#even though he was transported into his memories and saw and heard those terrible things from the kids and wolfwood | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Text

turn to dust all that i adore

whoops it’s a 2b spec fic based on two seconds in a promo love that

title from things we lost in the fire by bastille

ao3 | 2.3k | 2b spoilers

The fire continues raging whenever TK closes his eyes, and he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse than the sight that greets him when his eyes are open. He wishes he could wipe that awful night from his memory completely and go back to where they were just a few days ago, happy and safe and in their home. They don’t even have that anymore, the house little more than ash, and TK would be okay with that - they could rebuild from that - if Carlos weren’t so silent and still in front of him.

The fire was three days ago; TK hasn’t seen Carlos awake in four. He’d been in the middle of a 24-hour shift when the call came through, bickering with Nancy about the merits of various sitcoms, Captain Vega probably rolling her eyes in the back as they returned to the station.

Nancy had quietly offered to drive when they found out the address, but TK had shaken his head. His hands were tight on the steering wheel, and he’d pressed down a little harder than necessary on the accelerator, praying he’d be able to get there fast enough. The house was a lost cause, if what dispatch said was true, but if he could save Carlos, then that would be enough.

He’d failed - of course he had. An explosion had ripped through the building just as they’d pulled up, the glass shattering as flames leapt from their bedroom window. TK had felt a cold dread settle inside him, and his worst fears had been confirmed when the team emerged with Carlos limp in their arms.

He’s alive, but the damage had been done. Too much smoke inhalation and multiple horrific burns left him hanging by a thread; it’s a miracle, really, that the heart monitor is still beeping out a steady rhythm. TK can’t be thankful, though, not when he knows everything could turn on its head in an instant. Not when they’ve already lost so much.

A soft knock on the door grabs TK’s attention. He looks up to see his dad standing there, a sad smile on his face and a plastic-wrapped sandwich in hand. TK twists his face into a grimace and returns to watching the bed.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Son -”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve been saying that for days,” his dad points out, walking over and pointedly laying the sandwich in TK’s lap. “Starving yourself isn’t going to make him wake up any faster.”

TK barely spares the sandwich a cursory glance. “Nor is forcing myself to eat.”

His dad sighs, crossing the room and grabbing the extra chair. He sets it down next to TK’s and, though he doesn’t look, TK knows he’s being subjected to one of his ‘dad looks’.

“TK, you’ve barely left the hospital since it happened,” he says. “I know it’s hard right now, but you can always come back and stay with me. You still have a home.”

“Not without him, I don’t.”

He hears his dad’s sharp intake of breath, feels his hand running through his hair, but TK’s detached from it all. He studies Carlos’s face, every part familiar to him, but so strange and foreign now. Carlos has never been a restless sleeper - that’s all TK - but there’s usually some movement. A crease appearing between his brows as his face scrunches up, his muscles shifting as he pulls TK closer, his nose gently nuzzling the back of TK’s neck. This still version of him isn’t Carlos. This isn’t the man TK loves.

But it’s close as he’s going to get until Carlos comes back to him, and TK can’t stand the thought of leaving him. In all the months they’ve been dating, they’ve rarely spent a night apart, and most of those were either on shift or still in their bed, with a pillow that smelt like the other and the promise of seeing each other again soon. Going back to his dad’s house would only be bearable if Carlos were with him, but that’s not possible, so neither is leaving.

“TK, I -”

“If you’re just here to give me this,” he interrupts, waving the sandwich in his dad’s direction, “then, thanks, but you should probably go now. His parents are coming in a bit and the hospital barely lets three of us be in here as it is.”

His dad recoils, wounded, but doesn’t budge, much to TK’s irritation. He’s really not in the mood for any more meaningless talk or thinly veiled attempts to get him to eat or sleep.

“Dad, please.”

“I was contacted by the PD this morning,” his dad says instead. TK’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “They found out what caused the fire.”

TK waits, but his dad suddenly becomes very reticent, his eyes flicking between TK and the bed. Clearly, this wasn’t something as simple as the electrics blowing or the washing machine malfunctioning; it’s worse, and TK’s breath seems to stick in his lungs.

“Dad?” he croaks.

Their eyes finally meet, his dad’s face arranged into a sympathetic grimace. “It was arson.”

Time stops.

“What?” TK breathes, shaking his head. Arson. Someone burned their home down and almost killed Carlos, on purpose. And for what? To kill them? The only reason TK wasn’t caught up in it too, after all, is because he was fortunate enough to be on shift that night. “Do they know who?”

“I’m sorry,” his dad says, voice full of regret. “It’s been happening all over the city, no leads so far.”

TK sits back in his chair, a white-hot spark of anger flashing through him as he once more takes in the many bandages on Carlos’s body. He wonders if this was how Judd felt those weeks ago when he found out the guy who’d run them off the bridge was also in the hospital, because TK would very much like to go out and find the people who did this. He wants them to pay for what they’ve done to the love of his life.

As is sensing where his mind has gone, his dad starts rubbing gentle circles on his back, though it doesn’t calm TK like it usually does.

“I think I’ll stay here until his parents show up,” he says. “If that’s alright?”

It’s a non-question; his tone makes it clear that he’s not going anywhere no matter what, but TK doesn’t have it in him to put up even a token argument. He simply nods wearily, and settles in for another day of waiting - another day without his boyfriend’s comforting presence at his side.

A week after the fire, he’s told he can go back to the house, if he wants. He doesn’t, really, but he goes anyway, knowing that Carlos will have questions when he wakes up, and maybe he’ll be able to salvage something.

Probably not, but it’s never been the stuff that’s mattered to him. It’s been what the loss of it all represents, the memories that now exist only in his head and in the ashes.

TK stares up at the blackened husk of their home, something keeping him rooted in the middle of the street. Police tape is still up and there’s an officer waiting to escort him in when he’s ready, but TK just… He doesn’t know if he can do this.

“TK?”

He jumps at the unexpected voice, turning to see Carlos’s neighbour from two doors down, Molly, her daughter trailing behind her. TK doesn’t know many of the people around here, but Molly and her husband are often to be found playing with Lilia on the porch, and they always make a point of greeting them. Carlos has even babysat for them a few times, though TK’s rarely there for that.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says, smiling apologetically. “How are you doing?”

