occupied by a Togruta girl with red skin and yellow horns. He really did not need to be thinking of Ahsoka right now. What would she say if she could see him? She’d never stop talking about it. She’d probably sneak a holo or two just to save for future blackmailing purposes, because what sane Padawan would pass up the opportunity to have a picture of their Master all dressed up for the ball?

The man in question, with more gold than white or black in his mouth, was one Fren Pollock. After obtaining a hard-won pardon from the Republic – something that made Anakin’s teeth grind – he had somehow acquired a governorship on a small lunar colony. Drugs, munitions, and people, nothing was beneath him. Anakin found himself reveling in the notion of bringing him down, of dismantling his little empire into the dust, and taking all of his accomplices with him.

“Woah there, blondie.” A bodyguard. One of four. No armor, no weapons, as was the standard, per the request of the hosts.

[ I’m really terrible at writing scum bags, but Fren allows Anakin closer, only to drug him. Someone intervenes, of course, but after unmasking Anakin things go from bad to worse. Also, Dooku wears a Loth-wolf mask. - ]

“I believe the young Lady has had enough.” Anakin’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t breathe. His next whimper was stifled against a hard chest. Hands, warm and solid, one on his wrist, and the other on his back. Protective, almost tender, they held him steady against the taller man.

 The chuckle that emanated from the Count tightened around his chest. The air left him, slipping free in a low, hoarse whimper. Dooku just laughed harder. Anakin didn’t dare raise his head to see the slice of his grin through his cheeks.

“My, my, this evening is just full of surprises.” Dooku’s sneer rippled through his already weak knees. They shuddered beneath him, leaving him to sway dangerously. “I didn’t expect to find you here, Skywalker, but considering this turn of events, I’m rather glad I did.” Red and blue. Anakin’s teeth clenched, jaw ringing with the pain, straight into his temples. He should jerk forward, smash his head into Dooku’s nose. Crimson and azure. Their sabers should clash, they always had, easy and familiar. Darkness and light, trading breath and edge, till one consumed the other. Mars and Venus. Planetoids too far to know, yet the tales of them were wreathed in the fantastical. The coin flipped, came down in a shower of sparks that were the shades of stars.

Dooku tasted like something bitter and yet sweet. It reminded Anakin of the grapes Padme had given him while they were visiting Alderaan, off a vine five years old. She said they were native to the planet, that they would keep the same fruits without dropping them for hundreds of years, but when they were plucked clean… they died. Those same plants were the reason the planet was known for its wine. She had challenged him to taste as many as he could, all the way up to the first century. They made his nose wrinkle, his vision darkening as his eyes squinted, then misted with tears he blinked away. He didn’t even get to twenty.

He still had the gift… the one Bail Organa had given him. He had winked at him, saying something about how even Jedi needed to have fun every once in a while. The crystal, ruby embossed bottle was hidden somewhere under his bunk, protected by his worn, old Padawan robes. He still didn’t know how a beverage made from fruit as old as Yoda was supposed to be a good.

“What are you doing?!” His head throbbed. His parted lips trembled, prickling with something he couldn’t name. Anakin’s cheeks were still burning, but a new heat had been added from the friction of the Count’s beard. Dooku’s hand gripped his bicep, the muscle throbbing beneath his hard palm. Anakin could feel the bruises forming, the pulse of blood beneath the surface. He’d torn away, smashing him into the wall, and he had… he had kissed Count Dooku, a known Sith Lord, and leader of the Separatist Systems Alliance. A tremble lanced through him, clinging to his muscles, till he felt as if he were going to shake straight out of his skin.

Anakin’s head twisted, turning away from Dooku, but his body wouldn’t follow as easily. His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth, thick with the ichor of whatever had been in his drink. He swallowed it back, trying to free himself of the Count’s hand with a sluggish, surly throw of his shoulder. He stumbled instead, pivoting dangerously close to the wall, but durasteel bands took hold of his waist. His body jerked, a whimper exiting his lungs as they compressed. The darkness crept into his vision, stifling him in the heat and musk of whoever held him.

“What have you done?” Far away, harsh and whispered. The syllables grated against his scorching ears. His throat ached with the sound that left him, high-pitched and terrible. His mouth contacted something solid and warm and smooth. He couldn’t help but rub his face into the warmth of that broad shoulder. Whoever held him smelled like heat and spice.

Padme and Obi-Wan sat across from him, laughing as his face twisted. He had grown up a poor boy on Tatooine, you didn’t just waste food, no matter how much you didn’t like it. Which meant swallowing down whatever you were given, which meant he was willing to try anything once. Even the boiled bark of a strange planet. It was not the taste, but the brittle texture on his tongue. Citrus and tang, almost metallic in its bite, sliding down his throat with the same viscosity of honey, and the viciousness of alcohol.

That was the smell that surrounded him now, sharp and distinct. There was something overtop, layered on to smooth the undercurrent of that wild, intoxicating aroma. Anakin almost thought it was… roses. Yes, roses. Extravagant and sweet, enough to hide the Loth-wolf’s true scent.

[ Dooku makes a strategic retreat, taking Anakin with him back to his room… Mistake. The drug is in him now, and inhibition is taking a nosedive straight into hell. He puts Anakin in his room, where he struggles out of the dress, tearing off the jewelry, and rubs at his face. The Count returns after a thunderous crash, effectively shattering every bottle in his private bar. Not good… He returns to the room, submerged in darkness, standing at the end of the bed… ]

Anakin trembled beneath his own pride.

The moonlight splayed over his shoulders, weaving through his white hair, curving over the hard edges of the right side of his face. His eyes, cheeks, lips, chin, his entire face lost to the shadows. Anakin could see nothing of him, but he could imagine the furrow of his brow, the pull of his mouth into that familiar sneer. Or would his cheeks ripple with a snarl? He almost wished he could see him, the revulsion of his features, the cruel amusement preferable to the void that stared back at him.

He could feel something though, intangible as the Force, but as palpable as its presence. Dooku’s gaze. Those hard, dark orbs, piercing his bunched shoulders, his heaving chest, the tremble of his stomach.

He lost.

“Please…”

[ And this is as far as I got because I’m terrible. I’m not tagging this much either, because its a WIP. ]

#WIP

[anonbebe97me]

Somebody Else (Changkyun Short Story|| Pt.1)

Inspired by “Imported”- Jessie Reyez (Ft.6lack)

Pt.2 ||

Warning: Some smut; will label parts accordingly.

“You’re in love with somebody else. Maybe I can offer some help; get over them by getting under me…”

She throws her head back as she downs the glass of whiskey. Her face immediately puckers as she tastes the bitterness left in her mouth. Her cheeks are streaked with mascara that she had halfheartedly tried to wipe away only minutes before. “Give me another,” She says, glancing at the bartender. He nods and grabs her glass.

“You should probably slow down,” Changkyun says, taking a sip of his drink. “You should mind your own business,” She says, watching the bartender place her new drink in front of her. Changkyun rolls his eyes, “Y/N… getting drunk won’t make you feel any better,” He looks at her, trying not to let the worry show on his face. 

“Yeah, well…staying sober won’t make me feel any better either…” She looks down into the glass for a moment and then takes a gulp. He sighs and shakes his head, “You’re gonna regret it later.” 

Her phone sits face-up on the bar, open to instagram; a pretty picture set in a rose garden- Jooheon and a girl he’d known for six months, officially announcing their engagement. 

“I have so many regrets already…what’s one more?” She looks down and bites her lip, fighting back more tears. He looks at her, eyes low; he wants nothing more than to take her hurt away. But how can he? 

So he sits there next to her as she stares blankly ahead. 

After an hour of drinking in silence, he finally decides he’s had enough, “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

She looks up at him lazily, “I’m not finished with my drink…” 

“Too bad. Let’s go.” He gently grabs her arm to help her off of the stool. 

They walk out to his car and he opens the door for her, helping her into her seat. When he gets into the driver’s side, he feels his phone buzzing in his pants’ pocket. He takes it out and swallows when he sees Joheon’s picture show up on his screen. He’s about to put it back in his pocket, but she clears her throat,

“It’s okay…you can answer it.”

He looks at her and shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s not important-”

“Changkyun. Just answer it.”

He sighs and looks down, “Fine…”

“Hello?”

“Yo! I’ve been waiting for you to congratulate me,” Jooheon’s voice is lively and full of excitement. 

Though the volume on Changkyun’s phone is at the lowest setting, Jooheon’s voice seems to fill up the quiet car.

She closes her eyes, trying hard to keep it together until the call ends.

Changkyun sees her struggle but continues, “Yeah, man… sorry. It’s been a rough night. Uhm…can we talk tomorrow? I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“Oh- okay…” There’s disappointment in Jooheon’s voice, “Talk to you later then.”

“Mm.” Changkyun presses end and tosses the phone into the center console. 

For a moment, there’s only silence, and then…deep, painful sobs as Y/N slumps over in her seat, not even bothering to cover her face as the tears fall.

She’s spent years hiding her love for her best friend, and then her pain as he went through women like wildfire; she has no more strength left to try to hide anything anymore.

“I know I should be happy for him, but…” she trails off.

He stares through the windshield as people walk into the bar, “Why would you smile over a broken heart?”

Though his words are painful to hear, they bring her a certain comfort- validation, even; like she’s not the worst person in the world for not being happy to see the love of her life happy with another woman.

“Changkyun…” She looks at him,“I can’t be alone tonight…”

He nods, looking down, “Alright.”

She stares out of the open window as cars and streetlights seem to fly by on the ride to Changkyun’s house. The harsh wind is an invited guest to dry the hot tears that pour silently from her eyes. 

He leads her up the winding staircase up to his apartment.

She’s breathless when they get to his front door, and her sadness is momentarily replaced with irritation, “Damn it, Changkyun. Why don’t you tell your landlord to fix the elevator already?”

He shrugs, inserting the key into the door, “Keeps rent low.”

She rolls her eyes, “Cheap ass.”

“I liked you better sad,” He says plainly.

She glares at the back of his head as he leads her inside of his shoebox studio. 

She sits on his bed, and then suddenly lets herself fall backward, letting her mind travel back to Jooheon.

Changkyun fills a glass of water up for her and grabs the half-empty box of Cheez-Its from one of the cabinets. He walks over to her and sets the water and snacks on the bedside table,

 “I brought you some water,” He sits down next to her and looks over, “Sit up.”

She stares up at the ceiling, “I’m not drunk.”

He rolls his eyes at her, though she can’t see him, “Humor me, then.”

She sighs and sits up slowly, “Fine.”

The cool water fills her empty stomach, and she finishes the entire glass. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. She gently sets the glass back down, but doesn’t bother trying to eat. She grabs one of his pillows and holds it against her chest,

“Changkyun…have you ever been in love?” 

Her voice is haggard and broken as she speaks. 

He thinks for a moment; faces from a few distant memories flash through his mind before he nods, “I guess so…”

She looks at him and smiles wearily, “No you haven’t.”

He raises an eyebrow at her, “Oh? And how would you know?”

She purses her lips, “Because…anyone who’s ever been in love…” She throws herself back onto the bed,

“are certain about it.”

He furrows his brows, taking her words in. It’s true, he doesn’t know for sure if he’s ever been in love…but does that really mean he’s never felt it? 

He lays back and stares at the ceiling with her. He wonders what Jooheon might be doing right now…though after sharing such thrilling news, it’s not hard to imagine…

“You know what else pisses me off about this situation?” She asks, not looking at him.

“Mm?” 

“He tagged everyone… you, the guys, even that stupid friend of hers that he hates- what was her name?”

“Britney.”

“Britney. He tagged Britney…but he didn’t tag me…” She bites her lip and then looks over at him.

“Would that have made you feel better?” He asks, looking back at her. 

Her eyes well up again, though she doesn’t break eye contact, “No…”

“I think that the pain would’ve hurt exactly the same, whether he tagged you or not…and he just happened to go with option B.”

In more ways than one… 

“When we were little, I was sure that one day, he and I would grow up and marry each other…” She gives a small smile, but it quickly fades, “I thought for sure he’d be my first…”

Her eyes widen at the realization of what she’s just said and she quickly turns back to the ceiling.

 Changkyun is taken aback by her accidental revelation, but he tries to pretend like he didn’t notice, “I guess life can’t always the way you planned…”

Y/N sighs, “All those years I spent waiting around for him…”

He clears his throat, “Do you believe everything happens for a reason?” 

“Yeah…do you?” She asks. 

He shrugs against the mattress, “I don’t really know…I think it’s a pretty thought, but some times I think life is just a series of repercussions…

like, there’s no rhyme or reason for anything. It’s all just…”

“Bleak,” She finishes his sentence.

“Yeah…” He sighs.

She hits his chest with the back of her hand, “No, dummy. What you’re saying is bleak.”

“Ow?” He chuckles.

She props herself up on her elbows and stares into the expanse of the room, “I- I know that some times, it seems aimless… but some times…things just work out too well, you know? Jooheon and I were in two different classes in Kindergarten, and it was smack dab in the middle of the year- the morning that I met him, happened to be the exact morning that my mom…,” she pauses,

“…it was the morning that my mom caught my dad cheating on her. She was so distraught, she could barely focus on anything, so she put my shoes on my feet but forgot to tie them up for me. She hadn’t taught me how to tie my shoes yet, so when I got to school, I was tripping over my laces on the playground- I ended up skinning my knee and Jooheon was the only one who came to see if I was okay… From then on, he’s been with me through some of the most painful moments of my life…” A single tear spills from her left eye, but there’s a look of determination on her face. 

Changkyun turns his body and rests his head on his hand as he listens to her

“And yeah, it’s fucked up that he’s with someone else now, but if I hadn’t met him, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me. I think about it all the time… and I credit it all to that morning when my mom didn’t tie my shoes…

Even meeting you,” She looks over at him, and is surprised to find him already staring so intently at her.

He feels strange- he’s been friends with her for over two years, and he’s always known how she feels about Jooheon, so she’s always been someone Changkyun considered as ‘off limits’.

Why then, is he imagining the feeling of her lips against his?

“…If I wouldn’t have met you, I wouldn’t have anyone to watch out for me like this… it’s like puzzle pieces. Everything always falls into place…” 

Her eyes are low as she studies his face under the dim light of the lamp on the side of the bed. Her heart is beating hard in her chest, and she wonders if he can hear it. 

She finds herself moving closer to him, and before he can give it a second though, he’s matching her movements,

until their faces are only inches from each other.

Their eyes are locked, and the only sound in the apartment is of their breathing.

“Changkyun…are you drunk?” She asks, not breaking the stare.

He shakes his head, “No…are you?”

“No...” She whispers.

A second later, they’re closing the distance between them- it’s a soft, delicate kiss… like dipping your toe in the water to test the temperature. And then, their lips part, their movements becoming more rhythmic and in synch as their kiss deepens. 

He can’t help but wonder;

Is this what she meant by puzzle pieces?

#monsta x #monsta_x #monsta_x smut #fluff #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #wonho #shownu #kihyun #hyungwon #jooheon #changkyun #minhyuk #kpop

[deathsdoorman]

Rose Coloured Spectre-cals || Solo

Hundreds of eyes stared out from the opposite end of the room. They sat where the light couldn’t reach past the small corner where the table lamp sat, giving only the impression of their vague outlines where they clustered themselves in one corner of the room. Crossing the space her gaze locked on the vacant glassy-eyed stare of the one in the forefront as it watched her. Its eyes shone unnaturally where the light glinted against them as it followed her steps while she tried to ignore it and explored the rest of the room’s interior. Unable to shake the feeling of being watched Cassie reached out reluctantly to touch it, her hand brushed against the ageing lace and velvet frills of its dress collar, wincing at the scrape of the porcelain as the doll head twisted sideways to face away from her to the far wall.

“How long have you been collecting this kind of thing?” The whole house was a museum of odd antiques and trinkets scattered over every available space. Cassie stopped and picked up one of the pillar candles cluttering one of the nightstands opposite. She held it up, turning it over and caught the price sticker and felt an eyebrow raise. Apparently, Walmart was the Satanists candle-maker of choice now, judging from the ripped and tattered price sticker still curling under itself at the bottom. At least with the candle they’d gone the extra mile. Etchings covered the wax in various sinister looking shapes dug in deep and filled in with rust coloured paint. They even made the effort to have it studded with cloves pushed into the crevices. Movie prop quality stuff, she was almost impressed.

“About a year now,” Marian, the homeowner, moved closer towards her. Leaning against the doorframe she folded her arms over and shivered, “I don’t even like touching that thing,” she nodded towards the candle. “Bad energy from the moment it came to the house.”

Cassie nodded and made a mental note, straightened up and continued her examination of the upstairs part of the house. Every now and again Marian would walk in front of her, turning backwards to give her an odd expectant look. It wasn’t going to be easy to concentrate with a second shadow and if anything was lurking around, they weren’t going to show face, not with an audience.

“Hey, so this might take a while. Why don’t you take it easy, do whatever you do normally? You know, pretend I wasn’t here,” she offered and hoped she wasn’t dead set on sticking around.

“Oh sure. Sure, sure-sure-sure,” she nodded to Cassie’s relief. “I’ll be down in the parlour, holler if you need anything.” 

As Marion retreated back downstairs, she relaxed a little and opened herself up to anything that either couldn’t or wouldn’t show themselves and left her equipment at the top of the stairs. Six rooms down and nothing. The rooms around her were creepy, but that was by design. Each decorated and stuffed with oddities and clutter like oversized curiosity cabinets. Weird, but not house call worthy. Passing by the window looking out into the well-manicured yard she peered inside the last door and frowned at the normality. A regular pastel pink and Pine bedroom greeted her which was strangely misplaced compared with the contents of the rest of the house. The end of the upstairs hallway ended with a set of ladders leading up to the attic space. 

Drafts and scratching usually had more hallmarks of a squirrel problem than anything paranormal. From experience ghosts were more likely to show up somewhere at a gas station bathroom than an airless, windowless dust trap. Way more people to scare out there per square inch than in here. Putting a hand on the first ladder rung a mental picture crossed her mind of the stairs suddenly drawing up to meet her and the door locking in place, but shook it off and made her way up. The dead didn’t scare her the way they used to; the living on the other hand, they had their moments. 

Throwing in an extra half an hour past what was agreed she did a final sweep of both floors of the house and came to the same conclusion as before; the house was clean. Grabbing her bag back up from beside the top of the stairs she slung it over one shoulder and descended the stairs. “Okay. So, good news,” Cassie called as she made the last few bounds down to the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve looked around and no ghosts here.' She smiled as Marion came into view and made her best Tangina Barrons impression, “this house is clean,” imagining the relief she must be feeling. Which turned out to be the opposite of what she wanted to hear judging from the shift in Marion’s complexion from pale to ashen as she stared at her with a bemused expression.

“But there has to be,” Marion couldn’t keep the agitation from her voice, “I don’t understand,” she darted into the front room and came back with a battered looking cigar box she thrust towards Cassie. “What about this then, you must be able to get something from this. I paid five hundred for it.”

Cassie took a step back, placed her hand on top of the box and gently lowered it and Marion’s hand back down and out of her face. “There’s nothing attached to that, but it doesn’t really work like that. I’m not—I’m not psychic,” she quickly stopped, realising how that sounded. “Well not like that I mean...I can’t just-”

“This is a joke.” 

“You said this used to be a guesthouse back in the day, right?  Old building, a lot of history. A lot of creaks and noises so it's easy to picture-”

“-I’ve seen things. I’ve felt things. There has to be something here,” Marion put a hand over the top of her head and turned on her accusingly, “what good are you to me then?”

Now it was Cassie’s turn to be confused. “I don’t know what to tell you, but there’s nothing in here.” Normally this was a good thing. For the sane at least, “but you don’t want anybody haunting your home anyway,” she reasoned, “they can’t even pay rent.”

“Then what the hell am I paying you for?”

Cassie stifled the urge to remind her this was pro bono and remembered the ‘anonymous benefactor’ she mentioned who had given out her number. “When they told you to contact me what exactly did they tell you? Did they give you a name?” She asked,  already knowing the answer. Marian straightened to stand at full height, arms crossed, “His name was Marvin...or Martin something.” Marsden, Cassie quickly corrected in her dead. Who else. This had his sense of humor all over it. He recommended you,” she let out an indignant huff of breath through her nose. “He said you actually knew what you were doing. Well, let me tell you after this you’ll be lucky if anybody this side of the state so much as breathes near your direction.” 

“You promise?” Cassie murmured, but not quietly enough she quickly realised with a traitorous pang of guilt and winced as she looked up to face the other woman again. 

 “Out, go on, out,” Marion fumbled to get the words out, her eyes livid as she moved to usher her to the door. “Get out of my house!” 

Cassie reached for her cell phone to call a soon to be dead man and made her way towards the door before she had to be told twice. Making her way back to the car she dumped her bag back onto the backseat and sat down inside and fished the tin of mints out from the glove compartment with her free hand while the other scrolled through her contacts until ‘DO NOT ANSWER’ came up and dialled. It connected on the fifth ring. 

“You’re an ass,” she responded before he could say so much as a word.

“Absolutely. What about?” 

“Next time you decide to help do me a favour: don’t.”

“What?” She could practically see the impish look on Marsden’s stupid smug face, “I thought you could use a laugh after last time. I thought she’d be right up your alley. Actual proof people can live without a brain.”

“Where do you get these people?”

“I was just getting rid of some cast-offs. She wanted to take them off my hands and I was happy to oblige. What can I say?”

“That’s the lowest-”

 “A morality lesson? coming from you. I’m honoured. How is that martyr complex coming along?”

That last one stung more than she liked to admit, “bite me.”

“Careful who you say that to. They’ might take it as an invite.”

Biting back a retort she felt a prickle on the back of her neck and turned towards the driver side window to see the lady of the house glaring out from her front window. If looks could kill. She tucked the phone between her shoulder and her ear and pulled the visor down before starting the car. “I gotta go before the mob descends,” she hung up and started the engine as Marion’s eyes continued to bore into the side of the car. She didn’t get paid enough for this. She didn’t get paid at all. Peeling away from the curb she wondered if it was too late to go back to the day job and look into that telepathic waffle maker while she still had the chance. 

#wickedswriting #solo #rose colored spectre-cals

[blankdblank]

Glass Heart Pt 2

Pt 1 was part of @sdavid09 52 wk prompt challenge

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@love-of-fandoms, @aspiringtranslator, @lilith15000, @howdoistopadulting, @himoverflowers

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Shouts were heard across many a dinner table sharing the news of your thievery with many determined to go over and give you a piece of their mind on disturbing family relics. Only in their way over to see the land themselves only to freeze seeing the returned statues glowing in the early morning sun, clearly polished and pampered better than any had imagined.

Around them a clear set of indented paths and odd pits, upon further inspection of a bribed teen, each were filled with a layer of layered stones sealing in the sides of the deepest ones you had secured into place with oddly crossed metal pipes clearly linking them.

Between the smaller dips with raised frames clearly filled with layered stones in thick walls in the form of large planters dividing the clear pathways in the odd maze of a garden left to dry without shifting without your supervision. At the base of the largest circle a clear miniscule slope was uncovered feeding into a dip around the edges under the lowest step with pipes folded over the steps now with an odd steak the end was tied to leaving the elders to assume it was a planned marker for a drainage pump. The clear improvement in just a day left them baffled as to what you could finish with by the end of the week if you had done all this nearly alone in one day.

.

A long morning of work later and the new metal shingle roof was in place through your castle ending your team repairs on that for the time being until the guys were available in another months time to help swap out the wiring, plumbing and paneling throughout. Alone again you made the long walk back to your rental where you left your boots outside when you had knocked them on the front walk, showering in as hot water as you could muster up you felt your body relaxing you onto your next step. Dried off and pulling on a fresh pair of jeans over your matching set of lingerie you had been meaning to try out in public possibly able to flash a strap of your shoulder when the shoulder of your loose t shirt would drop to the side.

In your car however in the drive through the main square you caught glances of symbols forming the word ‘Shuktu’ above the doors used to mean ‘Kin Only’ when placed that way. Holding back your urge to cry you continued on driving ignoring the stares of the Dwarves pretending not to notice your presence there. From what you could remember Dale was a good two hour drive making you mumble to yourself, “Guess that takes ice cream out of the picture…”

Two hours out of your way brushing your wall of curls from your face you strolled through the lot of the shop collecting a cart along the way. Simple spare soaps and toiletries were gathered along with a cooler you would fill with ice. Barely half an hour later you had all you’d dream of needing and you collected your ice on the way out. You had stuck to mainly pasta, sauces, gravy mixes, bags of potatoes and vegetables able to handle the ride home with a risked try for a roll of hamburger, bag of fries and a box of creamsicles and milk in the cooler.

An obscenely long drive back you were elated to find the frozen items and milk still good for your first trip inside to unload it all. In the light of the sunset you started to pull together a simple pasta dinner that you ate while sipping on an alcoholic lemonade you sat back on the floor against the front of the couch watching some obscure film on a classic log tossing team. A ring from your phone broke your attention and you eyed the screen lighting up with another call from your ex you declined.

In its vanishing you eyed the messages on your screen from your cousin Lei and various relatives scolding you on your abrupt departure and the drastic demotion your ex had gotten. Wryly you chuckled and took another sip of your drink, “Ooh, that should sting.”

A skype call came in and you smirked seeing your friend’s face pop up. “Jaqi! There you are!”

With a giggle you gave a finger wave in return to hers, “Here I am.”

“You are ok? I heard from Daddy what happened. You’re not holed up in some motel, are you? Because we have a great number of properties you know you’re welcome to.”

You shook your head, “No. Staying in a place I rented, friend of my uncles on my dad’s side. Helping out with some family stuff. Looking close to a year, possibly for good if things work out.”

“Oh.” She pouted then asked with a playful grin, “Any cute guys out there?”

You giggled and lowered your drink from another sip, “Remember my Prince of Scowls?”

With a giddy squeal, “How is he?! Is he single?! How does he look?!”

You giggled again, “No idea if he’s single, he’s drop dead gorgeous and moody as ever.”

She chuckled, “Ooh, what is it with you and your weakness for scowls.”

You shrugged, “Just the Dwarf in me. Can’t help it. Meaner the scowl the more protective and snuggly they are.” Making her giggle as you did in delving more into her weeks of traveling she had planned ahead for her photography career for a top fashion magazine. For hours you chatted until you had cleaned up your dishes and sprinted upstairs to drag your comforter and pillows into the closet you locked to curl up on the floor for the night to hope to get some sleep before starting on making the first of the windows for the castle.

With thousands of windows and stained glass murals for doors and windows alike you had quite a bit to get done but thankfully you had sent ahead for some of the frames for the more intricate locations. Mainly for the windows topped with arches and various awkward shapes to fit in the odd cutouts between the visually confusing shelves covering nearly every inch of the walls you couldn’t wait to fill up again when everything was done.

…

Unable to sleep your eyes opened and you changed your clothes. Strolling out in the dark you found the piles of beams in the shop you loaded up on another cart and pulled along with all the tools you would need under a tall ladder. For hours you worked alone in the dark, starting front the supporting beams you slid the smaller arched beams through the notches into the tops of them. Bracketing down what you needed for extra support. Mentally you held them in place until you could set up the ladder between them to secure the meeting joints. Starting with a single arch in the dark. Under the light of the rising sun the entire area was covered in layered arches forming spiraled domes and smaller beams in the ground for securing points for decorative lattices and plaited walls you would layer climbing vines of flowers that would help to shade flowers needing a break from the harsh summer sun.

When the first of the cars and on foot passers by arrived you were seen in the distance laying a ditch for a stretch of pipes to feed from the branch of the river a mile off. When the beams had been finished you had finished installing the piping inside the full construction. And at the final length of tubing you heard the water rushing through to slowly fill the center section that when the pump was turned on would feed the fountains and sprinkler systems feeding from the smaller raised sections both for floating planters and decorations.

Panting at your glance to the growing crowd your arm rested on your shovel as you wiped your forehead with your free arm streaking a line of dirt across it. Inhaling deeply you turned back to filling the ditch back in with a wave of your hand urging the rolled back grass to settle back into place again. Strolling back to the courtyard you pulled the dirt filled cart over to the first raised planter you started to fill up now that the wooden supports for the properly secured layered stone walls were removed. One by one you pulled it around emptying it into the planters you marked with symbols in chalk to remind you which seeds and bulbs to plant there tonight.

Next your eyes fell to the slabs of unpolished opal you had pulled from the earth you split up into awkwardly aligned pyramids to the distant Dwarves looking on. One by one forming seating sections for those passing through you would finish off later. Barely an hour into the job and a low bellow sounded making you sigh and focus on your work as the Dwarves isn’t he distance flinched and double took between you and the group of massive pitch black mortar bears starting to trot their way over to you. All clearly over six feet tall in their fully grown stature known for their territorial tendencies, though this clan used to the townspeople were rather docile if respected and known to wander from time to time only to be brought back again by members of the Blacklock clan before any incidents would occur.

In the distance a few Dwarves chuckled betting if you could outrun them or not only to fall silent at their leader coming to a stop and strolled straight for you, pressing his forehead to yours in a giggle inducing stroke of his face against yours. Lost to your giggles the Dwarves could not hear in the distance a fur coated arm drew you against his chest for a tight hug you gladly returned mumbling sweetly to him in Bearish, “Hey there Big Bo. At least you remember me.”

The leader once a cub born the day you were now proudly showed you his large brood of sons along with his grand cubs, all at three feet tall already, that came bounding into the courtyard to climb all over you before inspecting the thankfully bear proof structures. Their happiest spot was to climb down into the center circle to splash into the filling pit then bound out to plop and wiggle all over you. Each element of the structure was shown and explained to them earning their awed stares at you in leading them to the greenhouse where you would start next after a stop at the wild beehives your kin tended to in good need of some fresh food sources to survive this year.

Stunned beyond belief at the video captured of your being accepted by the troublesome mortar bears known to dwell in your lands the Dwarves flooded through the town sharing the news puzzling them as to how you managed not to get chased off their lands.

.

A single swipe of your hand tore the foliage climbing the greenhouse walls with another after. This one focusing on the sand contained on the glass you tore free leaving the rest of what formed the glass to crumble to the ground you used a rusted snow shovel to scrape to the walls tearing the stubborn plants tearing the stone floor up from its original level places you would focus on removing next. Layering the giant stone tiles outside you returned inside and began to work on leveling the ground while the bears lounged in the green pool of water in the center of the room with the brave birds floating between them to get some relief from the growing heat.

.

Coated in sweat you panted hearing a truck backing down your drive up to your studio. “Oh no.” Walking out you removed your gloves you folded in your back pocket on the stroll out to the truck packed with trees and small shrubs, “Blast it all…”

A mix up dates had your trees unloaded into the field by the studio and you inhaled sharply while stretching your arms in the empty truck driving off again. The mixture of orange, lemon, lime, pear, cherry and apple trees sat by the hundred and you exhaled rolling your shoulders to head off to the empty patch of land you would be adding the majority of the citrus trees and at each of the areas you had marked off with the loaded cart packed with trees you forced holes open in the ground the trees were eased into and nestled safely one by one. Staggeringly to the last flickers of light you managed each of the trees into their homes including the final flowering trees and shrubs through the courtyard now taking shape a bit more.

Leaving the rest of the seeds and bulbs you had received while the bees from your hives set out to inspect the new food sources you returned back to your studio. Heavily by the completed wrought iron frame for a special gazebo you settled on your stool and got to shaping each special piece of colored glass to form murals with spinning panels that when hit by rain will sing as the water falls into the flute like tubes below the murals.

The sound of an engine dying and doors opening and closing turned your head to see the dying headlights on a familiar blue truck and with a sigh you turned back to the intricate glass knob you were currently making raising the metal rod to your lips to blow a flame tipped heated breath through it adding a special spiral of flecks through the center. Twisting it around you propped it between your knees grabbing a metal spike you used to work a dipping spiraled head through steady turns of the pole hearing the heavy boots of the men entering while they looked at the vast piles of possible bits for your castle they couldn’t quite work out.

When they stopped they remained silent in hopes of not breaking your focus stirring you to say, “Lovely evening for a drive?”

Balin grinned, “Yes, yes it is. Much cooler now the sun has gone down.”

Thorin nodded then drew in a breath blurting out, “Just what do you imagine you’re doing?”

Blindly you answered in turning the pole again adding the final spiraled dip deepening Balin’s grin, “Making a doorknob. Would you like one?”

“I mean with the statues.”

“Ah.”

Under tightly knit brows his words exploded out of him, “How dare you imagine you can just go and move the founder of the Blacklock clan and his-,”

“Dabondor.”

Thorin, “What?!”

“Dabondor, his name, would you like the names of his bears as well as their unique abilities and gifted knowledge to him?”

Thorin, “Amazing! You can read a book!” At that you lowered your pick wielding hand and turned your head to look up at him with a stoic yet challenged expression Balin nearly stepped back at assuming you would throw something at Thorin, “The matter is no one moves those statues! If necessary only kin is allowed to move them and only under the strictest-,”

“Who told you I’m not?”

“Not what?!”

“Kin? Who told you I’m not?” His lips parted and his gaze darkened, “I was born on this land who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do with it? I know the laws and charters as well as you, Durin.”

“I have lived here for centuries! And never once has there been an Elf born on these lands!”

Softly you replied through a chuckle, “Wow!” His exhaling breath came with a growl and you added, “Are you going to feel like an ass when you remember me.”

“I will not feel like an ass! Because you have never lived here before!”

On his heels he turned and you looked to Balin saying, “I’ve a full stash of honey, if you or even pookie over there would like some-,”

Thorin turned again, “Just because you are managing these lands does not mean you can hand out the clan’s honey! None of my kin will accept anything from the Blacklock hives until it has been handed back to a fully recognized clan member!” he turned for a moment then added, “I am not your pookie!”

You nodded to his back and replied, “Well aren’t you just full of hot air today. Why not put it to good use and blow me?” A smirk was flashed to Balin in his fight not to laugh and keep a steady expression when red faced Thorin turned to see you looking to the fire with pole raised to your lips for another heated breath making it just a bit larger emphasizing the color effects from the swirls.

Thorin, “You have never lived here!”

You nodded again lowering the pole you tapped against the steadying stand making the base of the knob split off freeing it to fall into your palm as you said to Balin, “Let me know about the honey.” Thorin turned to you and you smirked at him grabbing the metal innards of the knob you eased into the heated glass you cooled and sealed around it saying, “Just because you don’t remember me doesn’t mean I didn’t exist. I have a hunch your cousin has a notion who I could be.” Standing up you moved to add the knob to the cushioned box with the others saying as his eyes scanned over your fire lit face urging his body to untense at his first full glimpse of you spreading a greatly despised warmth through his body followed by an urge to move closer to kiss you in your challenging smirk. “I look forward to our next argument upon which I will remain the gracious victor I am. Enjoy your drive pookie.”