He shrugs. “I’m okay,” he replies, and Molly seems to understand what that really means. “Carlos is still in hospital, but we’re, um. We’re hoping he’ll wake up soon.”

She nods, glancing at the house. “It’s terrible, what happened. You’ve got somewhere to stay, right?”

“I’ve only just moved out of my dad’s place, so I’ll just go back there while we figure something out. Guess he’ll be glad we don’t have to transport all my stuff this time.”

The joke is hollow, and Molly’s face twists in sympathy. “Well, if you need anything, we’re happy to help out however we can. Carlos has always been good to us - to everyone here - and we hate that you’re going through this now. Send him our love, okay?”

TK gives her a small smile, nodding. He’s about to excuse himself to finally go inside, when Lilia tugs at her mother’s hand, whispering something in her ear when Molly leans down.

“We were baking when we saw you pull up,” Molly explains, straightening. “Lilia insisted on bringing these out to you, didn’t you, Lils?”

Lilia beams up at him when TK looks over to her, thrusting a small tupperware in his general direction. “Cookies!” she exclaims, by way of explanation.

TK chuckles and squats so he’s at her height, taking the box from her. She’s watching him expectantly, so he takes a cookie - clumsily decorated with mountains of sprinkles - and pops it in his mouth, making a show of enjoying it.

“My compliments to the chef,” he says, licking his lips playfully. Lilia giggles, then, without warning, throws her arms around him, the force of it almost sending him on his ass. Molly gasps and reaches to pull her daughter away, but TK shakes his head at her, mouthing an, It’s okay.

Steadying himself, he gently wraps his arms around Lilia’s back, allowing her to bury her face in the crook of his neck as she attempts to squeeze him within an inch of his life. It’s enough to pull a real smile out of him, though tears also spring to his eyes, a sudden emotion overwhelming him. He brushes them away hastily when Lilia unwraps herself from him, but it’s clear that Molly noticed, judging by the sad smile on her face.

“I hope Mr Carlos gets better soon,” Lilia says, her voice earnest in a way only a five-year old’s can be.

TK nods. “Me too.”

“He gave me sweets.”

A laugh bursts out of him at the sudden comment. TK leans close to her, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Shall I tell you a secret? He gave me sweets as well.”

Lilia gasps as though she’s heard something incredibly scandalous. TK laughs again, before standing back up and turning to Molly, who’s been watching the two of them with clear amusement.

“Thank you,” he tells her. “For coming out and talking, and for the cookies.”

“It’s the least we could do,” she says, waving him off. “Like I said, let us know if you need anything, even if it’s just to talk. We’ll be there.”

TK thanks her again, waving at them both as they head back inside. He turns to his and Carlos’s place, then takes a deep, shaky breath.

He can do this.

Inside is much as he expects. The worst of the rubble has been cleared, but there’s still some detritus lying around, including a few of their things. TK stoops and carefully retrieves a framed photo from the floor, wiping the dust off the cracked glass. The picture inside is barely recognisable, the colours warped, but he knows the image like the back of his hand - a candid of him and Carlos taken by Marjan during one of their hangs. She’d caught Carlos mid-laugh, a grin plastered on TK’s own face as they’d stared into each others’ eyes.

Marjan had grumbled about how frustratingly lovesick they both were, but the photo quickly became one of TK’s favourites, and it had made its way into a frame less than a week later. TK’s heart aches at the sight of it ruined; he can always print another as it’s still saved on his phone, but it still hurts. Everything does, right now.

As he gazes around the space, eyes catching on mementos and remembering how it all used to look, TK is struck by how much this place had felt like home. He’s only been officially living here for a month, but it’s been theirs for far longer than that, TK’s stuff worming its way in among Carlos’s until it became natural to see two pairs of shoes by the door, two sets of keys in the bowl.

This was theirs, and now it’s nothing.

He drops the photo frame on his way out the door, not sparing a look back as he walks away.

He gets the call halfway back to the hospital and TK forgets all about speed limits as he races the rest of the way. He sprints through the corridors, the path to Carlos’s room learned by heart, and skids to a stop in the doorway, his eyes filling with tears at the sight before him.

Carlos, awake and smiling and alive.

TK lets out a sob, his hand flying to his mouth. Carlos turns, his smile widening when he catches sight of him, and he wordlessly lifts his palm up in invitation.

And who is TK to refuse it?

“Hi, baby,” he gasps, before kissing his boyfriend, palms framing Carlos’s face. Carlos’s hands come up to clutch at his wrists, and TK presses their foreheads together, silently revelling in this moment.

There’s a long road still ahead of them - Carlos needs to heal, and they’ll have to do so much to get back on their feet - but he can’t care about that right now. Being here, right now, with Carlos’s warm touch stroking over his skin, is all TK needs.

Carlos came back to him, and that’s the only thing that matters.

100 notes · View notes

kyber-crystal · 4 years

Text

➳ catch me || s.r

summary: in which you struggle to tell the difference between liking him as a friend or something more. until one fateful moment forces you to decide where you ultimately stand.

words: ~3.9k

warnings: mentions of death, blood, overused friends to lovers, slight enemies to lovers LOL

a/n: i suffered through this WIP for like, 3 mf MONTHS before i was finally able to finish it off. i feel so relieved. but i will warn you, it’s terrible

"Rogers."

"Y/N."

You exchanged curt nods with him as you went to grab yourself some water after attending a meeting with Fury. Ever since Sharon started showing up more often, you began to distance yourself from him because you know that lingering by will only make you feel worse.He doesn't know why you're acting so cold all of a sudden, but decides not to question it as it won't help the situation in any way whatsoever.

He was quick to break the awkward silence that had fallen. "Where are you being sent off?"

"We," you replied coldly. "Northern Europe. Got word of an arms trade happening tomorrow morning."

"Okay."

Footsteps were suddenly heard from down the hall and without warning, he tugged you forward by the wrist and pressed his lips to yours.

You didn't protest because you're still too shocked to fully register what's going on and 2) you actually liked the way he made you feel.