Exhaling sharply as you moved to grab another clump of glass to heat up he simply growled and stormed his way to the truck leaving Balin scratching a mental tally in your favor. Stealing a glimpse of your bear print tattoos on your wrist lit by the flames through your nod at his brief wave in trotting over to join his cousin in the truck.

.

“The nerve!” Thorin growled out for the fourth time only to look at Balin who was intently looking out his passenger side window to avoid laughing, “You are not accepting that honey!”

Balin nodded, “Whatever you say Thorin.”

“Some nerve! Blow me! She said that! Blow me!”

Balin freed a weak chuckle in answering, “It was a clever pun.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at his cousin who said, “Did you have to insinuate she was lying about her kin?”

“She is!” At Balin’s pause Thorin’s heart skipped feeling for the first time he might be terribly wrong in his assumption of you. “Who is she then? She said you know who she is, who is she then?!”

Balin simply shook his head knowing the answer he wanted to give would only anger Thorin worse and send him back to you in a rage for the pain he had felt at having lost you in their lives so long ago. “I am uncertain. However,” he turned his head to catch Thorin’s eye in their parking in the driveway of their own castle, “By looks alone she does appear to be a relation of the clan.”

Thorin huffed and killed the engine climbing out of the truck only to slam the door behind him making Balin shake his head, whispering, “Ass, ass, ass.” In his climb out he saw Thorin heading for the door and shook his head remembering the pain and anger in your eyes at his first insult to you.

Inside the door all in a huddle the Durins came into view and Dis asked, “Well, what did she say?”

Thorin promptly fired back a bit louder than he had intended in his lingering rage, “Blow me!”

Diaa’s mouth dropped open and Grandma Niro said, “Thorin Durin!!”

Balin came into view as Thorin stormed up the curved staircase in an angered trot through his cousin saying, “No, Thorin went off on her and she meant it as a pun. She said he was exceptionally full of hot air today and he should put it to good use and blow her, she was blowing out a doorknob.”

At the top of the stairs Thorin shouted, “No one takes her honey!” Turning to storm to his too he shouted, “No Elf has ever been born here!” At his door Balin’s grin split across his face at the final cry of, “Pookie!” The door slammed and Balin broke into a fit of giggles while Fili and Kili did the same.

Diaa came closer as Balin wipes his cheeks, asking him, “What did he mean by no Elf was ever born here?”

“Our tenant claims to have been born on those lands and is part of the Blacklock clan. A claim Thorin adamantly claims to be false. He also issued a ban on is accepting anything from her produced from those lands.”

Niro eyed his expression asking, “And you?”

Balin wet his lips answering in a confirming glance that Thorin wasn’t able to hear, “She stated Thorin would feel like an ass when he remembers her. Inferring she knew us and we knew her,”

Diaa, “Balin, Thorin right?”

Balin, “Thorin is an ass. A terribly well meaning one, but ass none the less.”

.

Upstairs through all the stacks of scrapbooks and piles of unsorted pictures Thorin feverishly searched for any sight of any Elves, crossing off all except a single one that seemed similar to you who he couldn’t place. He knew all the former residents of this town and her he recognized but he wasn’t certain how. Assuming a passing visitor he left it to you might have been born in the hospital just within town borders, if anything at all. But under no circumstances were you a resident or relative of any he had known.

Again his mind in moving to sit on his bed to remove his boots, in the firelight flickering across his legs and arms he shook his head forcing his focus off you with that temptingly fiery gaze locked on him. “Pookie.” Muttering it to himself he tossed his boots away into his closet then turned to plop back across his bed in a defeated sigh already doubting his formerly steadfast belief he never knew you. The contrary hurting him all the worse for possibly having missed you and now insulted you so severely to the point he seemed irretrievable.

.

Bathed and changed into your comfy sweats you closed your eyes in the dark closet lit only by a glowing fish night light so you wouldn’t slam into the island in your traveling through it. Stretched on your stomach on the inflatable mattress you had bought you raised your comforter higher over your back and tried to force the growling Dwarf from your mind so you could get some well needed rest.

All night and halfway to noon you slept and groggily made your breakfast that would fuel you the rest of the day and into the night. Another long stroll found you back at your studio on the edge of an incoming storm. Heavily the rain pounded and your new trees soaked in the water and stretched out their roots claiming their own spaces while you slaved away on your glass gazebo. On the edge of another storm when you had finished another project you made a brief night covered trip to the Durin castle. A simple bag was left hanging from the handle and you turned to make the walk back, returning in time for the first drops of the storm to fall while you returned your focus to the windows for the castle.

.

Heavily Fili and Kili came crashing down onto their sleeping Uncle, who jolted to consciousness as the rest of his relatives all poured in to join in on the hug. Chuckling to himself Thorin pulled out of bed and found his feet to join the other into the dining room to enjoy his birthday breakfast. After the meal as always he was led into the living room where he opened each of the presents offered to him from his various relatives then paused at the final one from Dis.

“Who is this from?” Thorin’s eyes met hers with an arched brow at the small yellow bag.

Dis shrugged, “It was on the handle when I went to check the mail.”

Thorin’s eyes lowered and he set the bag on his thigh and reached inside finding a small box covered with etchings of a phrase through outlines of clouds and a sideways crescent moon. ‘If you don’t know where you’re going then any road will get you there.’

Lowly he repeated the phrase then eyed the spinning lock on the front he shifted revealing a rounded tail in a half circle that when raised revealed the body of a cat crouching lifting the lid his lips parted in seeing the glass figurine inside the blue velvet lined box. On the inside of the lid was a slip of paper with roses doodled around the elegantly written note of, ‘To spark your memory here’s a clue. Many Happy Returns Pookie.’

Unable to be furious at the moment he raised the figurine of the Cheshire Cat with head propped up on his little arms tail raised cockily through his wide grin. Balin with a smirk asked, “Any idea on who sent it?”

Lowering it back into the box he answered, “Our tenant.”

Balin chuckled nodding his head to the gift, “Quite a gift. Some might say she’s sweet on you with efforts like that.”

Thorin rolled his eyes and locked the box again his fingers eased across the lid of, “Her intention is to taunt me. A note inside says it’s supposed to be a clue.”

Dis, “Clue?”

Thorin sighed, “To who she is.” Standing up he cradled the box in his hand, “I’m going to head to my studio. Get an early start.”

Niro hurried over to steal another hug, “Don’t you forget about dinner tonight. All your favorites.”

Thorin nodded and chuckled, “I won’t.” Moving past her in the dispersing of the group while Balin wondered just what else was on that note to keep him from showing it off and smirked to himself seeing Thorin’s care in handling the stunningly crafted gift.

Up to his studio he glanced out the wall of windows aimed straight out to the fold of two peaks coated in trees leading to your rental cottage blocked by the growing storm outside. Another sigh left him as he sat at his sketching table and set down your gift again, carefully inspecting every inch of it after setting the figurine aside. Lowly in a hum he mumbled, “No manufacturing markers.” His eyes focused for a moment on the small bear print with an Elvish rune inside of it for the word ‘Pear’ freeing a confused hum from him before he turned to the figurine to do the same noting the intricate details put into it and a similar stamp of the same paw and rune combination. Setting it inside the box again he pulled out the note he read then flipped over then sighed only seeing more doodles of roses across the back. “Why would she make this?”

Shaking his head he put the note back and closed the box then rolled to his clay figurine rolling up his sleeves to start up on the final touches of it before he would go through the process of casting the copper statue he was tasked to bring to life from a child’s sketch. In the middle of the casting process when he was left with nothing to do but wait he did what he always did, turn to a spare bit of clay and begin to shape blindly allowing his hands and subconscious to lead him.

A sounding of his alarm to remind him of dinner snapped him out of his daze and in his eyes focusing on the sharpened tool in his fingers he eyed the familiar pouting lips he was shaping. Taking in the full face he had been shaping he sat up flinching his hands back seeing your face with loose curls cascading around it stemming form the unshaped back half of the clay. Shaking his head he stood leaving his tool with the others and turned the carving around exhaling steadily knowing his mind had wandered as his dreams had entertaining Balin’s belief you might actually care for him in all his irritating idiotic wonder. In a quick turn he grabbed your gift he carried through the castle to his room to set it on his dresser where he was certain it wouldn’t get knocked around then showered and changed to head down to dinner.

Pt 3

#THorin x Reader OC #Hobbit #lotr

[redroseinsanity]

Ōmagatoki - Day 3

@daisugaweek2019​ | Day 3 -  Drama/Music

Chapters: 3/7

Summary: In the Kamakura period, a fallen samurai undertakes a journey to pray for the mountain god’s mercy as a famine threatens his people, but instead meets an enchanting tree spirit. Daichi knows that the kodama is possibly the most dangerous being he has ever encountered, and yet, he falls.

—

“What if I told you that there’s a price to pay for saving your people?”

“What kind of price?”

“A sacrifice.”

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven

Daichi slammed through a particularly thick part of the undergrowth, felt his foot go through a hole covered by weeds and wild vegetation, and remembered to tuck his head down just in time to crash through several branches and tumble down a small mound. 

Staring up at the grey sky, thick with clouds, he let a string of curses escape his mouth. He started with cursing his leg, as he always did, then he moved on to cursing the enemies, for starting the war and forcing the deaths of so many. Then the crops, for wilting and starving his people and finally himself. 

Himself for not being fast enough to dodge that weapon without knowing it would injure him beyond repair; himself for not having anything concrete to feed his people with; himself for not being enough; and himself, for not being able to forget sparkling hazel eyes and the mischievous grin that came with it. 

Swearing as he felt the sting of fresh scrapes, he hauled himself into a sitting position. The tiny bursts of pain were a slight inconvenience compared to the way his mood had soured over the course of a day. As though in tandem with him, the sky rumbled its displeasure. 

He had awoken surrounded by crystal clear droplets of dew adorning perfectly shaped leaves and the rich scent of a treeful of blossoms, but no Suga. 

Daichi had sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, as though wiping hard enough would erase the night and return him to a twilight beside the curious being. He would trade the birds’ dawn melody and the way morning light glanced off gleaming blades of grass for a chance to run a finger over the edges of Suga’s kosode and perhaps, perhaps hold on for more than a sunset. 

But the knowledge that his limited time ebbed away while he was here, cavorting with someone who may very well be the daydreams of a desperate mind, hovered and worried him. He loathed having to make a call, but then again neither did generals on the field want to have to decide whether to leave a portion of their men and retreat for the sake of their remaining troops. 

He knew he had to, and so he did. One more try and if he failed to find anything, he would make his offerings at the most suitable place he could find and return home. There was no point chasing flimsy tales or stumbling after dreams in the mist here if he could be of better use plowing the fields or mending tools in his lands below. 

That had been five hours ago and as much as Daichi hated to admit, he could feel his body tiring fast while his mind chanted, ‘You’ve accomplished nothing, go home.’

By late afternoon, he found himself back where he began, where Suga had left him, and a bitter smile that was tinged with sorrow appeared. It seemed that, at the end, this seemed to be the most fitting place to make a plea, to beg for a bargain and then to say goodbye as well. 

It was quick work to get a tiny fire built from dried leaves and twigs going, and settling in front of it, Daichi made a bow. 

Drawing breath to begin, Daichi paused, reaching for the words he had carried up this mountain with him and instead, finding only Suga’s honeyed voice. What do you want? 

You.

Keep reading on AO3 or after the cut

“I’m not sure if that will work, but certainly, by all means,” Daichi’s hair nearly caught fire as he jumped, retracting the instinctive motion towards his sword when he recognised the voice and, after glancing around wildly, found Suga on the lowest branch of the nearest tree. 

Daichi’s heart nearly fell out of his mouth when, in a move too sudden for Daichi to even think about catching him, Suga leapt nimbly from his branch and landed lightly on the ground . 

As Suga approached, Daichi noticed the faintest strain that tightened the corners of a normally radiant smile and despite everything, a spark of worry flared amidst all the exhaustion and dread that he had been harbouring. 

He didn’t miss the way the fire that had been small but stable went out in the same instant that Suga lowered himself to the ground next to Daichi. 

Unable to stop himself, words failing him and a single question burning brighter than all the others, he extended one broad palm towards Suga. 

With a bemused expression, Suga followed the progress of that single tanned hand until it touched his shoulder, withdrew slightly and then pressed a little harder, as though unable to believe that it had encountered something solid at all. 

Looking mildly mortified, Daichi snatched his hand back, cheeks stained red as Suga’s eyes danced in unspoken amusement. 

“I just had to see if you were real,” Daichi confessed in a mumble. Throwing his head back, Suga laughed and it sounded like the autumn rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. 

“Either way, I have to go,” He continued, and Suga instantly sobered, a flash of what Daichi interpreted, hoped, was disappointment, crossed his face. 

“And your people?” Suga asked, slim fingers running over the ground that began to see dark spots as fat droplets raced towards the earth. 

“I will find some other way to feed them, perhaps see what my family has in our stores,” Daichi squared his jaw, “It is our duty to them.”

“So you’ll give them your food if you had to?” Suga’s voice raised above its usual liquid gold tones, perhaps to be heard over the beginnings of a shower or in disbelief. When Daichi made no response, “Starve yourself to feed them?”

Daichi did nothing except to tighten his jaw while the rain started to fall in earnest. 

“Why?” Daichi looked up in surprise because Suga had never raised his voice before, but now he was short of shouting as his cheeks flushed with anger, “Why do you always assign so little value to yourself?”

“My value is in what I can do, and since I’m no longer a samurai, my role is as a lord to these people, a life dedicated to them is a life well spent,” Daichi’s tone was even and measured as he met Suga’s outraged gaze. 

“So if I told you that your harvest would be prosperous if you gave your life for it?” Suga bordered on livid as his eyes darkened and darkened still. 

“So be it,” Daichi whispered, repeating one of the first things he’d ever heard Suga say. 

It wasn’t until Daichi heard the creaking of wood behind him that he whirled to find a massive tree erupting from the ground and burgeoning into full size at impossible speeds. 

Before he knew it, he was slamming into the solid trunk, thick vines beside him climbing ferociously upwards, and he opened his eyes to Suga, inches away from his face and settling an inhuman weight on his chest with a single arm.  

“Sawamura Daichi, do you know what I am? I can end your life before the next drop of rain falls,” Suga rasped, his eyes turning almost obsidian. 

Daichi looked at him, at the raindrops rolling down the curve of the most perfect face he had ever seen, the miniscule pearls that clung to lashes, the eyes that were foreign but enrapturing all the same, and he relaxed completely, leaving himself to be held up by that incomprehensible pressure on his breastbone. 

“To see your face before I die would be the most selfish thing I have ever wished for,” Daichi murmured, brushing away a stray lock of argon that hung in Suga’s face. 

Above them, the tree slowed in its growth, instead unfurling a series of heavy branches and deep green leaves. 

Daichi watched with detached fascination as Suga’s eyes settled into the exact shade of the leaves that sheltered them now and waited, as Suga remained still for what felt simultaneously like a brief moment and an eternity. 

Sinking down to the grass, Suga released his hold while, heaving to push air back into his lungs, Daichi slid to follow him there. The passing storm had slowed into a drizzle and for a while, the methodical tapping of droplets hitting leaves and Daichi’s breaths were the only things that resounded. 

“The first time I ever saw you,” Suga began softly, “Your leg had caught on a tangle of vines and root. You could have cut yourself free but you patiently unwound yourself and left everything intact." 

As his breathing steadied, Daichi noticed the way Suga’s hands trembled and he resolutely balled his hands in his robes to restrain himself from reaching over to clasp them in his. 

"It’s not supposed to be like this,” Suga continued, lifting tumultuous eyes that rioted with greens and browns to Daichi, “Humans are destructive and greedy, they take and take and never think of anything but themselves." 

Around them, the weak light that pierced through the dispersing clouds shivered over slick leaves and crept up to them, edging around their feet and the roots of Suga’s creation. 

"But you? You give and you never seem to think of yourself and-” Suga sighed, sweeping a damp curtain of silver shot hair behind his ear and blinking away stray raindrops, “I don’t understand you. I don’t understand why you need to save them when they have brought this upon themselves.”

“But it’s important to you,” He fixed Daichi with an unreadable, pensive look, “So I will tell you that your people have strayed away from remembering who is responsible for life and growth. If they begin building shrines and paying their respects to the mountain god and the gods of the harvest, they will survive the cold.”

“I thought you were supposed to bargain for the conditions with me before supplying the information,” Daichi could not resist from tease gently. 

Suga’s face cycled through a series of surprise, exasperation, fondness and resolute decisiveness before he smiled ruefully. 

“You’re already willing to give your life, is there not a condition that you’re not amenable to?”

“True,” Daichi agreed, “So what is it?”

“Stay with me.”

When Daichi opened his mouth to reply, Suga’s smile softened to amused affection tinged with age old melancholy. 

“I know your time is precious, humans do not have much to begin with, so all I ask is for one more day and you may return with this information.”

Daichi shut his mouth and blinked, recalibrating his response. 

“You have my word,” He said easily, and hesitated before asking, “Are you the mountain god?”

Suga huffed out a delicate laugh as his lashes fluttered, mirth quickly replacing the solemn atmosphere. 

“No,” he exhaled, “I’m a kodama, a tree spirit, if you will. The mountain god is hardly present, at least, not in this realm." 

"A kodama,” Daichi mused, wrinkling his brow, “Therefore, a yokai?" 

Seeing a crease appear between Suga’s brows and a pout begin to form on his lips, Daichi hastily backpedaled. 