Though you really weren't supposed to be.

"What was that for?" you breathed out as you both pulled away, breathless.

"Sharon," he replied simply, looking around for a moment. "She's been bothering me for the past few weeks and I had to do something."

"You just noticed?" you said, sarcasm lacing your tone as you looked out of the corner of your eye to see the blonde woman walking away. "She's been all over you since her recruitment."

His brows furrow together in confusion as he notices the darkened look in your eyes, but doesn't say anything. You toss him the black manila folder containing information on your mission for him to read, sitting down at the kitchen counter together.

"Infamous dealer carrying nuclear weapons overseas. Headquartered somewhere in the Arctic Circle, I think," you explained as he pulled out the wanted man's file. "Can be taken either dead or alive. We have to stop them from going through with the attack."

"When are we leaving?"

"Wheels up at 8:30 p.m. Should take about 6 hours...we're being flown in via helicarrier."

Great.

You just realized you'd be stuck in a plane alone together for 6 hours straight, when the very thing you were trying to do was avoid him.

You're mostly silent as you board the jet, securing your bags and weapons before taking your seat. Fatigue is tugging at your body and your eyelids grow heavy, although it isn't even that late. Without thinking about what you were doing, you rest your head against Steve's shoulder and close your eyes. He wraps an arm around your waist in response.

Before you knew it, the aircraft was hovering over the drop zone. The two of you got up and went towards the back, fastening parachutes to your backs as the gates dropped open.

"Stay safe out there," you blurted out as you glanced down at the base below you, then over at Steve. "Circle the perimeter and meet me inside. Don't die or I'll kill you."

"Yes ma'am."

Inhaling sharply, you gripped the straps of your jacket and squeezed your eyes shut, the dry wind whipping your hair in your face as you descended downwards.

With his icy blue eyes still imprinted in the back of your mind.

...

It was quite ironic seeing that you, an Avenger and a former SHIELD pilot that flew everywhere all the time, had a crippling fear of heights. The mere idea of being jumping out of planes and having to go on missions involving multi-story buildings shook you to your core, and it always took you at least a week to recover once you got back.

"Steve!" Your voice heightened to a shriek as you felt the plane's velocity increase suddenly. The crates next to you toppled over and you went crashing to the floor alongside them, barely managing to grip the armrest of something and pressing your back against the wall, feeling your head spin. The sticky warmth and stinging, white-hot pain in your side tells you that you were shot. You didn't need to look at the wound to know it wasn't pretty. "Where the hell are you?"

"Fifty yards away from the northeast entrance," he replied breathlessly. "I got nothing. You?"

"The weapons," you panted, "are on the plane!"

"Okay. Where are you?"

"On the damn plane! They're gonna detonate at any moment, I have to get this thing away from the city—I'm not gonna make it so I just wanted to tell you that—"

"Fuck, don't say that," he hissed. You know things were bad when Steve Rogers, the man that coined the 'Language' line, swore. "Just—hang tight, I'm coming for you."

"No. Just forget it," you shouted over the noise, grunting in pain as your head hit the side of a storage box, muttering a string of curses under your breath. "I can't afford for you to risk your own life for me. It's okay. Just leave me behind."

"No, I'm not leaving you!" he yelled back. "I'm not going back home without you."

"Steve," your voice was thick with tears, throat feeling tight as you swallowed back the sob that was threatening to erupt from your lips. You wipe a tear that slips down your cheek and cleared your throat. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," he says hoarsely, "I lost you once, and I'm not losing you again."

"There's no point, Steve. I'm going to die. This thing's on autopilot going God knows where at top speed and if there's any chance of stopping this thing, I gotta crash it. If you come and get me you're gonna die, too. You know Fury's not gonna like having to send out an extraction team to drag both our corpses back to headquarters."

"Y/N, don't-" His voice breaks and you swear your heart shatters into a million pieces. "Please, don't- don't say that. I'm gonna come and get you. You're gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay."

That was the last straw for you; and you lost it at those last words. Tears sting a steaming hot trail down your cheeks as you hastily try to wipe them away with your bruised and bloodied knuckles. "No, we're not. I don't think you understand. I'm over 30,000 feet in the air with no protection whatsoever. They're gonna shoot you down before you even have the chance to get to me."

You always told yourself you'd be willing to put your life on the line to save someone else's; to sacrifice yourself for the greater good. But now that death was looming threateningly close to you and staring you down, for the first time in a long time, you didn't know if you even wanted to leave and you were scared. Scared of what was to come if you really were to meet your end. Scared of what was to come at the end of the tunnel, what would happen when you were swallowed whole by death's bottomless, dark pit. You didn't expect your fate to approach so quickly, and it scared you more than you wanted to admit.

Being a superhero meant that making sacrifices were a must-do. You always knew you would need to give things up in order to successfully do your job. That one day, your time to die would come but you didn't know it would happen like this; so unexpectedly.

Now you realize people were right as they told you in your final moments, you'd see your entire life flash before your eyes. You blink and you're transported back to when you first joined the Initiative, skeptical of the six unfamiliar faces before you. But it only takes a matter of three minutes before Thor cracks a joke that has you all howling in laughter, and another one for Natasha to approach you and start a conversation. To you, her, and Steve on the run as fugitives of SHIELD as you conducted the search for The Winter Soldier. The heartbreaking decision of having to choose between your mentor and best friend in Berlin--which you realized, happened barely over a year ago. So many memories had been created in such a short amount of time and you didn't ever want to let any of them go. You couldn't bring yourself to.

You stumbled over, sliding into the pilot's seat and buckling up. Your grip around the controls were so tight that the barely healing cuts around your knuckles reopened and began bleeding again.

You let out a shuddering sigh, tapping several buttons overhead before reaching down to turn on your comm again. "Steve? Are you there?"

"Darling..." The pure agony in his voice only makes you feel worse. You've never heard the great Captain America in such a soft-spoken tone before, so you could only assume it took him a lot to get him into this state. "Yeah. I'm here."

"So..." you readjusted your grip and let your shoulders fall back, "...you remember that one time we took the subway to see Hamilton last weekend?'

"Last weekend? It was only last weekend?" Steve tried his best to keep it together, but his wavering tone gave it all away. "Feels like forever since we got a break."

"I know," you let out a broken laugh, "and then you wouldn't stop talking about it the entire way back? It got so bad to the point Tony had to forcefully shut off all the speaker systems around the compound because he woke up at 3 am to see you sitting in the kitchen, playing the soundtrack at full volume."

"But when he saw you dancing around in the kitchen while making lunch the next day, he couldn't keep doing that for any longer. You have an amazing voice."

"I don't know..." you sniffed, forcing a smile, "you're the one who's pretty good at singing and playing the piano. I think you got all the musical talent-"

"Y/N," he interrupted, "stop. Don't do this to me."

"Do what?"

"You're talking as if you're gonna die."

The gravity of the whole situation comes crashing down on you again. "...Because I am."

"No, you're not. I'm not letting that happen."

"I don't think you have a say in things this time, Rogers," your voice cracked. You shook your head. "I'm done for. God, I really hoped this wasn't how I'd meet my end. I hate heights. I hate the ice, I'm scared shitless of dying, I can't- I can't do this. But I have to. If I don't, millions of people will die and I can't have that on my conscience."

You sucked in a breath as you looked out of the corner of your eye to see you're falling, and falling fast. In a matter of minutes you'll be plunging through the surface of the ice and into the depths of the icy-cold water. There's no turning back now.

"Geez," you spoke up again, "this is like some repeat of '45. Is this how it felt? Knowing you were gonna die, but doing it anyway because you knew you had to do it?"

"That's not the same. It was a matter of chance that I made it at all. Chances are slim to none that you'll end up frozen in a block of ice for 66 years."

"See, it's hopeless," you sighed. "Go back. You need to go...or you're gonna end up filled with bullets."

"I'm not going back," he repeated. "Not without you."

"If you're gonna think of a plan, you better think fast-"

"Jump."

"What did you just say? Are you out of your damn mind?"

"I said, jump. There's no other choice. Look for an emergency exit...there should be one above you. Do you see it?" His voice was calm, gentle, as if he was speaking to a child, and it soothed you a bit. You muttered a quick 'yes'. "Alright. Pry that open, get out of there. I'm coming with the Quinjet right now, so hang tight."

As if he could sense your fear, he softened his tone a bit more, "Hey. It's okay. I'm coming for you. You'll be alright."

"It's like we're Romeo and Juliet," you managed to choke out in between a laugh and sob, "except only one of us dies."

"Y/N, you're not dying." He couldn't mask the obvious pain in his voice. "Honey, I promise you're not gonna die. You're gonna be alright."

"Steve-" You let out an earsplitting shriek and scrambled to get a stronger grip as blaring alarms sounded throughout the aircraft. The impact of the hits nearly made you topple off and you clung to the side of the jet for dear life, praying to God you weren't going to fall off and crack your head open on an iceberg. "I got hit. They're tailing after me, you can't, I'm actually gonna fall-"

"Okay, okay, I'm here. Do you see me?" You turned your head to the side ever so slightly to see the Quinjet hovering below, but your heart dropped when all you could see were snow flurries blowing around - and zero sign of the super-soldier.

"No-"

"Just jump. I see you. I'm literally right below you, so jump, okay?"

"Are you crazy?"

"Do you trust me?" he yelled out, his voice carrying over on the frigid winds. "Y/N. Do you trust me?"

"But-"

"I've never let you down before and I sure as hell won't now. Trust me, Y/N, come on."

You pressed your lips together. You knew he was right. Either you made the jump now, or get filled with a dozen bullets and dying a brutal and gory death.

You finally bring yourself to look down again and there he is, a little closer this time. His gaze finds yours and suddenly, you're drowning. You might've been hundreds of feet apart but no distance would be able to extinguish his piercing gaze. His eyes were the ocean and you were lost at sea, lost in those endless pools of blue and losing yourself in him—the one guy who stuck by your side for so long and thought as nothing more than a best friend, a teammate until now. The one guy who took your breath away with his million-dollar smile every time you made eye contact.

In the one guy who you thought was just a friend, until you realized you were hopelessly in love with him - the Steve Rogers.

And now you weren't sure if you'd come out of this alive to finally tell him so.

You squeezed your eyes shut and let go. The wind whipping at your hair and face feels like a thousand tiny needles being jabbed into your skin and you swear if you kept your mouth open you would've puked - if you'd opened your eyes you knew you'd die from fear first before anything else.

But all those thoughts are suddenly put to a halt when you're stopped by a pair of strong, warm arms you'd sought solace in countless times before.

"Y/N, thank God you're alright, oh my god," Steve let out a shuddering sigh as he held you close, cradling your head against his chest. "I thought I lost you. Oh my god. Are you okay?"

"I just fell out of an airplane without a parachute and I have no idea how I survived."

His look of concern immediately turns into horror when he pulls his hand off your waist to see it come back covered in your crimson blood. His face falls. Then it hits you all at once, and you're overcome with a nauseating wave of dizziness - the aftereffects were beginning to get to your head.

The super-soldier hurriedly jammed a finger to his ear. "I got her. We're on our way back. Prepare the medbay; she's gonna have to be operated on as soon as we land."

"Yes, sir," a STRIKE agent replied from the receiving end. "We'll get right to it. Please have a safe flight home."

"Thank you."

Steve put the jet on autopilot so he could sit with you in the back, frantically applying pressure to your wound and doing his best to patch you up. But with each round the bandages made around your waist, the blood flow increased, seeping through the fabric. You didn't have to tell him directly for him to know you didn't have much time left and if he were to save you, you would need to get back home, fast.

...

As soon as Steve stepped down the ramp with your limp, unconscious body in his arms, he was bombarded by a flurry of medbay agents, who had you in a gurney and were wheeling you away within minutes. He tried to follow after them but Tony quickly grabbed his wrist and yanked him back.

"Let me go," he growled. "I swear to Odin, Stark, if you don't-"

"You can't follow her in there."

"I can if I want to."

Tony let out a sigh of defeat. "Rogers. She's going to be fine."