"Or more of a yosei?” He hazarded and Suga’s face smoothened into a bright expression. 

“This is my home,” he explained, “Our presence keeps it thriving. We used to walk among your fields until we began to feel unwelcome there.”

“I apologise,” Daichi said with genuine regret and Suga snorted. 

“Yes, I forgot that you are solely responsible for the entire world’s shortcomings,” He got out through a burble of laughter. 

Daichi let the bubble of amusement be buoyed up by the swell of joy and laughed for the first time in months. It started out as a subdued chuckle but grew into a full belly laugh that felt as though something was loosening in his chest and pouring itself out in his exhales. 

From beside him, Suga’s eyes had turned immeasurably tender, shining as they trained on the curve of Daichi’s lips, and then shadowing as the radiance was dimmed by the knowledge of sorrow anticipated. 

Kosode - The basic robe that many Japanese of that period wore, can be held together with an obi or belt. Originally worn as innerwear, it later became outerwear and is as simple as Japanese clothing at that time gets. 

Kodama - Technically, it’s a yokai, Suga’s just being picky. A tree spirit or a spirit who lives in a tree.

Yokai - A demon, spirit or supernatural creature in Japanese folklore

Yosei - A subset of yokai (if I’m not wrong), but more akin to fairies than demons

If anything looks inaccurate, please forgive me or correct me (preferably both)!

#daisuga #sawamura daichi #sugawara koushi #haikyuu!! #daisugaweek2019 #haikyuu fanfiction #redwrites #haikyuufanfics

[starfaring-princelotor]

Originally posted by picturesoflotoreveryday.

Moon Flower

Summary: Young Prince Lotor discovers a field of moon flowers and meets his first friend.

Pairings: Lotor x Half-GalraF!Reader

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing.  ★

Warnings: Mentions of half-breeds, cliché romance trope, childhood friends to lovers, awkward teenage hormones, first kiss, ooc kinda?

Foo Fighters - Everlong

Part One___Part Two___Part Three

Extinction (Bad Ending)___ The Giving Tree___Moonlight Path

Evolution (Good Ending)___Breaking the Ice ___For My Family___Priorities

Lotor peeked from behind the tree meekly, small claws digging into the wood in slight nervousness. It was night time and little Lotor, ever the curious Galra, had slipped out the castle walls to explore what laid beyond. His parents wouldn’t know, at least, they shouldn’t. They probably thought he snuck out to the quartberry orchards to indulge his appetite, when in actuality, he ran to a different, more private, field. He discovered it, so it was HIS. It was his secret hide-out.

But, as his wide-eyed self scanned the flowers blooming in the expansive meadow, he saw that there was an intruder. Someone else was here, but he was unsure how to...chase this trespasser out. So for now, he just watched you cautiously, watched how you plucked the flower and sniffed it. Watched you flump back on the ground, arms and legs splayed out as if embracing the starry sky.

He let out a gasp when he watched you eat the flower.

His flowers!

Your ears twitched at the new sound and you turned your attention right in his direction. Lotor let out a small “eep!” then completely hid himself. If he can’t see you, then you can’t see him, right? Though, that young mind of his did not help in this situation at all. Little Lotor didn’t even hear you sneak up on him or the rush of footsteps dig into the dirt while you ran across the field.

“Hey! Who’re you?”

Lotor stumbled back when your face popped up barely an inch in front of him. He let out an indignant noise, something between a yelp and awkward stuttering, then took a large step back. Large in accordance to his smallish legs. Your eyes, big and inquisitive, blinked owlishly at this guy, this anxious, white-haired guy who couldn’t have been any older than you. Slowly, a smile grew on your lips.

A new friend!

“I’m-”

“Lotor. I’m Prince Lotor!” he interrupted, summoning what little courage he could after the shock of having YOU surprise him wore off.

“Lotor, huh?” you poked his side and he pouted, “Wanna play hide and seek with me?”

Little Lotor was...speechless. You took his silence as a yes, grabbed his hand, then dragged him to the field of moon flowers.

“I can’t reach it!”

“Um, it’s because you are short.”

You let out an indignant huff then shoved his shoulder, but all Lotor did was giggle in mischief. Tonight, the two of you had gone to the quartberry orchards after you complained to him that you were hungry. Of course, his little tummy had rumbled too, and he figured some ripe berries were perfect for dinner. Or dessert, seeing as it was very late in the night. You attempted to jump up and snag a bushel of berries, but Lotor was right. You were...tiny.

“Well, how do YOU get them then, huh?” you crossed your arms, sticking your lower lip out in defiance.

“Like this, watch,” his little legs tap tap tap to the tree and he glanced back, “Are you watching?”

Lotor scooted closer to the base then looked down at his hands. He knew how to get those berries easy-peasy. Concentrating with his tongue sticking out, he grunted for a few seconds before...pop! His claws came out! With a triumphant grin, he dug his nails into the wood and started to climb, scaling the trunk like he has done several times before. You let out an awed “Oooh” as he finally perched himself at the lowest branch.

Then, he started eating the closest bushel he could find, figuring it was a good...self reward for his hard work.

“Hey! That’s not fair! How come I don’t got those?” you sadly looked down at your own hands, wondering when you would get some gnarly, cool claws like Lotor.

With berry juice smeared on his lips, baby cheeks in full chipmunk mode, Lotor blinked down at you. Maybe you didn’t know how to get your pointy nails out yet? Either way, that sad, puppy look on your face made him frown, too. He cut a few berry vines, making sure he had enough for the both of you, then dangled it over your head. It was your big, doe eyes and sudden happy smile that made Lotor grin back.

“Here, catch them, okay?” he dropped one, two, six, and you managed to save each of them.

“Thanks, Lotor!” you stuffed a handful of berries in your mouth while he climbed down the tree, both of you sitting on the grass together, “You’re the best!”

Lotor smiled with his little kitten fangs showing.

“Ah! When can I get those, too?”

Tick. Tck.

“Psst...Lotor...wake up, I know you’re in there…”

Tick.

Lotor sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It was so, so late at night, but he knew exactly who was throwing rocks at his balcony window. It was a habit with you, now. Though, even in his drowsiness, a happy smile crept on his lips. He shuffled out of bed quickly then silently opened the large glass doors...only to be pegged in the face with a tiny pebble. He let out that same sputtering when he first met you those few years ago, before looking over the edge.

Your expression instantly lit up when your friend’s face peered down at you, “Were you sleepin’?”

“No,” he lied, but you knew he was just joking around, “But I am sure my parents are.”

“Pssh, c’mon, Lotor,” you motioned him to come down, “Let’s go to the fields again. They won’t know. Besides, didn’t you say you got tomorrow off from studies or something?”

It was true. Dayak has started teaching him all about Galra history, Galra traditions, and while he enjoyed it, Lotor often found himself thinking about spending time outside the desk. Outside with his friend, in that field, playing tag and hide and seek and wrestling and eating and napping. Kid stuff that invaded his thoughts more and more the longer he was stuck behind a book.

Plus, he liked sharing his knowledge with you under the full moon.

“Sounds logical to me,” he nodded, already climbing over the metal border, “Very well. Catch me.”

“W-wai-Lotor, no-”

It took all your willpower, and his, to not laugh too loud when his lanky body crashed on top of you in a tangle of limbs.

Lately, Lotor has been feeling a little too warm. A fever, he thought, but that wouldn’t stop him from sneaking out and continuing your night-time shenanigans. Besides, if he was late, if he didn’t arrive on time, you would have the benefit of pouncing on him in a surprise attack. And Lotor certainly couldn’t let you get the best of him, now could he? It filled him with smug satisfaction every time he managed to pin YOU down first.

He tied up his hair quickly, since last time you almost won by yanking it too hard, then stealthily crept through the woods. The field came in view and there you were, humming innocently and plucking his precious flowers, completely oblivious to your surroundings. So safe. Our private little haven. Lotor crouched lowly and when you turned your head, you only had a split second to see him out of the corner of your eyes before he lunged at you with the speed of a hungry panther.

You had a moon flower in your mouth and you couldn’t even get a word out when Lotor roughly tumbled with you. Still, that didn’t mean you gave up so easily! You wrestled back, rolling and grunting, trying to get the upper hand on the larger teen, but his damn claws were great weapons to latch onto anything he wanted. Mainly, your shoulder since his hips were strong enough on their own to hold you down.

Spitting grass out of your mouth, you let out a groan and laughed, “Okay, okay, I concede! I yield!”

You couldn’t see Lotor’s cocky grin from behind you, but you could hear it in his damn voice, “What is the score? 54 to 21? You must try harder next time, dear.”

“Hey, hey, it’s 54 to 22! Give me some credit here,” you corrected, arms starting to ache as they twisted behind you in his strong hold, “But, y’know, who’s keeping count?”

Lotor chuckled in amusement, but it slowly died down when his nose...tickled. He has been in these fields so many times, he had already gotten used to the smell of moon flowers wafting in the night. It covered you and him, but this scent, it was different, it was spicy. He hooded his eyes and leaned down towards your neck, following his nose and disregarding that this was some odd instinct going on within his body.

He dug his face into your hair and fully closed his eyes, then he sniffed you. Not discreetly at all.

“Lotor? Lotor, you weirdo, did you just sniff me?”

Your voice snapped him out of his intoxicated state, but that scent was already burned into his mind. It was you, that spice came from you. It made him feel much too warm now. That, and he was thoroughly embarrassed he was caught doing something weird, something no Prince should ever do. Lotor released his grasp on you and backed off your body, letting you sit up and face him. His face flushed a cute wine color and his eyes, stars, he couldn’t look at you after that. Shameful, what was he thinking?

Then, you laughed, that carefree laugh, and all the worries mixing in his stomach disappeared.

Lotor’s eyes widened, blush still very prominent on his cheeks, then you tackled him suddenly. Surprise attack, indeed. He let out an “oof!” as you laid on top of him and his arms hugged you in comfortable familiarity. The way you were laying on him with the glow of the moon lighting up your face had a new feeling beat in his heart. He had thought his sniffing would’ve truly weirded you out.

Though, you proved that you were just as weird as he was when you dug your face into the side of his neck and sniffed him too. He was stunned, even more shocked when he could feel you smile against his warm skin. You...liked this? Of course you did. Why would something like sniffing push you two apart? Lotor was a fool to think you would run away over something so trivial. Two half-breeds, sniffing each other.

“You smell good, like,” you paused, hummed, “Like...lavender. Lilac? Forget-me-nots?”

Lotor could get used to this welcoming feeling blooming in his chest.

“And you’re really, really warm. Let’s sleep out here tonight.”

“Damn, that’s...that’s a lot.”

Lotor blanched at you, perhaps pouting just a bit, at your bluntness. Your face was super close to his, examining each and every swollen pimple on his sharp features. Not one, not two, but four. All in the most unfortunate of places, too. His nose, his chin, forehead, and his left cheek. You hummed deep in thought and slowly raised a finger, intending to...poke them. It was fascinating.

Well, fascinating to YOU.

“Oh, shut up, I can not believe I have so many,” Lotor’s complexion was one thing he carefully maintained and to have these abominations pop up overnight greatly knocked down his ego.

To him, it was downright embarrassing, if not a little painful. The second your finger was within half an inch of his pimple, Lotor’s hand came up and clamped around your wrist. Firmly. Now, you couldn’t satisfy your curiosity. Already sensing your other hand rising up, he caught that one in his hold, too. You squirmed in your restraint, though you had no luck breaking free. It was now that Lotor took a chance to truly just...stare at you.

Did your lashes always look so long and full?

“It’s okay, Lotor! They’re like, uh...comets! Yeah, they landed on your face,” you joked, to which he only rolled his eyes, “Little fallen stars, y’know? Let’s draw them together and make a constellation!”

“Absolutely NOT!”

You laughed out loud, not one so easily to give up, even if he said no. Arms and hands wiggling, Lotor had a hard time keeping you locked by the wrists, but you finally broke free. Immediately your fingers pinched both of his cheeks playfully, then stretched them here and there. Can I call you comet face from now on? If possible, his pouty lips only grew more in the light of such a humiliating nickname.

Lotor was getting older and taller than you, much to your playful complaints. That heat didn’t completely disappear, but now it was more manageable. It didn’t impede his studies or anything like that. It didn’t wedge an awkwardness between you two, which he was eternally grateful for. Under the pressure of his father and mother, of Dayak, of his duties as a Prince, he was glad he could steal little moments of freedom with you.

Like now. Your body was curled into his side, you are so squishy, while his hand laid loosely on your hip. Lotor was comfortable, he wasn’t a Prince with you. He was just that same anxious kid those many years ago. No, actually. Lotor likes to think he has grown into someone you could proudly call his childhood friend. Or perhaps...maybe something more than friend.

“Open,” he demanded and you did, your mouth parting while he fed you the apple held in his hand.

“Lotor,” you started, staring at the sky that was puffy with heavy clouds, “I think it’s gonna rain soon. We should get you back before you get soaked. I know how much you hate it when your hair frizzes.”

No, he didn’t want this to end. The night just started! Lotor took a bite out of the fruit then chewed silently, debating on what to do with you. On one hand, yes, he did hate how the humidity puffed up his hair in a what you call an “adorable cotton-headed grape.” On the other hand, you would leave his hold, which was already the worst option in his mind.

“Come stay with me tonight,” he heard you stop chewing and he pressed his cheek against the top of your head, “You hate the rain too, do you not?”

Yes, you did. Wet, cold, soggy. Loud and the storms on Daibazaal lasted much too long for your liking. And the lightning and thunder. You cuddled more against Lotor just thinking about it. His offer was so tempting, though. And when you looked up at him, saw that smile of his, saw that firm caring side reflect his cosmic eyes, you couldn’t say no. Just tonight, just this once.

“As Prince, I have control of who stay-”

“Uh-uh. No. You don’t get to use that title with me, you nerd,” you teased and his eyes lit up at your challenging words, “You said your name was Lotor. Lo-tor. Before you said Prince.”

And that’s how you’ve been calling him since you two met.

On the way back to his balcony, it had begun raining, and it pushed the both of you to start running. His hand was tightly wound with yours as the night sky flashed lightning at your heels, but you two...you were laughing at the circumstances. See? Told ya so. Luckily, it was so loud in the storm, neither of you worried about being caught scaling up to his room or making too much noise.

Under the awning, both Lotor and yourself were soaked to the bone. After the laughter died down, you two simply stood facing each other, taking in each other’s appearance. His hair was limp now, just like your mop, and his hands were still latched onto yours. Lotor was tethering you to him and he found that, well, he didn’t want to let go. Not yet. The door could wait. He wanted to stare at you a bit more, let that warmth rise over his body pleasantly. Judging by the adoring look in your eyes, he guessed you felt it too.

His heart nearly burst from his chest when you brought his hands up to cup your face, allowing him to hold what he deemed the moon of his life. Lotor wasn’t that nervous kid anymore. Never again, not when your eyes shined up at him like those nights you would gaze upon the distant galaxies. Like those nights when the both of you spotted a shooting star whizzing through the dark sky.

Lotor leaned down, pulled you to his body, and kissed you gently with all the heat and passion he could muster.

He heard the distant chime of bells ringing in his head when his eyes slid close in pure bliss.

“Let us review your alphabet in Ta’kivy.”

Like clockwork, Lotor automatically began speaking words along with every letter Dayak announced. His mind unconsciously, yet perfectly, nuanced each of them all in proper order, not once missing a beat. She was proud of him, nodding in approval as her pupil continued to impress her. He will make a fine Emperor one day. That is, until he said your name.

Lotor knew instantly he made a mistake. He gulped as nervousness spiked in his arms, all the way up to his chest, and his eyes widened in...panic.

“What was that?” Dayak asked, narrowing her eyes at the Prince’s reaction.

He quickly scrambled his brain for the correct word, the one that would hopefully deter Dayak from any suspicions she had in him. If you were found out, his father, his mother, they would no doubt banish you. Or worse. Lotor knew for a while now that a Prince was not meant to socialize with half-breeds, even though he, himself, was one. He knew the implications it could lead to and how grave it would be for you.

And that struck fear straight into his soul.

#lotor x reader #lotor #spacestories #possible ooc #depending on how you view lotor #cliche romance trope #childhood friends to lovers #lotor x f!reader #let lotor have a friend! #let lotor have a semi normal childhood!!!! #slams fist on table #let lotor love!!!!!!

[nrsranger]

3.7

Corregamar System

NRS Witch Hunt

Cockpit

1600 hrs

The flotilla of five unique ships cruised through the outer Corregamar System. The Witchhunt’s sleek charcoal frame slipped silently through the star scape escorted by the four Wookie Gunships carved from the Roshore trees grown on Kashyyyk.

“There’s the first mine” the helmsmen said indecating a hovering ball with six spikes jutting out from it.

“How many more are there?” Commander Falco asked

“10’s nope dozens, maybe hundreds” the Cohelmsmen said reading off his display.

“Will they give us any trouble?” Falco asked

“I don’t think so, it seems that the field was configured for larger ships we should be able to thread our way through, but we might want to keep those Gunships close” The Helmsman replied analysing the dots popping up on his screen

Falco walked over to the comm station and picked up the headset “Yahoo? You there?”

Yarshoo the middle aged Wookie growled back, and Falco pilotly ordered his Gunships, closer to the Witch Hunt. The Wookies growl gave him his answer and the four gunships tightened their perimeter. Falco was tense for the next few minutes as he flinched every time the Witch Hunt altered course. Falco stood over the front console with one hand on the Helmsman's chair and the other on the Cohelmsmen’s chair, Falco’s grip tightened anytime the Helms men gritted his teeth or let out a whispered curse. As each minute passed Falco’s nerves steadily tighten similar to how Falco remembered how his dad strung his bow slowly and steadily. Toward the end, he could no longer look at the monitor and he focused on the planet slowly growing bigger and bigger. Right as Falco could not take it anymore the Helmsmen said

“Ok, were through,” sighing and sitting back in his chair and throwing his hands on his face

“If they placed any mines here the planets gravity well would have pulled them in” The cohelmsman explained

Letting out the breath Falco did not even know he held he look and the two officers in front of him and said

“Thank you” and walked to the comm station again and spoak to Yarshoo.

Minutes later a Wookie Gunship called the Longfang, rocketed toward the planets surface. Inside Commander Falco, Captain Gavin one the Witch Hunts Marine, Yarshoo the Wookie and the strongest, means, and scariest look Wookie Falco ever saw occupied the main hold as the Longfang flew through the clouds. Finally breaking through the lowest layer of clouds the turbulence settled and Falco released his hand carved restraints and walked to the cockpit to view the situation. General Rex set up his defensive perimeter on a long tear drop peninsula, the thinnest part of the peninsula sat a small village and even from their great height Falco could make out red laser bolts crisscrossing buildings, streets and alleyways. The rest of the peninsula was covered in the dense jungle that seemed to cover every square foot of this planet. The Pilot made his way to a small clearing that was turned into a makeshift landing fields. As the Gunship set down Falco made his way back to the main hold as he saw the three other officers releasing their restratings, standing up, stretching and grabbing gear.

“This is a war zone, keep your weapons on you.” Falco said knowing that every other person understands how critical his advice was. The Wookies check their Bowcasters and Yarshoo slid his Ryyk Blade behind his back. Captain Gavin slapped a fresh power pack into his A280 and put another one in his right thigh pocket. Falco reached into his service bag and retrieved his standard issue holdout blaster and checked its charge seeing it at full power he grabbed his unstandard issue six inch streight bladed knife into his sheath on his left hip. Nodding he activated the door controls causing the Long Fangs door to swing down providing a stairway down. Falco led with Gavin following, being tailed by the two Wookies. Waiting to greet them was a small human in a clean (for field use) uniform with a Army’s Sargent’s insignia on his chest.

“I’m Sargent Ishtar, I’m General Rex’s aid,” he said, speaking over the sound of distant explosions.

“I’m Commander Falco, this is Captain Gavin, the Tall Wookie is Captain Rahoo and the Smaller Wookie is Jr, Commander Yarshoo.” Falco replied

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ishtar said shaking each person's hand “If you want to follow me this way” Ishtar said leading the way toward what looked like a repurposed tunnel

“So, Sargent Ishtar, what's your situation?” Captain Gavin asked from behind

Ishtar turned around and started to walk backward as he said “Not very good Captain, we have about three days worth of supplies if we cut ratians again, we only have two X-Wings reserve power packs ran out three days ago, medical supplies are all but gone, our medics have resorted to using those leaves as bandages, in all honestly we are holding on by nothing more than our grit.”

Falco noticed large cretors along the pathway and burnt hollowed out X-Wings litterned the makeshift landing pad. But what caught Falco’s attention the most was the lack of animals.

“Where are all the animals?” Falco asked

“Dead!, most of our soldier shot all the Corregamar Monkey’s, in the first three days of combat,” Ishtar said matter of factly. By that time they reached the entrance to the tunnel. The soldiers standing guard of the door saluted then entered the code that irised the door open. If Falco thought the jungle was pungent, he was about to redefine what pungent really was. It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the low level of lighting. Everywhere they walked they saw demoralised soldiers sitting in the dirt trying to pass the time, some slept, some aimlessly drew in the dirt dead stick figures and inappropriate pictures others checked and cleaned their equipment or treated minor wounds but none looked up and none had a dry eye or soft face. Each passing face broke Falco’s heart more than the one before. Ishtar led them deeper into the tunnel. Winding their way through the labyrinth they finally stopped where the low yellow lights illuminated and a figure sitting in a hoverchair talking to men propped up against the duracrete wall.

“Keep your heads up my sons, we will be receiving reinforcement and supplies any day now!” The old figure said tapping the hand of a young when a voice came over the PA

“Fourth Company prepare to relieve the First, prepare for incoming wounded!”

The young Duros soldier sat up reluctantly and checked the power on his blaster pack, it was at the last bar he had maybe ten shots left, he sighed and stood up resigned to his fate. Captain Gavin reached into his right thigh pocket and pulled out his spare power pack and handed it to the soldier. He smiled and took it, thanking Captain Gavin with a faint smile.

“General!” Ishtar said saluting

“Ah What is it my Son!” The General asked

“Commander Falco here to see the General sir!” Ishtar said

“I don’t remember a Commander Falco being one of my sons?” The Old Man said in a way a senail old person says when they don’t remember something they should

Ishtar kneeled down by the Generals hover chair

“No, he not part of the division, he’s from the Navy they are here to evacuate you.” Ishtar said

“They want me to leave my men!?” General Rex was insulted.

Yes sir, you need to come with us immediately!” Falco said firmly.

Back on the Long Fang Commander Falco went up to the comm station and typed in a comm extension, on the small holopad a miniature Admiral Thadmin popped up.

“He does not want to go willingly?” Thadmin said

“He said, only the supreme commander of all New Republic Forces, or a Jedi can ordered him away from his men” Commander Falco said

“Well we don’t know where Skywalker is, and the new senate has yet to meet and elect a new Supreme Commander. So Commander get him off that planet any means necessary” Thadmin said “I’m sorry it could just be a trick of the holo but do you have a blackeye?”

“Uh, no sir.” Falco lied

“Well he is a cranky old man, so I would not take it personally, I am eager to hear your report! Thadmin out.” Thadmin said then his hologram disappeared.

Falco then typed in a few more buttons and L.t Zosimo spread on the holo pad

“X.O I want you to gather as much arms ammunition and supplies as you can and deliver it to the surface, go into the galley, only leave us two days of rations and put the rest on the transport and lets see how many wounded we can get out as well” Falco ordered

“Yes sir, we have about 14 spare A280s and 42 spare power packs and-” L.T Zosimo said, getting cut off as his holo shut down.

Standing up from the station Falco felt his eyes tenderly. He stepped past a Wookie attending to some minor maintenance and he made his way to the exit. Walking out Captain Gavin who up to this point was leaning on the outside of the Wookie Gunship righted himself and asked

“So what are the orders from on high?”

“We’re supposed to get him, any means necessary.” Falco said

“Ok, let’s go” He said beginning to walk toward the path that would take them to the tunnel. Seeing the to humanoids walking toward the path Rahoo and Yarshoo broke off their conversation with some of the defenders and walked behind Falco and Gavin. As they reached the tunnel the sentries posted remembered them and opened the door. They began to walk the maze of tunnels and shadow, at one point they got lost and Captain Gavin asked a soldier to where the Generals office was. He was informed that it was not far, he then relayed directions with the appropriate terms and distances. Following the soldiers directions but when they opened up the door, it appeared to be an old storage closet filled with rancid fruit. Puckering his face Captain Gavin shut the door and sealed it.

“Someone should bring a flamethrower to that closet.” Gavin said only getting a grunt from Falco. But then he recognised General Rex’s aid Sargent Ishtar,

“Sargent Ishtar!, where is Commander Rex?” Gavin asked

“He went up to the front lines!” Ishtar said

“You mean the forward Command Post?” Gavin asked

“No, I mean the actual Front Lines” Ishtar said

The interlopers from the Long Fang exchanged looks,

“How do we get to the front lines?” Commander Falco asked

“We had to pull back from the village so the front line is currently the West entrance of the tunnel.” Ishtar informed them

“Show us” Falco ordered

Ishtar opened the door opposing the one with rancid fruit and returned with his small blaster.

“This way” Ishtar said leading the way through the tunnels. Making Left and Right turns seeming at random Falco and Gavin began to lower their blasters until they heard the sound of heavy blaster fire. They held their blaster closer to their chests in a ready position. When they turned the final corner Ishtar kept his head down and sneaked from one durasteal position to another passing soldiers in their jungle green camo uniforms as First Order blaster bolts wizard above their heads until they reached a durasteal position with an E-Web heavy blaster firing away. Sitting there was the Young Duros soldier Gavin gave his spare power pack to sitting with him was to human soldiers with a sullustan operating the E-Web and a twi'lek next to him finally General Rex in his hover chair held down the right side with a single DC-17 blaster pistol blasting away. Ishtar and Commander Falco hunkered down between Rex and the Twi'lek, With Captain Gavin and the two Wookies took their positions on the other side of the E-Web.

Falco shouted “General it's time to go!���

“Not yet were about to drive them back!” Rex shouted triumphantly, he lined up a shot and dropped a Storm Trooper, then a second and a third. Falco lifted up his head and ducked quickly back down as a blaster bolt hit the duransteal to his left at neck level. Before Falco could put his head down one of the humans on the other side of the E-Web took a blaster bolt to the face, his body did not offer any resistance as he fell, the other woman jumped toward his body and stripped him of weapon, power pack and a small ration pack, then went back to the fight. Falco could select which Storm Troopers were hit by normal laser blasters who crumbled to the ground, E-Web tossing Storm Troopers to the floor and the Wookie BowCaster which threw them toward the large tunnel door.

“Grenades!!” The old general shouted. A few of the soldiers taking cover pulled out thermal detonators and set them on time delays and threw them toward the white armored intruders. A few short breaths later the tunnel exit, roared with explosions, before the smoke cleared Rex shouted

“CHARGE!!!!”

War cries rang out from the tunnel defenders as soldiers climbed up and over their barricades and surged forward firing all the way. The Storm Trooper’s fire was sparse and uncoordinated. The Young Duro’s soldiers took a moment to gather up his courage and then let out a yell

“FOR THE OLD MAN” which seemed to be a common war cry for the division. He leaped over the barricade and fired three blind shots in the general direction. By this time the smoke began to settle, and a Storm Trooper saw the young Duros he swung his blaster carbine. Gavin saw the situation he tried to shout to the Duro but no noise left his mouth, by the time he lined up the Storm Trooper took the shot and the Duro kid fell, Gavin squeezed his trigger, and the StormTrooper grabbed his chest and fell face first. Gavin stood up and a followed the rush of men eliminated the remaining Storm Troopers.

“We don’t have time for this” Commander Falco said to Captain Rahoo Jr, Commander Yarshoo. Rahoo swing his bowcaster to their back and went up to General Rex and with his large Wookie paws picked him up and gently set him on his shoulder. Falco then motioned to his little team that it was time to leave

“Let’s go!” Falco shouted.

“Go now, get the General out of here!” Sargent Ishtar said “I’ll make sure were still here when he returns”

Falco took stock of his team. Rahoo held General Rex who was kicking and screaming from Rahoo's shoulder heading away from the combat. Yarshoo walked backward with his bowcaster scanning for Storm Troopers. Falco stood up and turned around looking for Captain Gavin it took several seconds but then he recognized the Marine Combat uniform, Gavin was making his way back toward the E-Web with the Young Duro’s on his shoulder, fireman’s style.

“Ok,ok, let’s go” Falco said, waving Gavin through the defensive line. Then when he could see all his team in front of him he looked back toward where the soldiers charged. By this time all remaining Storm Troopers were laying dead and the soldiers were securing a perimeter outside the large door. A dozen or so other soldiers were gathering up weapons, power packs and anything that could be salvaged. Then the ground shoke, a few seconds later it shoke again, all soldiers stopped what they were doing, and looked toward the door. Falco was spellbound and his feet did not move even though his brain was shouting for him to run. Then came the cry that no soldier wanted to hear.

“WALKER!!!!”. The soldiers securing the perimeters turned tail and ran back into the tunnel. Then soldiers scavenging among the fallen dropped everything they retrieved and ran full tilt deeper into the tunnel. It was only then that Falco got over his frozen feet and began to run, until he caught up to Gavin.

The First shot from the Walker landed right at the doorway scattering bodies, alive and dead alike. The screams of the wounded fell on deaf ears as the blast deafened the soldiers and no one wanted to stop and risk being the target of the second shot. Falco did not stay to find out where the next shot landed. His team turned the corner, but he felt the tunnel shake. As they came out of the other side they set their course for the Long Fang, the other Wookie Gunships, shuttering supplies and wounded already left. Yarshoo overtook Rahoo and climbed into the Wookie Gunship, and roared at the crew to take off. An instant later Rahoo jumped in, gently setting the General in a hand carved seat and buckling him up and then attended to his duty getting the Long Fang up in the air. A few seconds later Gavin arrived, laying The Duros kid on the floor of the gunship as he looked for a med pack. Falco Jumped in last and went up to the cockpit. The Wookie Pilot and Copilot looked back at him, in response Falco gave a thumbs up. The Wookies took this as a sign that all were aboard.

[lubdubsworld]

Tumblr prompt ( Jimin x OC)

Read part 1 here 

Part 2/? 

Warnings : violence 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I told you we would have to send your application in today! Are you really going to miss out on getting into an international Art exhibit, because you’re too chicken to ask your husband for a signature?”

“Why does he have to sign it?!” i whined in frustration, fingers moving up to sink into my hair.

“ you should have thought of that before you made him the Co-owner of your showroom. “

“He did pay for it. And that makes him owner by default. i didn’t even think about having the name changed. ” i said miserably. “ So just because of that, i need him to sign that form?”

“Yes. it’s a declaration that all the artwork in your showroom is yours.” Seulgi said brightly. “ And the entry closes at 7.00 PM which means you have till 6.00 PM in the evening to mail that thing, Y/N. Trust me, you don’t want to delay it.”

i groaned. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Get my gun, it’s in the draw.” Jimin called out, standing in front of the full length mirror in our bedroom, buckling up the leather holster around his shoulders, the fabric of his white shirt stretching taut over his shoulders as he fixed the empty holder right over his chest. strapping it across his ribs. 

I stared at him. The envelope in my pocket felt like it weighed a ton and I thought it was ridiculous that i was even doing this. He did not own me. I should be able to do what i want without having to ask him for his permission and -

“are you listening to me?” 

“what?”

he rolled his eyes and turned around to stare at me. He frowned as I continued to stare at him, still wondering how to broach the subject with him. 

“Did you not hear? Get my gun...I’m running late.” He said impatiently, tilting his head in the direction of the closet and i bit my lips before moving to the edge of the walk in closet. 

“you told me you had a meeting with a potential investor today. why do you need a gun?” i said miserably, pushing back pressed  suits in plastic wraps to reach the inner shelves.

“Aw... is that you being concerned about me, baby? Well, aren’t you the perfect little wife...” he scoffed. 

i sighed and went back to the cupboard. 

“i need to talk to you about something important...” i said firmly, rummaging around one of the side shelves to find the small heart shaped key which opened the draw in the closet. i grabbed the pistol carefully, fingers shaking a bit at the heavy weight of it on my palm. 

I was half afraid it would go off and shoot me in the face. 

i moved back and held it out to him with shaking fingers. 

“Not today. I’ll be back tomorrow morning and we can talk then.” He said at once, grabbing the Glock out of my hand and moving to slide it into the holster near his chest. 

I tried not to groan. Why couldn’t he even listen to me? 

“But, it’s really important. i just.. you need to sign some stuff for me, that’s it. it won’t even take that long. i thought i could bring it in to your office and -”

“No. You do not come anywhere near my office, Y/N... i told you this a million times before.”

He gave me a stern stare before moving to the closet and grabbing a tie. 

“I’m not going to stay there.” i protested. “ it won’t even take a minute to just sign some-” 

“i said no. do you not understand what that means?” He looped the silk around his neck, pulling off an intricate knot with baffling ease. Momentarily mesmerized by the quick movements , i almost lost track of my thoughts. 

“I’ll leave it with your secretary then.. i won’t come in or anything just-”

“Reina has better things to do than deal with you.” He said shortly and my annoyance grew. 

“ Like make gaga eyes at you?” i snapped. “ You’re sleeping with her aren’t you?” 

He stopped, glaring at me through the mirror. 

“that is none of your fucking business.” He growled. 

“Yeah, well. If you can have sex with your secretary in that office , it won’t kill you to just sign a few papers for me....!” 

The next second, i found myself pressed up against the wall, his hand around my throat, choking the breath out of me. 

“Ow...” I gasped in shock staring at him as he glared down at me. 

“What have I told you about running that mouth of yours at me baby” He asked softly , thumb pressing into my windpipe just enough to make my eyes water.

 I clawed at his chest and his hold relaxed, fingers letting go of my throat , only to move down and grip my arm.

 i whimpered in surprise.

 Jimin had never manhandled me like this before but the fury in his eye was like a living breathing thing as he stared at me. 

“Get out.” He said softly. 

“ Jimin...”

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!!!!!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After two glasses of wine, my sense of self preservation was at it’s lowest .So i’d decided to try my luck anyway, despite the very scary warning my husband had handed out in the morning. 

I was sitting outside the hallway that led to his office, dressed in a beautiful dress and wearing my tallest pair of heels. A part of me had wondered if perhaps he didn’t want me to come to his office because he was ashamed of me, so i’d gone all out : had my hair professionally styled, put on make up and even bought a new dress for it. 

 I stared at the clock on the mantel , inching towards 5.00 PM which was when Jimin usually left his office. i thought the best thing to do would be to catch him in the corridor as he was leaving. He could sign it quickly then, without being inconvenienced. 