"How do you know? How can you possibly guarantee her survival?"

"I just know. Sheesh, you're a hopeless romantic."

...

You glanced over at the monitor tracking your vitals beside your bed, the constant beeping of the machines seemingly echoing in your brain on a loop. You were too exhausted to do anything at the moment, but you couldn't seem to fall back asleep, even with the drugs coursing through your system.

You try to shift around and find a more comfortable position, and felt a twinge of pain on your right side. Note to self; don't place all your body weight on the side where a bullet tore through your stomach. Bad idea.

Laying flat on your back again, you closed your eyes, willing yourself to fall back asleep. But sleep never comes, and a few minutes later a knock on your door pulls you out of your momentary trance.

"Hey there, soldier," you managed a sleepy grin as Steve stepped into the room, pulling up a chair to your bedside. "Nice weather outside, isn't it? Feels like just yesterday I was gunned down and forced to drive myself to near-suicide...wait, that was yesterday, right? I've lost all sense of time-telling-"

You paused and looked back over to see a rare sight - he was on the verge of breaking down. His bright blue eyes were dulled and glossed over with fresh tears that threatened to spill, and although it had barely been over a day since your admittance to the hospital, it looked like he hadn't slept in over a week. And it was all your fault.

"Are you okay...?"

He shook his head, clenching his fists in his lap so tightly that they began turning white. "You’re seriously asking me if I’m okay? I almost lost you. You almost died."

"I'm sorry-"

"If I hadn't gotten to you in time, then...I don't know what I'd do if-"

"Steve, it's not your fault."

"I let you down, Y/N." His voice was cracked and raw, as if he'd been crying for hours on end beforehand. Your heart shattered at the sound. "I let you down and I'm so sorry I couldn't get to you sooner. I'm sorry I left you alone on that ship because I didn't look out for you well enough. This is all on me. My job was to protect you, to look out for you. And I failed to do that."

"You didn't fail, Steve," you said softly. "You did your best. You saved me. I'm alive right now because of what you did."

The super-soldier inhaled sharply and moved his chair closer so he could reach his hand out to place it on your forehead, letting it stay there for a moment before sliding it down to cup your cheek. You didn't make any efforts to remove it and if you were being honest with yourself, you liked how his warm skin felt against your own. He smelled like honey and freshly ground coffee and everything good in the world. He made you feel like you were at home.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you let yourself bask in his warmth, melting into his soft touch. If it weren't for your currently uncomfortable predicament, you would've fallen asleep on the spot all over again.

"Something's on your mind, isn't there," you mumbled, eyes still closed. Even without your powers, it didn't take much for you to figure out that something was wrong. "Tell me what's going on."

You opened your eyes again to see that there were tears streaming down his face. He hastily tried to wipe them away with one hand as the other was gently placed on top of yours, but his efforts were fruitless, of no avail whatsoever.

"Steve-"

"I was so worried," he croaked out. "I don't want to think about how things would be if you died. I can't live without you."

"I'm here now, okay? I'm going to be fine. I'll heal," you said softly. "You saved me, you caught me, so now I'm okay. We're okay." You moved over slightly to give him room to sit. Steve's arms encircled your waist as yours slid down and over his shoulders, and he pressed his trembling lips to your temple.

It was quiet. Whispered oh-so-quietly, as if he was hesitant to open his mouth. But you heard it regardless.

"I love you."

You smiled sadly. "I know. I love you too."

"Just...please don't try and pull off something off like that again."

"I won't. I promise."

You heard each shaky inhale and exhale as he tried to regain his composure - strong arms tightening around your figure with his face buried into the crook of your neck. Letting out a trembling sigh, you held onto him even tighter as if by some miraculous way, doing so could keep him from falling apart. As if somehow, your arms being around him could squeeze all the million little shattered pieces of his heart back together again.

You knew deep down, exactly why he had been so afraid to watch you meet your potential end. It was the jet plunging into the depths of the icy blue, monstrous sea. He didn't want you to experience even a fraction of what he had and prayed you’d never have to. He swore a silent oath to himself to shield you away from as much of the horrifying world as he possibly could, but you were nearly dragged under by the clutches of Death herself that day, and he couldn't help but feel like he failed you.

You took in a deep breath, inhaling his fresh scent of coffee grounds and warm honey as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. For the briefest moment in time you could pretend everything was in fact, going to be okay, because it was just you and him wrapped up in each others' arms without a care in the world. It was just you and him, basking in each others' warmth, silent whispers of reassurance into his ear and repeated soft, fleeting kisses to his temple that reminded him you were still alive and breathing, and you were just fine.

For the first time in a long time, Steve Rogers felt whole again. The hole in his heart was gone, the void finally filled. And all it took was your presence, and your presence alone.

...

(if your username is striked out, that means i couldn’t add you)

general tags and mutuals who may be intersted (if your username is here, pls go check the taglist link in my bio to specify which specific taglist you’d like to be added to!): @sylvie-writes @zaddychris @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @sis-it-dont-add-up @tonystankschild @buckybarnesthehotshot @musicalkeys @carryonmywaywardbucky @thinkingofbuckybarnes @rynhaswritersblock @wheresmyjae @captainchrisstan @sandystoriess @patzammit @cicicantblog

permanent tags: @sandwitch-god @renaissancecherub @poesflygirl

steve/chris tags: @speechlessxx @angrybirdcr @marvelfanatic16 @stainedsouvenir @smokeandnailz

#avengers imagines #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #avengers x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america one shot #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #captain america fic

273 notes · View notes

septic-skele · 3 years

Text

UF - Out of Reach

Summary: Classic and Blue have it good with their brothers. They make displays of love and affection look so easy. Red can’t help but feel bitter about it. He stands no chance of ever having anything like that with his boss.

Well, not with that attitude about it, Blue says.

Red couldn’t understand it. Logically he figured it was because Classic and Blue came from drastically different backgrounds. They weren’t living with eye sockets in the back of their heads or half-formed, sharpened bones under their pillows like he and Boss did. They were probably just as baffled about him and his behavior, but there was something Blue had said once that wouldn’t leave his mind.