But as the clock kept ticking, 5.00 PM turning to 5. 30 , i felt a little nervous. 

Finally , ten minutes before it turned six, i began to panic, moving up to walk down the corridor to the glass doors at the end which led to his private office and suite. 

His receptionist sat behind the desk and his eyes went wide when he saw me. 

“ oh.... Ma’am... what are you doing here?” He looked petrified, looking left and right and I tried to smile reassuringly. So Jimin did not limit his terrorising ways to me. The poor boy looked so scared. 

“it’s nothing important.. i was just wondering when Jimin ssi will be out?” i said softly. 

“I... Ma’am... you really shouldn’t be here. “ He looked like he was a second away from sinking to his knees and begging me to leave. i frowned... 

what on earth was jimin doing in there? 

“i just.... need to...”

Without warning the intercom buzzed and I jumped a little. A rough, unfamiliar voice came over the small speaker, startling me. 

“Who the fuck is that, Mr. Kim?” the man demanded. 

The boy, Kim something... had gone perfectly still. He was staring at me white faced and terrified. 

“I.. I’m Jimin ssi’s wife.....” I said hesitantly, not sure what was happening.” I just... i wanted to see my husband.” 

Silence. 

i stared at the phone and an odd sense of foreboding began to fill my body. The feeling that i had done something irrevocably dangerous and foolish. 

“Jimin goon’s wife? Come right in sweetheart.” The man’s voice was oily and drawling , amused and filthy and I felt my fingers curl into fists. 

“Is... Is Jimin there...” i tried again. 

A beat. 

“Come in, babe.” 

i felt relief sweep through me at his familiar voice. Panting a bit from holding my breath so long , i gave the receptionist a weak smile and slowly moved to the glass doors, opening into the main rooms. 

i followed the deserted corridors, each step filling me with a deeper sense of dread till i finally reached the huge oak doors at the end of the hallway. I knocked on it nervously. 

“Come in.” 

The moment i stepped in, I knew exactly why jimin didn’t want me to come to his office. 

About two dozen men stood around the office, scattered randomly, each carrying guns and right in the center, on either side of a huge table sat my husband and another unfamiliar man. 

i froze completely, staring at jimin, who looked completely blank as he stared back. 

“What do you want?” He said boredly, but i saw the way his fingers fluttered, the way his eyes practically screamed in frustration. 

He didn’t want me here . 

“Now, now... Jimin-ah.... is that anyway to talk to a beautiful woman? Come closer sweetheart, let’s get a good look at you.i’m Im Jae Bum , by the way. ” 

i stayed frozen, my legs having given up on me. 

Without warning, a hand closed over my arm yanking me forward so harshly that i whimpered in surprise. one of the men had moved closer and grabbed me, dragging me closer to the table . 

Thud. 

Jimin was lunging across the table, the force of his actions sending the chair flying and I stared as he growled out, grabbing  Jae bum by the collar, fingers wrapped around his Glock in a death grip, the muzzle pressing into Jae bum’s forehead. 

“She is not a part of this, you fucker. Tell that guy to let go of her before i put a fucking bullet in your brain.” Jimin whispered.

I could feel my body physically going cold in stark terror as Jae bum laughed. 

“You’re not going to shoot me, jimin ah.... What will your boss say then, huh? Last i checked you guys need me , more than i need you. “ 

And then he turned around to leer at me . 

“and if i say, i want this sweetling , there’s not much you can do about it, right?” he sneered at jimin. 

Jimin growled and let go of the man till he fell back. 

“She’s my wife. She’s not a part of this deal. You or your little buddies come anywhere near her and i swear to God, i’ll butcher each and every one of you....There won’t be enough of you left to fill a fucking matchbox...” He said dangerously. 

Jae Bum gave him a steady stare seemingly unmoved. 

“I’ll make that decision, Jimin. For now, you give me the cash and i give you all the intel you need.” He pointed at the briefcase on the table. Jimin stared at the briefcase , and pushed it across the smooth surface. Jae Bum caught the leather case before pulling out a small flash drive, sliding it over to Jimin who caught it . 

“Let her go , now.” Jimin growled, turning to stare at my captor. The man grunted and let go and I couldn’t stop myself from crashing forward. 

i didn’t hit the ground , jimin having darted out to grab me around the waist, hugging me close and pressing a palm to the back of my head, tugging me close till my face was buried in his chest. 

“i...wh-what just...” i stuttered but he wasn’t looking at me, already glaring at jae Bum. 

“Get out of my office.” He said coldly. Jae bum grinned and tilted his head, aiming a smile at me. 

“We’ll meet again, baby girl.” He called out, before motioning to his men. I stayed in Jimin’s arms, my fingers curled itno his shoulders , clinging to him in genuine distress as the room emptied out. Once everyone left, Jimin finally pulled back to stare at me.

“You okay?” He said, tone unusually gentle and I couldn’t even nod, just staring at him in shock.

“What am I going to do with you, you idiot? Didn’t i tell you not to come here? ” He whispered, pushing the hair off my face. 

I swallowed , hugging him closer. 

“He.. he said.. he’ll..”

“He’s not coming anywhere near you. i won’t let him. Stop shaking... Come on.. stop...”

“I’m so sorry... I’m....”

“No, babe. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for marrying you. For bringing you into this damn world of mine. I’m sorry for everything.” He said miserably and I felt confusion flood me.

“J-Jimin?” 

“fuck, i should have known that i could never keep you out of it.... I’m such an idiot... i thought i could keep you safe. if i just stayed away from you, kept you at a distance... i could keep you safe but... Oh, God.. i’m so sorry..” 

I gripped him harder. 

“You’re.. You’re not one of them... are you? You’re not a bad man, are you? ” i said , willing him to disagree. 

He took a deep breath.

“No, i’m not.” 

Relief flooded me. 

“Oh, Thank God... Thank god I...”

“I’m a cop.” He whispered.’

i froze.

“What?”

“i’m an NIS agent. I work with the Narcotics and Gang Violence department and Three years ago we received intel that your father was involved in some stuff . i thought if i married you, i could -”

i shoved him off me, scrambling away in disbelief. 

 father...he married me because he wanted to get close to father ... and i thought... i thought he remembered me... i thought he cared a bit about me... i thought that he must’ve cared for me ...why else would he still be here but it was never about me because he had never wanted me in the first place...... 

“Y/N....”

“You liar...” I whispered in disbelief.

“Y/N... hear me out...”

“You filthy liar!! you lied to me about everything!! Everything!!” i screamed. Jimin moved to grab my arm but i snarled.

“Don’t fucking touch me!!! So that’s why you wanted to have a baby with me?! You were afraid my father would be upset with you and then you would lose your access to him.... Even if you had to make a fool out of me... even if you had to bring an innocent baby into your filthy lies...you don’t even care what happens to me....  ” i shouted. 

“I do care about you! I do... Y/N....” 

“Lies! everything that comes out of your damn mouth is a lie!! So stop it... stop talking to me...” 

“No, wait...”

But i was already storming out of the office, running out into the hallways and ignoring his shouts. 

#bts jimin #jimin smut #jimin fics #i made him a cop #welp

[izanyas]

Build Upon The Ruins (4)

More Pacific Rim Soukoku fic! (Unbeta’d this time, sorry for the probable typos and mistakes.)

Rating: M Words: 8,000 Warnings: vomiting, very vague mention of pedophilia, murder by strangulation.

[Read from Chapter 1]

Build Upon The Ruins Chapter 4

Chuuya was sixteen years old when every government in the world made drift-testing mandatory.

It shouldn't have changed anything for him at all. He was two years too young to test, far enough from the watchful eye of the law that no one cared to make sure he did, and those who could drift at all were rare. Zero point zero one percent of the population. By all logic nothing should have changed. He should have kept living alongside his organization and watched from afar as men and women from all over the world piloted giant robots to fight giant aliens. He should have stayed part of the ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent.

It shouldn't have affected him at all, except that when Ozaki Kouyou tested, it turned out she could drift.

Chuuya had never had any family before meeting her. He hadn't had any parent or sibling to smile with. The law didn't allow forceful enlistment into jaeger programs, but Kouyou was a criminal; she was given the choice of either joining in or being put in jail, and Chuuya was left alone either way.

He was furious.

Other than the fact that his sister found herself dragged halfway across the world to undergo a training she didn't want, there was the fact that, in her absence, Ace became the boss of him.

Chuuya hated the obsequious bastard with a burning passion. Ace hated him about as much. He found himself tasked with the lowest and most dangerous jobs of his organization, many of which he thought Ace meant to end with his murder. Chuuya stayed alive mostly out of spite between the calls Kouyou was allowed to give him.

He was seventeen when he decided to get the tattoos, and he didn't have his group in mind when he picked blue hydrangea for the design; only the blurred memory of Kouyou's face, his own restless anger, and how much heavier the perspective of the world's end felt with no family to die with.

Chuuya tested three months after his eighteenth birthday. A year and a half after Kouyou's departure. He queued alongside bright-eyed high schoolers who each bragged about knowing a friend of a friend of a friend who knew a pilot, who muttered about telekinesis and mind control, who spoke of conspiracies. Chuuya waited for his turn inside the white stall in the city hall's meeting room and let rage consume him, breath after breath, blink after blink. Until every drop of his blood was molten with it.

A woman dressed in pink took his outdated ID with disdain. A man dressed in white sat him down inside a plastic chair before rubbing cold gel over his forehead. Chuuya was still when the glinting device was put onto his head.

"Try to make that arm move," the man said in complete boredom.

He pointed toward a metallic appendage on the table next to them, plugged all the way through with various cables, linked to the thing Chuuya wore almost as a hat.

Chuuya didn't know how he was supposed to. He lifted his own arm.

Nothing happened.

The man wrote something down on his pad with absolute lack of surprise on his face. He said, "Thank you for coming," with the air of someone who would have forgotten so much as Chuuya's existence in this life by the time he would walk out of the door, and all the soft air in Chuuya's lungs sizzled and burned.

He threw his fist forward. The metallic arm sitting two feet away from him flew up and broke the man's nose.

They didn't have to threaten him to get him to enlist. He knew getting into the program was his only chance of seeing Kouyou again. Chuuya was driven from Tokyo to Yokohama that same night, and he withstood training for months in the wide black hangar there, talking to no one, not even any of the men and women training alongside him. The few who tried to approach him—most notably a girl named Sasaki who wanted to talk drift psychology with him, of all things—he ignored.

Luckily, he was good at the training.

He got used to the feeling of solo drifts, just him and the simulation cockpit. He got used to letting his mind escape through cables and meeting the cold unfeeling presence of a machine at the other end. He killed fake kaiju on a wide screen with vicious ferocity. He kept up his own personal training until all who sparred with him got too scared to do it again. He walked along Yokohama's jaeger dock with his arms bare so that they could either admire the lacework of blue flowers running along his skin or fear it.

His life stayed like this until the six month mark: train, ignore people, obey instructions, train, call Kouyou in America, train. Ignore people.

And then—

"This is wrong," he told his simulation instructor, Natsume.

He was maybe the only person here whom Chuuya mostly tolerated. Chuuya could obey orders regardless of his personal feelings—Ace had driven him into the ground and left him there to bleed, and Chuuya had never once rebelled against him, after all—but it was always easier when someone was agreeable.

Natsume looked at the charts Chuuya was pointing to with thoughtful eyes. "I don't see how, Nakahara-kun."

The -kun was part of the reason Chuuya liked Natsume so much. He was too often referred to simply by his last name—a name he had long stopped using for himself. He wished Natsume would just call him Chuuya.

"It says I'm second in simulation scores. I'm never second in simulation scores."

"Well," Natsume replied, and he looked amused. "It seems this time you were."

Chuuya frowned. "Bullshit," he declared. "I still hold the overall record. Who the fuck did better than me this week?"

"You know I'm not allowed to give you the other trainees' personal results—"

"That would be me," someone said into his ear.

Chuuya turned on his heels with his fist raised—and it was caught promptly, easily, by the boy standing behind him.

The boy took a second to stare at the tattoos with curiosity. This in itself was nothing new. His grip tightened when Chuuya tried to pull away, though, making the already simmering irritation in Chuuya build up into a boil.

"Who the fuck are you?" he growled, though he knew who the boy was. He had seen him training just as he did. He was one of the precious few who could drift, just like Chuuya.

The boy's thumb stroked over the inside of his wrist lightly, right above the last of the heart-shaped petals. Right above his pulse.

"My name is Dazai," he replied, dropping Chuuya's arm at last. Chuuya didn't acknowledge the goosebumps that the his fingers had left over his skin. "And you are the one who's been hogging the best simulation scores for the past few months. It was a pain to beat you, you know."

"That's the point, you moron."

Dazai smiled coldly.

"If you're quite done," Natsume said—Chuuya almost jumped, having forgotten all about his presence. "I need to go talk with the big boss."

He left them like this, staring at each other, Chuuya's weekly results strewn over the table between them.

Dazai didn't seem to mind that they were confidential. His eyes roamed over the numbers, his mouth twitching once he reached the lines detailing Chuuya's strategy training. Then he looked at Chuuya again.

And he said, "I didn't know they made kid-sized stations. It's a wonder your legs even reach the footholds."

"Fuck off," Chuuya snapped, advancing toward Dazai with a look he knew could make grown men cower. "Get out of my face before I punch you out of it."

Dazai didn't move an inch. He smirked down at him with the same dead-eyed hollowness.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Chuuya," Chuuya said between his teeth.

"No last name?"

"You didn't give me one."

"Dazai is my last name." Dazai's grin grew. Chuuya's lower back shuddered with revulsion. "Fine then. Chuuya. Let's see if you can grab back that title of yours, yeah?"

His name had stretched into Dazai's mouth like pulled candy, sweet and tooth-rotting.

Chuuya sealed the deal by showing Dazai exactly how far his legs could reach when he kicked hard enough.

He barely lived through the month that followed, pushing himself even harder than before. Climbing back to top simulation scores only satisfied him until Dazai literally destroyed his record, so Chuuya focused on strategy hard enough to finally reach the same digits that the other flew by. There was no need to ask for names for the anonymous numbers on Natsume's charts. Chuuya knew who the only one who to ever top his was.

It could've gone on for a longer time. Maybe even the full year until the batch of newly-made jaegers that they were supposed to try out were ready. They could've kept souring their rivalry into something darker, into true and virulent hatred. Chuuya had enough anger stored in him then to last him millennia.

Instead, by coincidence or fate, several things tipped the scale.

First, Kouyou came to Yokohama. Chuuya was there to meet her the moment her car parked in front of the building, walking steadily toward her and crushing her into a hug under his instructors' bewildered staring and the heavier weight of Dazai's unreadable eyes; she hugged right back, her face shoved into his hair and her shoulders shaking under his hands.

She was already a pilot. He had known that. He had seen her exploits in the news, had spied on communications every time she was deployed—Dazai had sat next to him in silence the last time he did, because they had been in the middle of arguing when the news of an attack had come. He had followed Chuuya into the hub and not said a word until the kaiju fell and Chuuya's shoulders dropped, at last.

The second and more important thing was that, not even two weeks after that attack, another happened. In Yokohama.

Chuuya wasn't supposed to pilot yet. He wasn't even supposed to test pilot yet, not this soon into training. But one member of the duo that were supposed to break in the brand new black jaeger stored in the dock's depths had fallen down stairs and broken his wrist, and so the giant stood unused.

Kouyou and her partner were overwhelmed.

It was a terrifying thing, that kaiju. One of the lightest but one of the tallest. Nicknamed Hayate, it stood like a flightless bat, electric blue eyes gleaming in the dead of the night, steaming saliva dripping between its giant teeth. The membrane linking its fore and hind legs moved the air to record speed, causing damage not unlike hurricanes.

Chuuya didn't know what to do when he was requisitioned to step into the jaeger except obey. He stood unseeing, almost unbreathing, as they dressed him all in black, the suit ill-fitted but all that they had on hand. He let himself be led into the cockpit and strapped down at the right side of it. The side he would control, he was told. And he said nothing.

He said nothing, until he found out that Dazai was the one being strapped at his left.

"Wait," he breathed out. The man securing his feet didn't answer, and Chuuya spoke louder, "Wait. Hang on. I'm not drift compatible with him."

"You're both the best we have on hand. He's your most likely match in the system," the man replied tensely.

"No. What the—no way." Chuuya shook in the harnesses, but he couldn't free himself, not alone. Dazai wasn't saying anything. "Oh come on," Chuuya said to him, terror driving his voice to a shout, "you can't be fucking serious. Find someone else, we're not going to make this thing move, we don't have time, Kouyou—"

The last of the clasps shut harshly against his back, making him wheeze.

Then everyone left. The cockpit closed. It was just Chuuya and Dazai in the jaeger's body. Chuuya heaved through the panic unfurling in his guts, barely managing to hold his breath as the drift gel washed over his face from inside the sleek helmet he wore. He sputtered as soon as the liquid ran below his mouth.

"Initiating neural handshake in twenty seconds," a voice said in his ear.

Chuuya struggled against his bonds. It changed nothing except for the loud noises of it, echoing back against the metal lining of the jaeger's head.

"Come on!" he roared. "You're wasting your time!"

"Fifteen seconds—"

"Fucking—Dazai, I swear to God, help me get out of—"

"Don't you have faith in me, shorty?" Dazai said. Those were the first words he had spoken since stepping into the machine.

"You're a genius, you fucking tell me!" Chuuya yelled at him. "It'll take hours to reset the drift once this fucking joke fails, and Kouyou—" he choked, eyes burning, all air gone.

Kouyou wouldn't last hours. Her jaeger, Golden Man, was already badly damaged. No other machine was on hand.

"Ten seconds."

"Who is she anyway?" Dazai asked. He sounded somber in a different way than usual—almost as if he were wary. "Who is she to you?"

"She's," Chuuya tried.

The words clogged in his throat. Tears spilled out of his eyes.

"Seven seconds."

"She's my sister," he rasped out. "She's my friend. She's the only family I have."

Dazai looked at him with no cruel laughter in his brown eyes. No smarting comment whipping off of his tongue.

"Three seconds."

"Then," he said quietly. "Let's make this work, Chuuya."

"Neural handshake initiated."

Chuuya was thrown out of his own mind, out of his own body; but this time it wasn't cold unfeeling metal waiting for him at the other end.

It was the shiver of a breath in his ear and the stroke of fingertips at his wrist.

Distantly, he was aware that the speed at which the connection took on was abnormal, but he couldn't care. Not when he felt Dazai's lungs expand every time he took in a breath; not when he felt Dazai's own surprise and wonder match his like a mirror. Chuuya closed his eyes to focus on the flickering images unfolding through their shared mind and grabbed greedily at the ones he knew weren't his—except they were, now. They were his.

It would be a long time before he was able to put words onto what exactly shifted in his very essence the moment he felt the first brush of Dazai's mind against his. His entire life felt insignificant in the face of Dazai's heart and memories; he felt Dazai feel the same about him, felt him plunge into his mind to relive pain and love and loss alike and soak himself with them until his soul was gorged.

Chuuya had no conscience of physicality anymore. He didn't see, didn't taste, didn't touch; Dazai gasped, and it was Chuuya gasping. When he blinked, Dazai blinked. His grief became Dazai's, Dazai's anger his own.

All the lonely, wounded rage he had accumulated through his life flickered out and healed.

He would learn, later, that the drift stabilized near-instantly. So fast that at first the people monitoring them thought it hadn't worked at all.

Chuuya saw Dazai's life unfold in flashes and knowledge burn itself into his brain as if he had lived through all that Dazai lived. He saw himself run away from an unloving home and into the streets of Yokohama, saw himself meet the man who helped around an orphans' home, saw himself con people out of their money for amusement and need alike. He saw himself smile at a girl and then fall into bed with her for the first time. He saw himself meet the man who had threatened to close the orphanage and looked at Odasaku's children with unspeakable vice in his eyes—saw himself murder him before he could lay a finger on them. Felt his hands squeeze the breath out of Mori Ougai until he was blue and cold. Chuuya rose above the dead body, burdened with no remorse; he was Dazai realizing, in that moment, how little he deserved to call himself human.

He was Dazai getting dragged away by the police. He was Dazai being put into a testing chair and offered the same ultimatum that Kouyou had been given. He was Dazai hacking into the jaeger dock's system to find the name of the one who kept beating him at the only thing he was allowed to do anymore. He was Dazai, meeting Chuuya's eyes for the first time and thinking, He's cute. Fleeting and innocent.

Chuuya breathed, and he was Dazai breathing, and these were the first breaths either of them had drawn.

"Can you move it, boys?" the faraway voice of Natsume came through their helmets, rough with excitement. "This is incredible—I've never seen a first drift like this—"

The thought that they couldn't never occurred to them at all.

They moved their right arm, and the jaeger moved with them.

-- 

They took Hayate down in an hour.

-- 

Natsume led them to a single room with bunk beds once they came out of the medical ward. It was wider than the tiny quarters Chuuya and Dazai had occupied with the other trainees, with its own bathroom and kitchen.

"You're pilots now," Natsume said proudly. "Though you're not supposed to be until another year… well, anyway. You need to be ready quickly the next time we need you on the field—the alarm is really loud in here, you'll have to get used to waking up to it. I'll leave you to rest."

He patted their shoulders and left.

"I'm taking the top bed," Chuuya said immediately.

"By all means," Dazai replied—he sounded so smug that Chuuya thought he would have felt his lips twitch regardless of the awareness that still floated between them. "I don't want to end up like the last man you skewered."

"Shut it. I just don't want to hear the damn thing creak every time you wake up, you fucking insomniac."

Dazai turned his head to grin at him, and Chuuya had never seen him look like that, but he knew this smile all the same. It was the kind of smile Dazai reserved for only one other person.

Affection fit into the lines of Dazai's face like it was always meant to be there. In the low light of their room it was easier to see that his hair was brown instead of black, that it fell strikingly softly around his face despite the sweat and effort of the last hours. There was laughter to be found behind the stone-cold mask Dazai harbored around those who didn't know him. There was humanity, contrary to what Dazai thought.

This was the person who had witnessed Chuuya's life and felt only kinship. This was the the boy whose mind Chuuya had felt latch onto the drift with desperate abandon the second it was turned off, as if he never wanted Chuuya to leave again; who had felt Chuuya latch back in turn as if trying to reach through uncrossable distance and touch their fingers together for just one more second.

Chuuya let himself smile back, hesitant and thrilled, and Dazai's eyes lit with wonder.

He understood, right then, that he had never known anyone before. Not like this. He stood wordless in the only home he had a claim to, however reluctant a claim it was; and as he let the whispers of a connection that no two humans should ever share bleed out, he realized that he would never again know someone.

"Now," Dazai said, watching him greedily. "This is a sight for sore eyes."

Hello, Chuuya thought, heart shaking.

It was Dazai's voice he heard whispering back.

It's so good to meet you.

--

--

Nakahara hadn't smiled once since Double Black's test drift. Not even in that mean way of his that always made whoever it was directed to feel like the inside of a sewer. Kouyou stood between him and Yosano, and Nakahara didn't answer even her concerned glances, however tentative they were.

Yosano didn't think it was a good idea to take him with them to the labs, all things considered. But it was protocol that Kouyou's second be by her side for things like this, even if he hadn't been family to her; and Nakahara would demand an explanation if she did try to stop him, and end up unhappy anyway. Yosano could only think of one person whose conversation might be able to help with that, but Dazai had disappeared from everyone's vicinity the moment he had peeled off his suit.

The words she had said to Kunikida to try and soothe him still lingered in her head.

She felt a first tug of apprehension in her stomach when she approached the door to the labs, Kouyou beside her, Nakahara hanging slightly behind. The lights were dimmed despite the late hour. Kajii was always making some sort of noise inside that could be heard down the hallway, be it from moving around or listening to music loudly.

Yet now there was only silence.

Yosano opened the door carefully. The reason for the darkness was easily found—only the lamp sitting on Kajii's main desk was lit, its orange glow barely reaching through the entire width of the room, never mind the cabinets and tall piles of boxes that stood in its path.

"Kajii?" she called.

She saw Kouyou tense from the corner of her eyes when no one answered. It was enough to drag Nakahara out of his own thoughts and make him lift his head with a frown. He stepped ahead of them quickly, and that was when Yosano heard it, right as he started to walk around a tower of thick folders sitting on a low table—panting, quiet and hurried, like someone going through panic.

She felt her heartbeat spike the second Nakahara growled out, "Fuck," dropping his cane on the floor and limping into the shadows as fast as he could.

"Chuuya!" Kouyou gasped.

She ran after him—Yosano couldn't do anything but follow despite the well-known panic surrounding her, the one she thought she had mastered long ago, when the Double Black pilots' broken bodies had been dragged in front of her helpless hands.

Kajii was convulsing in a wooden chair next to the tall glass tube holding the kaiju's brain. She got there in time to see Nakahara rip the drift helmet off of his head and lift him out of his seat—it wasn't until he looked at her with fury and pain twisting his features and yelled, "Help me!" that she realized he was shaking too.

She ran the way between them to take the brunt of Kajii's weight out of his hands and help him down to the floor, mind protesting both the sight of Kajii's blood-stained face and that of Nakahara falling to his knees—God, the pain he must be in—

"He's seizing," Nakahara panted. "Shit—"

Kajii's limbs were flailing, his torso rising and falling abruptly. Nakahara reached over his body in front of Yosano's unresponsive hands to turn him to his side, one palm under Kajii's skull, the other resting over his shoulder carefully as it jumped.

Yosano couldn't move. She knelt with her mouth open and her mind in a daze, fear battling away confusion to roam through her and lock everything down.

It was Kouyou who pushed her away to relieve Nakahara in making sure Kajii stayed on his side. Nakahara hunched forward immediately, catching himself on his hands, shaking through all of his body. He was white as a sheet.

"Chuuya," Kouyou said hurriedly, "you need to sit down. You need to get off your leg."

Nakahara was heaving now, still paralyzed in his kneeling position. "I can't," he let out—Yosano saw the panic settle onto his sweat-slick face like it had inside her chest, saw him realize that he feared the pain of moving more than he feared the agony of staying as he was.

She barely heard the sound of more footsteps hurrying toward them, didn't notice that someone had joined them at all until Dazai was dropping down next to Nakahara and grabbing him by the middle. Nakahara shouted when he was pulled sideways, the sound of his voice ripping through the room and pulsing through Yosano's chest.

He turned away from Dazai the second he was on his backside and retched bile and saliva until he was completely dry. Dazai was silent as he waited it out; he fitted his knees behind Nakahara's back, held his shoulders so he wouldn't fall into his own sick. When Nakahara was finally able to take in a breath without his stomach trying to turn itself inside out, Dazai guided him down and laid him flat onto the floor.

He was pale too.

"Yosano," he said evenly, still looking at Nakahara. Nakahara's eyes were closed now, his chest still shaking, sweat beading at his temples. "Kajii."

The name pierced through her like an arrow.

Kajii was almost done convulsing. She loosened his collar and belt with trembling hands, keeping an eye on his breathing and the way his eyes moved. The blood on his face seemed to have come out of his nose rather than anything more worrying—it was nothing she hadn't seen coming out of failed drifts. His eyes were red, but not leaking anything other than tears.

Finally, his shoulders sagged, and he stilled.

"Kajii," Kouyou said, probably understanding that Yosano couldn't speak yet. "Can you hear me?"

He hummed, mumbling something close enough to Boss to be satisfying.

Kouyou sighed in relief. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, okay? Just to see if everything's working right."

"M'kay."

Yosano blocked out the sounds of Kouyou's firm coaxing to redirect her focus onto Nakahara.

He was still laying flat onto the ground, though Dazai had apparently used the few moments she hadn't been looking to shove his jacket under his head as a makeshift pillow. His eyes were open now, his breathing still chaotic.

"How bad?" she made herself ask, crouching by his side.

Dazai had put a hand over his chest as if to keep him from rising. With how hesitant his hold was, it just looked as though he were trying to feel him breathe.

Nakahara took a long time to steady himself to speak. "It's fine," he said with effort. "The worst is over."

"Don't give me that crap, Nakahara—"

"If you wanted to help you shouldn't have fucking frozen up," he yelled.

Her throat tightened. Her mind was clear enough to feel guilt, now, and it settled like ice into her belly.

"Did you know he was gonna do this?" Nakahara pressed on, angry now instead of pained. "Did you allow this, Yosano?"

"He said he wouldn't do it on his own," was all she could reply.

He moaned, either from how badly his leg shook or from how horrified he was.

Eventually the noise died down. Kajii's voice turned to silence, his breathing evened out. Nakahara's did as well, and he tried to sit up—only to be stopped by Dazai's hand on his chest. He glared at him with his jaw clenched.

Whatever silent exchange happened between them then only lasted a second. Dazai's fingers shivered on the fabric of Nakahara's shirt before drifting away, and Nakahara pushed himself up with his left hand until he was sitting upright. At least he didn't try to stand; Yosano wasn't sure he even could, right now.

Kajii had rolled over to his back despite Kouyou's obvious disapproval. He looked giddy.

"I did it," he breathed. "I did it."

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Nakahara spat out immediately—Kajii flinched, but Nakahara either didn't care or was too tired to show it. "What in the world gave you the idea of drifting with a—a kaiju brain?"

"Oh God," Kajii said, eyes snapping wide open. "I need to write everything down."

He was jumping to his feet next—Yosano almost shouted at him to stop, and Kouyou as well, but he merely wavered in place for a moment before running to his desk.

The next minute was spent in utter silence aside from the scratching of Kajii's pens and papers. Dazai shifted from his knees to his backside on the floor, still close enough to Nakahara that he would catch him if he fell. Nakahara wasn't looking at him, though; he was staring at the floor, face white, biting his lips.

Kajii straightened from his lean over the desk and announced, "I need to do it again."

"No," Nakahara replied.

"I'd also advise against it," Dazai said almost in the same breath.

"You don't understand," Kajii continued, febrile. "This is so—this is so—"

He was waving his papers around, and his nose was bleeding again—Yosano pushed herself to her feet and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, pushing him down into a chair. She pulled his head back and said, "Hold your damn nose, Kajii."

"Listen," he spoke, though he obeyed the order and pinched the bridge of his nose while Yosano went to fetch her bag for some cotton. "We were right—the kaiju, they're not real aliens. They're almost like machines."

"What do you mean?" Kouyou murmured.

"Ane-san," Nakahara said sharply.

She and Kajii both ignored him. "The ones creating them… they know exactly what they're doing. This isn't just a random bunch of attacks from creatures who happen to stumble into our world—they're waging war on us. They're colonizers." Kajii took in a deep breath, choking a little when Yosano shoved cotton up his nose but thankfully not complaining. She didn't feel sturdy enough to deal with complaints. "They hop from planet to planet once they've exhausted the resources. They were already here once as a test run—dinosaurs!" he yelled, making all of them jump. "That was them!"

"You got all of that from drifting with a war machine?" Nakahara questioned, bitter.

"Their minds are all connected," Kajii replied dreamily. "I went so far back… everything's already slipping away, drifting is so inconvenient."

Yosano saw all three of them flinch at the same time—Kouyou, Nakahara, Dazai. She said nothing.

"Oh. Oh, shit," Kajii said. He massaged his forehead, breath coming in quicker once more. "The kaiju they've been sending so far were just small fry. Boss," he added, turning toward where Kouyou sat, "they're planning double and triple events like I thought, and they're planning them soon. Category four kaiju and higher."

"They're done playing with us," Kouyou muttered. She rose to her feet as well. "What about the breach? Did you find out anything—"

"Enough," Yosano cut in, eyeing the way Kajii's eyelids drooped. "He just had a damn seizure, Kouyou."

"The breach will stabilize," Kajii replied regardless. "I was right about that too. But there was… there was something…" He clenched his teeth against the headache that had no doubt been ringing through his temple all this time. "I need a new kaiju brain. I need to drift with it again and make sure—"

"I'm done listening to this shit," Nakahara said.

They all turned to look at him.

He had dragged his left knee back toward his chest. Dazai was rising as well, and in the few seconds it took Yosano to understand what was going on, he had crossed the distance to where Nakahara has dropped his cane and then come back. Her protest died on her lips at the look Nakahara gave her. He allowed Dazai to help him up and then pushed him away, leaning on the cane with all the strength left in him.

"I don't need to hear this," he repeated, voice strained. "Do whatever the fuck you want if it'll help us win, but I never want to hear about it again, Kouyou. Not a word."

"I understand," Kouyou said sadly.

Nakahara lifted his right hand to his face and rubbed the back of it against his lips shakily. "Drifting with a kaiju," he muttered. "I can't believe anyone would—"

He stopped, sucking in another heaving breath, as if he were about to hunch over and retch again. Dazai stood still and silent by his side, but Yosano thought she could read the same nausea on his features anyway. The same bone-deep horror.

They left without another word, Nakahara limping badly, Dazai shadowing him without touching him.

"Well," Yosano said, throat tight. "That could've gone better."

Kajii emitted a deep snore behind her. When she turned around to look at him, he had fallen asleep as he was, head craned back as far as it would go.

Kouyou rubbed her face with one hand as she approached. The other came to rest above the quickly-scribbled notes that Kajii had taken, and she eyed them thoughtfully.

Yosano very much wanted to hold her.

As if reading her thoughts, she asked, "Are you all right?"

Yosano sat on the very edge of the desk, feet still touching the floor. "I'm fine," she replied.

"You looked…"

"Yeah." She swallowed painfully. "I, I'm so sorry, I don't know what—"

"Akiko."

Yosano's eyes burned. She shoved her fingers under her glasses to catch the wetness before it could roll down her face.

"Oh, darling," Kouyou whispered. There was a shuffle of feet against the dusty floor, and then warmth, the soft of Kouyou's arm wrapping around Yosano's frame to hold her as she tried to bite back sobs, as she gasped into her palms. "It's okay. Nothing bad happened."

Yosano breathed, "I don't know why I…" She couldn't finish, but it didn't matter; her lips dug into the curve of Kouyou's neck, her arms coming up to hold her back as she breathed into her skin.

"You've gone through great lengths to make sure you would never be faced with surprise emergencies again," Kouyou said against her temple. "And you snapped out of it quickly enough. You have nothing to blame yourself for."

Nakahara's accusations echoed through Yosano's head—the sight of him panting on the floor, wrecked with pain, pale and shaking. "He was so angry," she let out.

"He was in pain." Kouyou's fingers ran through her hair gently. "Chuuya doesn't blame you. He'll apologize to you as soon as he's calmed down."

They didn't stay like this for long. Yosano was never much of a crier; her eyes had dried almost as soon as they had wetted, and her breath was settling down, matching Kouyou's against her chest. Kouyou took her hands back, and Yosano let go of her so she could step away.

For a second longer they both breathed in the stale air and thought.

"Kajii said something about the breach," Yosano said at last.