Red had walked in on a private moment and for reasons beyond him, he hadn’t taken a hasty shortcut back out. He stopped and stared and couldn’t help being taken aback when he saw Blue cradling his Papyrus’ skull against his shoulder, murmuring comforts to him. Red had never seen that casual, laidback Papyrus so drunk, weak and vulnerable, much less Blue so solemn.

“I love you, Papy,” he soothed. “I’d love you no matter the ‘reset’, whatever that may be—no matter the world, no matter the universe. A good, proper Sans would never give up on his brother, and I am just that.”

Good, proper. Red had no illusions of propriety but the idea of it nagged and frustrated him. Any time he had tried to console Papyrus in recent memory, it had ended with all the wrong things being said and door hinges buckling under the strain of being slammed.

Red already knew what Blue would say if he heard of this. “You can always try again! I believe in you, pal! You simply need to persevere! You’ll get through to him, I know it!” Disgusting.

The worst part of it, however, was that even Classic did it better than he could. Classic—depressed, cynical, apathetic, a liar to Papyrus’ face more often than not—still loved his brother better.

Somehow the six of them had survived a night in together, though the argument over the TV remote had almost come to blows and the throw pillows may have sacrificed some of their stuffing. Now that they were all retiring, Red wandered down the hall to hear strains of Classic’s voice from one of the nearby bedrooms. He didn’t sound anything like the blasé character Red usually knew; he was lighter, actually putting effort into this.

“…Peekaboo had become a game of hide-and-seek! Where could her friends have gone? Fluffy Bunny wondered, bounding across the green, green field to look for them. She searched high! She searched low!”

“She searched near and far,” Papyrus chimed in.

“You bet she did. She searched east and west, under rocks and up in trees. But Fluffy Bunny couldn’t find her friends anywhere! Wherever could they be?”

Maybe they ditched her for wantin’ to play such stupid games, Red mused with a snort, although as Classic continued he was distracted by an old, old memory fluttering forth.

He had spent hours poring over the dump, fishing out as many old, damaged books as he could find. Drained and shivering, he’d lugged them back to the nook where he’d left Papyrus, safely out of sight. Before he could find sleep, Papyrus had thrown himself over Red’s back and pitched a fit about learning how to read.

“Show me, brother! I want to do it like you do, I want to try! It doesn’t have to be the long one! Just show me how, please! Please, please, please, plea-a-a-ase!”

Red had capitulated only because he didn’t want the tantrum to draw unwanted attention, but that wasn’t the part that stuck with him. Papyrus had curled up against him, half-tucked under his coat, watching him trace letters with intent focus. As he haltingly sounded out the words, every small success made him light up like a star, clutching eagerly at Red’s ribs for his approval.

“Did you see that, Sans?! Did you hear me?! I did it!”

“Yeah, yeah. Pipe down, kid, I saw. Nice one.”

Red’s opinion and praise had still meant something to Papyrus back then. Stars, he was still willing to cuddle with him, despite the filth and the damp clinging to his clothes from the river.

Had Boss ever really been that hopeful, clingy little baby bones or was Red trying to convince himself that was how it had happened? It was so long ago. Pap could have just fished those books out and taught himself while Sans was away, trying to find work. That sounded far more likely.

“G’night, bro,” Classic concluded, sliding the book onto the nightstand and giving his Papyrus an affectionate squeeze of the hand.

Balking, Red ducked back toward the stairs before he could be found snooping, all too well aware of what Boss might do if he ever dared reach out that way. He’d probably end up losing a few fingers.

It wasn’t fair, something small and spiteful in the back of his mind huffed. The idea nearly made him miss one of the steps, torn between shock and scornful amusement. Since when had fairness ever been part of the equation? If things were fair…

If things were fair, they would probably look a lot like the scene he had just left, as well as the scene he was walking into now. Blue perched prim and proper on the end of the couch, surfing idly through channels. His brother was stretched across the rest of the cushions, head propped against Blue’s lap, swaddled up in blankets, the whole nine yards.

Jerks. They were intent on showing off now; they knew exactly how good they had it. Sparks of irrational anger crackled along Red's jaw and spine. If he had something immediately on hand to hurl at them, he would have, but he had already shucked off his boots and summoning a bone would be a waste of magic.

“Edgy me?” Blue called in a faux whisper, making him tense. “I would have thought you’d be asleep already.”

“Yeah, well, it’s kinda hard to rest easy with Classic jabbering on about fluffy bunnies through the wall!” Red snarked, louder and sharper than necessary. He took little satisfaction in the way Blue winced, resting a hand on Papy’s skull as if to muffle the noise.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” So genteel, so polite, he still offered an inviting smile. “If you’d care to come and join us, any of the chairs from the dinner table are free! Mweheh, I honestly have no idea how Papy sleeps like this; the side I sit on is the only one without mangled, broken springs. It’s probably all of his tossing and turning that’s done it. I’ve been meaning to get them repaired, but he hardly ever leaves the couch to let me at it! He really ought to—”

“Shut up already, would’ja? I don’t care! Besides—Tch, wouldn’t want to interrupt your cute little ‘brother bonding’ time.”

“Oh, no, y-you’re not interrupting anything! Did I imply that somehow? I’m sorry! If you want part of the couch, I can wake him and ask him to scoot over—”

“How d’you make it look so easy?” It broke free before Red could fully comprehend how irrational it would be to ask. Jaw clenching so tightly that his teeth squeaked, he drew back from his own brash demand. Blue tilted his head.

“I’m sorry?” That counted three times in this conversation that he’d apologized for nothing. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He should have retreated. He should have spat, “Never mind!” and transported to his room to seethe in privacy. Instead his foolish, fat mouth blundered on. “How d’you get him to do that?” He threw an irritated gesture at the sleeping lump on his lap. “How d’you make him…relax, with you there? It’s as if he likes having you around!”

Even that was saying too much and yet just enough. Realization dawned in Blue’s eyes, followed by—oh, stars, there was pity.

“Well, I…I’m not really sure. If there are no other comfortable surfaces around for him while he sleeps, I’m happy to help! The last thing he needs is a cramp in his neck. Heh, I’m not tall enough to fix that for him so why not try to prevent it entirely? We’ve huddled up ever since we were baby bones; it’s always been this way.”

Of course. Cheekbones flaming, Red ducked his head. They never had raging fights that lasted until dawn (or until they started losing their voices, whichever came first.) Blue and Stretch had it all sorted out from birth, cozy and coddled.

“…Papy always caught cold too easily. I’d make up some rather impressive beds for him with grass and water sausages so he wouldn’t have to sleep on the rock, but the dew would leave him shivering all night! I couldn’t let that stand! Those chattering teeth of his kept me awake too so I made the noble sacrifice and slept on the damp side while he nestled up to me.” Blue chuckled, an uncharacteristic note of something laced through it. “With our two shirts tucked together, we could almost imagine a full hoodie like he has now!”

“Wh—You? That’s rich.” That was decidedly not what Red had been picturing as a life that could spit out someone as sickeningly sweet as Blue. “You’re not tellin’ me you two were homeless.”

“I preferred to think of us as explorers!” Blue corrected. “I told Papy that we were on an adventure to find the perfect place for a new start. We experienced all that the Underground had to offer a couple of wandering baby bones: scavenging, hide-and-seek, games of chase with older monsters, who were rather poor sports when they couldn’t catch us. I grew strong and magnificent thanks to all of that exercise and my brother…well, he tried very hard!”

Red shuffled uncomfortably in place. Funny, how familiar all of those experiences sounded—but from someone else’s mouth?

“Then Papy fell terribly ill. He was poisoned, in fact. It was the first time I really wondered if I’d lose him.” Ignoring how Red startled, Blue glanced pensively down at his snoring brother, smoothing his fingers more gently over his skull. “It may have been an accident, but I was responsible for his safety; I should have been paying closer attention. In part it was my fault.”

“And he…forgave you for that?” An accident like that, caused by a slip in Sans’ attention, could probably get him disowned.

“On the contrary, he blamed himself! He blames himself for a great many things and he thinks most of them can’t be helped. I try, I always try to help. What’s infuriating is that he acts as if he doesn’t deserve it. Despite what you may think, there are plenty of times he doesn’t want me around. He shuts down, he pushes me away, he tells me I’m wasting my time.”

Red’s eyelights flicked off.

“Shut up, Sans. I don’t want to discuss it.”

“You idiot! Get away from me!”

“Useless. What a waste of time.”

“I think he’s scared of what might happen if he lets his guard down…Perhaps he thinks I’m not strong enough to face whatever is underneath,” Blue continued. “Perhaps he thinks that if he lets me too close, it will be the thing to drive me away for good. Nevertheless! With time and patience, I know I’ll convince him.”

“But how?! How am I supposed to—I mean, how do you keep trying when it never does any good?”

“It does do some good, I’m sure of it! I keep pushing to help him so he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that I won’t be driven away so easily. Maybe Papy just isn’t ready to show me the good it’s done yet. He has to learn to trust himself before he can trust me, but he can never say that I don’t care about him. I’ll show love to every part of him, even the bad, and it will be an influence for the better. I will break down those barriers!” Blue concluded with a fiercer grin.

A good Sans would never give up on his brother.

“Doesn’t it…suck?” Red ground out, hoping it wouldn’t be interpreted as an admission of weakness. Doesn’t it hurt? “When he shuts you out all the time?”

“Of course. I never said it was an easy task but it’s not within me to accept defeat!” Blue stopped up short then, holding his breath as Papyrus shifted against him. Neither Red nor Blue had been particularly careful about their volume.

After a few moments of adjustment, Stretch settled deeper into his blankets with a sleepy hum of contentment. Blue softened, eyelights aglow with such fondness that Red could almost feel a ripple of it in the air between them. It made his soul turn.

“He’s my only brother. We only have each other in the end. Isn’t that worth the effort?”

_____________________________________

If Red hadn’t been passing his boss’s room at precisely the right moment, he never would have heard it: a string of low, ragged gasps, followed by a rumble that could have been a groan or a growl. Sans grimaced at the sound, already aware of what was happening. Boss never made noise in his sleep unless he was injured, pain slipping through the cracks of his subconscious, or he was fighting a nightmare. Seeing as the last few days had been highly uneventful, it would be the latter.

Welp, that’s his problem. I’m not about to get impaled ’cause he mistakes me for his sleep paralysis demon.

That was habit speaking. Better reasoning caught him a few steps later, slowing him to a halt.

It would be easy to swan off, mind his own business and let Papyrus suffer on his own. It would have been easy to do it years ago too, when Pap was nothing but a scrawny baby bones who couldn’t have done anything about it.

If he hadn’t then, why should he now? It was Boss’s shouts in the morning that often woke him from dark dreams…He could return the favor and feel less indebted to him for it.

It was only fair.

Cursing his newly planted seed of a conscience, Sans pivoted with great difficulty and kicked a foot at the door with a small thump. No answer. He kicked again. The gruff breaths from within quickened.

“…Boss?” he ventured, clearing his throat roughly. “Hey. Boss.” Belatedly he realized that he had no proper excuse ready if Papyrus awoke and asked what he wanted. That might not go over well, but the circumstances were making it hard to focus. Those strangled groans were slowly but surely chipping away his first instinct of self-preservation.

He was definitely going to get impaled. One shot, -9999 damage and his life would be over, all for an attempt to be considerate, but he could hear it now in Papyrus’ voice. There was a scared little brat trapped inside the intimidating commander and that brat clearly still needed a big brother to drag him out of trouble.

Steeled for his impending doom, Sans jostled open the door. “Boss,” he began again as he poked his head in. “You’re makin’ noise, alright? You gotta—Whoa, whoa, whoa, that’s not good—”

Papyrus was a writhing, tangled mess in his blankets, some already torn where his claws had caught. Sweat and magic bled down his face, eye sockets sputtering and smoking in a flurry of colors as he choked for traction to cry out.

“Ngnnh—No, no—stop!”

“Boss?!” Sans stammered, surging forward. Of their own volition his hands got busy, dragging at the blankets to rend them free of Papyrus’ kicking legs. “Bro, hey! It’s okay, it’s just a dream!”