Kouyou nodded, looking at the man himself, still asleep in his chair. "We can't afford to let that slide," she replied.

"So you'll let him do it again."

She made a face, about as disgusted as Nakahara's had been. In that moment they truly looked the part of siblings. "I don't want to," she admitted. "The thought of using the drift to connect with a kaiju is…"

Her sentence trailed off without an end.

Kouyou was not as silent as Dazai and Nakahara were about her memories as a pilot. Yosano could recall countless nights spent talking about it; countless times being woken up by the way Kouyou's lungs stilled in the nightmare-memory of her once-partner's death. She didn't talk about Fukuzawa easily—she had never shared with Kouyou what she had glimpsed of the mysterious man's life.

But she talked about what it had felt like to share thoughts with him. She had spoken of their quiet friendship, born out of her loneliness and out of his compassion, with a smile on her face. She still mourned him now, five years after his death. Yosano knew she would always mourn him.

She had loved him deeply.

"We can't let this slide now that we know something might prevent us from attacking," Kouyou said softly. "We only have one shot at this."

"The brain is fried, though," Yosano replied, gesturing to the tall glass tube. The thing in it that hadn't stopped squirming earlier during the day now rested at the bottom, still as stone. Its color had gone from white to grey. "How are we gonna get our hands on a live kaiju brain? It's a miracle Kajii got one at all. These things never survive out of the body for long."

Kouyou was silent for a moment, looking thoughtful. This close to the orange glow of the desk lamp her hair and lips almost glowed, stark against the pallor of her skin. In the end she sighed and took something out of her breast pocket, handing it over.

It was a card. At first Yosano thought it blank, but then the light shifted on it—a motif appeared in a light shade of green. Crossed guns in a circle.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Something I've been meaning not to use," Kouyou replied wryly. "You know there's a black market for all sorts of kaiju parts, don't you?"

"Yeah. They sell fifty grams of useless bone powder for about five thousand dollars."

"Profit never stops, not even in the face of certain doom." Kouyou gave a chuckle at that. "Well, there's a man here, Fitzgerald, who has his hands into all sorts of pockets. If anyone can get us a kaiju brain, it's him."

"That doesn't sound very legal," Yosano said, looking up from the card.

"It's not," Kouyou replied. "But it's not like we're being funded by legal means anymore."

Yosano stepped away from the desk and pocketed the card. "Will he agree to help us?" she asked.

"He owes me one, but he's not trustworthy."

She made her way to where Kouyou stood, glancing briefly at Kajii to make sure he was still dead to the world. Once she reached her she slipped a hand behind her nape, pulling her head down until the few inches of difference between their heights was no more.

Kouyou kissed her warmly, dry lips to dry lips, her fingers coming to stroke against Yosano's cheek as if the world wasn't ending around them. As if they could ever afford to have a love like this.

It was the only thing they both tempted fate with.

Yosano's face was flushed when she pulled away, her mouth tingling, but she felt calmer than she had in hours. "I'll go," she whispered against Kouyou's chin. "As soon as I'm done making sure this idiot didn't give himself brain damage."

Kouyou nodded, cheeks dimpling around her smile. "Be careful," she replied.

-- 

Chuuya wanted nothing more when he finally reached his quarters than to let himself fall onto the bed and pass out.

The mere thought of the pain that the impact on his mattress would cause almost made tears build into his eyes, though; so instead he reached down with his weak hand to support his weight, regardless of the phantom aches coming alive in his back and shoulders, and let himself sit carefully. He didn't think he would even be able to undress for the night.

Dazai closed the door behind them and made his way to Chuuya's desk in silence. He turned the chair around and sat down, facing him, half of his face drowned in shadow. Neither of them had thought to turn on the lights.

"How do you feel?" he asked conversationally.

"Why are you even here?" Chuuya said instead of answering.

His right leg burned from ankle to knee. His thigh shook even as it was, resting atop the bed, and his temple was flaring with remembered pain. So was the rest of his body, truth be told.

His morning exercises were going to be a blast.

"I was brooding in the storage room. Heard you yelling." Dazai didn't even have the decency to look ashamed about it. "I'm glad I picked this hiding spot instead of the one on the tenth floor."

"I'd be glad if you stopped acting like a child," Chuuya said between his teeth.

The jab was cheap, and Dazai didn't laugh at it. He just leaned back into the chair and glanced at the locked drawer of Chuuya's desk for a second too long.

Chuuya looked away. His rooms were some of the best situated in the base; Yokohama's harbor unfolded under its window and gave out to the endless sea. It had thrived, once, with ships from all over the world. Now at least the sound of the waves remained.

The last few minutes came back to him in a rush.

"Fuck," Chuuya breathed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "I yelled at Yosano."

"She kind of deserved it."

"No, she didn't." He inhaled slowly. "It's not her fault she panics with stuff like this. And it's not her fault Kajii decided to go ahead and—"

He couldn't finish. The thought alone, the idea itself of using the drift with a kaiju felt like heresy. It felt like violation. Nausea crawled up Chuuya's neck until he thought he would puke again—knew he would have if his stomach weren't already empty, his mind too bruised and exhausted from the events of the day to be horrified any more.

He really hadn't been as prepared as he had thought to witness Dazai open his mind to someone else.

Chuuya swallowed, breathing deeply to calm his nerves. Then he asked: "What the hell happened during the test?"

Dazai didn't answer.

Chuuya looked back at him and found him reclining as far as he would go, expression bored with the sort of emptiness he hadn't worn in years.

"Dazai," he said.

"Nothing especially surprising," Dazai cut in. He was staring at the darkened ceiling. "The usual sort of rookie mistake. We got it under control before anything happened, so it's no big deal."

"Don't give me that crap," Chuuya replied, irritation and something else he refused to give name to catching on his voice—ugly, burning, restless. "You were the one chasing the RABBIT at the end. You've never done that before."

"There's a first time for everything. It won't happen again."

"I want to know why it happened at all."

Dazai lowered his head, and Chuuya didn't need light to know that their eyes were meeting across the ever-growing space between them.

"I guess I'm just not used to it anymore," he lied.

Chuuya's fingers dug into the fabric of his bedspread until the pressure was uncomfortable, tugging harshly at his nails, and still the crushing pain in his leg didn't abate. "You were holding back," he accused, voice low.

"You know that's not possible."

"Do I?" Now his palm hurt, too, and Chuuya took it off of the mattress before he ripped holes into the sheets. "It's the only reason I can think of. You were resisting the drift. It shouldn't have taken ten seconds for you and Kunikida to stabilize, not with how compatible you are."

Dazai was silent for a long time, long enough that Chuuya was about to drag up more of his anger and speak again, but then he said: "I thought it might be easier for him."

All of the fight in him loosened at once. Exhaustion crashed into him like a sledgehammer. Chuuya blinked slowly, looking down at the carpeted floor, and let it run its course until even his damaged nerves felt too tired to hurt.

"You have too much experience to let your copilot slip like this," he said. "You can't just… Fucking hell, Dazai. We don't have time for holding back."

"Think of it that way, Chuuya," Dazai replied mildly. "Kunikida-kun knows what to expect, now. It's better to chase the RABBIT during a test than during a fight. He'll know how to get himself out of it if it happens again."

"Have you even talked to him about it?" Dazai's silence was all the answer he needed. "Dazai," he sighed. He almost swallowed before speaking again, almost let the words die on his tongue from lack of a resolve. "Whatever it is that's you don't… want him to see, or I don't know. Whatever it is you're struggling with." He made himself meet Dazai's eyes despite the heavy weight of his heart. "You need to let it go. You need to be able to pilot with him."

Dazai's suspended breath rang through the padded silence. It dug deep into the longing that Chuuya carried around like a second skin, into the cloud-like words he never quite knew how to say.

"We can pilot," Dazai replied at last. "The drift was strong enough."

"It could be stronger."

Dazai exhaled loudly. He ran a hand through his hair in a way Chuuya knew, deeply, that he only did when he was truly shaken—and the sight stabbed into his ribs, folded around his heart, made every wound crawl back to life.

"What do you want from me, Chuuya?" Dazai muttered, looking at his knees. "Did you expect me to be happy about…"

No. Chuuya hadn't expected him to. He hadn't wanted him to. Even though he had no right to such selfishness.

"You told them yourself," he said. "You can't expect to drift and keep any part of you private. You won't be able to pilot with him if you keep trying to hide things. You need to let him see what matters."

"Oh, trust me," Dazai laughed without any humor, "he saw everything that mattered."

He glanced at Chuuya, eyes soft and fond, and Chuuya couldn't breathe through it at all.

He let himself fall back onto the bed to escape it. His chest tensed upon touching the mattress, now matter how minimal the impact was; it took a second for him to be able to relax, and even then he didn't yet try to crawl backward and properly lay down. That would take very incremental moves, considering the pain in his leg.

Silence unfolded through the room. The walls were too thick to hear from the outside, built to withstand kaiju attacks as well as humanity could; still Chuuya looked at the starlit sky and imagined the spread of the sea under it, gleaming and peaceful. He turned to his knowledge of it until he could hear the waves' whisper against his skin.

The sound Dazai made as he stood from the chair was muffled by the drowsiness of it. "Just let it go," he said to himself, echoing Chuuya's words.

He stepped toward the bed, stopping beside where Chuuya lay. Chuuya didn't look up at him as he mumbled, "Go talk to your partner."

"I am."

Dazai's hand hovered by Chuuya's arm, not tensed but not relaxed, fingers curved into the shape of a hold. It was the same hand that had rested on his chest earlier as he heaved through the pain. Chuuya had only had that to latch onto and avoid losing consciousness; he had focused on the weight and feeling of it until he thought he felt Dazai's fingers directly against his heart.

Do it, Chuuya thought in his weakness, in the deepest, most cowardly corners of his mind. Touch me. Don't wait for me to hurt this time.

Dazai slid his hand into his pocket. "Good night, Chuuya," he said.

The light of the hallway shone for a second too long onto the ridges of the room, drawing sharp, long shadows out of all furniture. The imprint of it stayed behind Chuuya's eyelids long after he closed the door.

He fell asleep to the imagined lull of the sea, letting his mind fill with it until it muffled all other noise. Only moonlight shone anymore. It lit the keyhole of the drawer where he kept the broken remains of his pilot helmet.

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#bsd #bungou stray dogs #soukoku #nakahara chuuya #dazai osamu #fic: build upon the ruins

[junker-town]

The case for Kawhi Leonard as the best basketball player alive

Photo by Chris Elise/NBAE via Getty Images

The title of the best player alive can’t pass in December. It’s earned in June.

The MVP is cool, but Kawhi Leonard is the best player alive

Early in the fourth quarter of last Thursday’s showdown between the Milwaukee Bucks and Los Angeles Lakers, Giannis Antetokounmpo hit a three over Anthony Davis that forced Frank Vogel to call time. As the telecast went to a commercial break, Antetokounmpo pranced toward his bench, repeatedly slamming an imaginary crown atop his own head.

The gesture was powerful. In Antetokounmpo’s eyes, along with many others who watched his Bucks win, LeBron James was getting supplanted as the NBA’s official Head of State. All this is subjective, yes. It’s also presumptive. The Bucks indeed look indestructible with Antetokounmpo on the floor. He earned his first MVP last season and is on track to win another.

But when it comes to coronations in the NBA, team success in a playoff setting still matters. You can’t skip steps. This brings us to Kawhi Leonard, the most complete basketball player alive, who, on his way to the second Finals MVP of his career, pummeled Antetokounmpo’s Bucks four straight times in last year’s Eastern Conference Finals.

It’s not that Leonard isn’t a mainstream figure, but for most of this season it’s felt like he exists in a universe that’s three centimeters to the left of every other player. Despite being in his prime as the best player on a championship favorite, averaging 25.5 points, 7.8 rebounds, and 5.1 assists while making 42.4 percent of his threes over the past month (AKA since Paul George’s debut), Leonard isn’t a serious MVP candidate — Basketball-Reference’s tracker currently ranks him 10th, behind Nikola Jokic and Bam Adebayo — or someone widely accepted as the best player alive.

The checks against him in both discussions are well known. Leonard is the face of load management, a movement that treats the regular season as more of a burdensome means to an end than the inherent value proposition the NBA sees it as. April 5, 2017 was the last time Leonard played on zero days rest, and heading into Christmas Day he has appeared in seven fewer games than Antetokounmpo and played 407 fewer minutes than James Harden.

In no way should anyone doubt the health-related rationale for resting as often as he does — a long-running degenerative quadricep disorder led to his battle against knee tendinitis during last year’s postseason — but it comes with an explicit whiff of indifference towards the 82-game schedule that damages his overall standing in a complicated way. To be clear, this isn’t a call to recognize Leonard as a legitimate MVP candidate, but instead an attempt to acknowledge how moot he makes the honor feel.

His statistical resume is impressive — featuring the highest assist and usage rate of his career, along with a current fourth-place standing in real plus-minus and 538’s RAPTOR metric — but doesn’t quite stack up with Harden, Antetokounmpo, James, or even Luka Doncic. Taking it another step, Leonard’s value is undeniable on both ends, but even though his on/off net point differential is in line with those aforementioned superstars, the Los Angeles Clippers would not collapse without Leonard the same way the Rockets, Bucks, or Lakers would. Those teams were constructed around their stars. Leonard elevates a roster that already had a competitive identity before he got there.

This is instead about status and impact and how one informs the other. It’s about the bewildering Best Player in the World debate that LeBron’s perceptible albeit slight decline has allowed. It’s about deciding what actually matters, and weighing night-to-night dependable excellence beside a blatant commitment to prioritize June over January. It’s about remembering what happened six months ago and seeing an even better version of that player today, operating with a whole new set of teammates, in a different environment. It’s about respect.

I decided to write this column because for the past two years I’ve thought Leonard was the NBA’s best player, and do not understand how anyone who watched last year’s postseason can be so quick to move on from it and declare a different heir to James’ throne. Last year, Leonard led the playoffs in minutes, points, steals, offensive rebounds, free throws, and Win Shares. He was a hobbled Hercules, slaying one favored opponent after the next with the precise all-around dominance very few have ever summoned on that type of stage.

He bounced home the most meaningful non-Finals shot of my lifetime — the 39th, 40th, and 41st points of a masterful Game 7 victory over the Philadelphia 76ers — then helped curb Antetokounmpo in the final four games of the conference finals while simultaneously grinding Khris Middleton down to a nub (Milwaukee’s second all-star only averaged 13.7 points per game in that series, in large part because he had to track Leonard on the other end).

After the championship — a series in which he averaged 29 points, 10 rebounds, four assists, and two steals per game — Leonard’s free agency was ascendancy on display. He courted Paul George to Los Angeles one summer after James failed to do so, a genuinely masterful flex that can’t be overlooked.

I would not choose any other player to navigate the final five minutes of a tied game, or lead a team back from a 2-1 deficit, or, frankly, be on my roster for the next three or four years. (Leonard is 28 years old.) Basketball is a team game and this isn’t at all meant to be a diatribe about RINGZZZ. But until Leonard actually stumbles in a meaningful playoff moment, it seems silly to prefer anyone else. He’s a surgical scorer from all three levels, with a handle and playmaking chops that seem to improve every month. His defensive peak is no longer worthy of the award he’s already won twice, but reverberates with a disruptive force few can match.

Also, there is no shot a defense wants Leonard to take. He’s comfortable in every square-inch of the floor, makes those around him better, can dominate with the ball, overwhelm the opposition without it, and, like all great players, is impervious to scouting reports designed to slow him down.

A few years ago, defenders knew he’d liked to pull up on drives to his left and attack the rim on drives to his right. Even though he takes more shots that are analytically undesirable than any franchise player in 2020 should — 41.6 percent of his field-goal attempts are pull-up twos, which is a career high; only 41.4 percent of his field-goal attempts are at the rim or behind the three-point line, which is third-lowest in the league among all players who’ve logged at least 500 minutes; and he leads the NBA in contested long twos — Leonard’s approach would be more concerning if it was all he could do. Extra threes would be nice, but he’s potent from everywhere; mid-range jumpers in the regular season will transform into more taxing forays into the paint when it’s necessary for him to do so (i.e. the playoffs). Elsewhere, he’s as confident as ever.

Whether operating a pick-and-roll, isolated on the wing, or posting up on the block, Leonard is like an airplane programmed to land at specific coordinates without deviation. He thrives on autopilot, surveying the floor and computing what the most direct route to points should be. His arsenal is a bottomless reservoir of counters, pivots, and exclamation points. Leonard can dunk on your head, but would rather stop on a dime, juke you into the air, then politely send himself to the free-throw line. He’s the most balanced, disciplined, unbothered scorer in a league that’s full of them.

I understand those who look at Antetokounmpo, Harden, or James, see history being made on a nightly basis, and believe one of them is the best player alive. I also admit that siding with Leonard in spite of all the magical things they’re doing is somewhat visceral. But I also think his very existence brings to light an uncomfortable question about the regular season’s actual value.

By treating it as he does, Leonard subverts awards — the MVP race, All-NBA teams — and other historically relevant markers that tell us who/what matters. In other words, he might not be breaking the system, but he does live outside it, governed by his own rule book.

I won’t assume Leonard will lead the Clippers to their first NBA title, but it wouldn’t be right to diminish his previous accomplishments before time affords him the opportunity to try. Sometimes being the best player alive doesn’t require daily verification, and the label is too consequential to get passed from one player to the next in the middle of December. The playoffs are where crowns are snatched. Nobody knows that better than the man who currently wears the largest one.