From there it must have only been a few seconds but to Sans it felt like an eternity before Papyrus lurched upright, already scrambling. He didn’t lunge to attack as Sans had expected but recoiled; it was only when he smacked his skull against the wall behind him that he came to a lurching stop.

“I-It’s just me, Pap,” Sans stated cautiously. He wouldn’t have dared use the old nickname under any other circumstances, but it seemed to clear some of the wild haze in his brother’s eyes. It took a beat for him to formulate an appropriate response.

“Get out,” he rasped. It didn’t hold a candle to its usual bite. He was still panting, disoriented. “What are you doing here?”

Which d’you want, an answer or me getting out? “I heard you…Well, I didn’t know if somethin’ was up. Maybe someone…broke in or somethin’, trying to get to you.”

“Oh?” Shoulders shuddering in what could barely be masked as a laugh, Papyrus shook his head minutely. “And what could you do to save me? L-Look at you. You’re not even armed.”

“And look who didn’t even wake up when I barged in here! The big, bad boss could’ve gotten killed in his sleep because he was too busy cryin’ like a—” By the greatest restraint he cut himself off, foreseeing how that would be received, but he’d said enough already.

“Get. Out,” Papyrus snarled, rediscovering vitriol enough for Sans to cringe.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Get out, you fool, this instant, or I’ll—!”

“I’m sorry, okay? I was worried!” That word felt taboo aloud. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright and you weren’t so I stayed to help.”

“There’s nothing you can do here, Sans; as always, you—you prove to be utterly inadequate! Your best course of action will be to close the door behind you.” Judging by the way his chin jutted out, he was clearly expecting that to be the last word.

“…No.” Tossing the blanket’s edge back to the floor, Sans squared up. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” The incredulity that flashed in Pap’s eyes should have cowed him but he had resigned himself to that already at the door. “I’m not just gonna leave you here, all jittery and crunched up against the wall. I can’t leave you like this. You’re not fine and I know if I try to say somethin’ to make it better, I’ll screw it up. Like you said, I always do. So let’s just skip that part where I do it wrong and get to the bit where you tell me what you need. What d’you need to feel better and get back to sleep okay?”

The following silence caught him off guard. Papyrus was never at a loss for further scathing remarks so why was he just staring at him? Moreover, where had his anger gone? He looked smaller without it, less like the Great and Terrible Papyrus and more like…

Papyrus. Red’s only brother. Hunched down, hands fisted into the mattress, micro-tremors trailing down his ribs as he breathed, he looked exhausted.

A minute passed. Maybe it was two.

Sans fidgeted, his nerve failing. “Boss, listen, I—”

“Tea,” he muttered, hooded eyes darting away. “If you really want to make yourself useful.” Sans hadn’t expected his soul to fill his throat at that response; something must have shown in his face, as Papyrus’ next grumble was even quieter. “You’re acting uncharacteristically generous with your work ethic. Why would I pass up this opportunity to make you work in the kitchen for once?”

Sans felt oddly light at the words as he nodded, turning for the door. “Gotcha.” He had never thought this day would come. For once in his life, he saw doing more work as a victory.

If it did some small modicum of good, if it made one miniscule chip in those walls between them, it would be worth the effort.

46 notes · View notes

ask-the-six-human-souls · 3 years

Note

Don't worry, we get it. With that said, how were Frisk, Papyrus and Undyne going to find the parents of each soul and what was going to happen to them, especially when they were given the objects of the souls?

((Just a disclaimer! This post is probably gonna get pretty long...

•••

Anyway! So, first we'll start off with how Frisk and the gang were going about finding the soul's homes and their parents...

Frisk was the second character to be poofed into the Void (the first being Flowey), and while they were here, I started getting the idea to make the comic since I thought it'd be a neat concept to have Frisk return all the humans belongings to their family!

If you've read the start of Returning The Memories, Frisk looks at this paper for reference a lot. This is because, while they were in the Void, they had asked all the souls either what their home addresses were, or, where they most likely would expect their parents to be. (As you can see, Kaden's has question marks on it...we'll get to that later!)

This is how Frisk knows where the soul's homes are, and what their parent's names are as well. So, all they needed was transportation, which is why Undyne and Papyrus came with them! And, also, Undyne and Papyrus may have helped lighten the mood some, since...this comic was certainly going to have some sad moments ;n;

Anyway, now for how Frisk went about addressing the soul's parents about the sad news/the parents reactions...

•••

Pate's mother's reaction 🎀🗡:

[See these pages of the comic: PG2 PG3 PG4]

Thankfully, Pate's section of the comic was one (and the only one) of the sections I managed to finish! But, I'll summarize Melissa's reaction here, as well:

She felt terribly guilty for how badly she had treated her daughter during the time she was alive...She often criticized Pate about how she looked, or what clothes she wore, and not only that, but Melissa would often ignore Pate because of work, and, well...dates. She also wasn't aware of Pate being bullied, which was also a major part that played in Pate climbing Mt. Ebott.

Seeing her daughter's items...it just brought back all the guilt at once...and, she really wishes she could have treated Pate better...

Matthew's dad's reaction 🧤🧡:

[See this page of the comic: PG5]

So, this is the part where I stopped updating...but, it was pretty much hinted at that Frisk would have to go to a jail in order to visit Matthew's father, Kyle. (They'd be able to talk to him by using one of those glass seperated things they have in jails?? Where you can visit them face to face. Frisk probably would have had to give the Gloves and Bandanna to a guard there, and entrust them on giving Kyle the items once he was out of jail.)

Anyway, after hearing the news about Matthew...Matthew's dad probably would have felt the same as Pate's mother...just, horribly guilty.

He would have put all the blame on himself immediately. (Just like how Matthew had blamed himself for being a horrible person about the whole thing that happened to Pate.)

However, Frisk tells Kyle thats not true. The way Kyle acted may have had somewhat of an impact, but, Matthew chose to climb the moutain on his own because whatever Matthew climbed the mountain for was important to him. Matthew is headstrong, and ultimately, probably would have climbed the mountain either way, even if his dad wasn't a bad influence.

In short, Kyle would have learned a lot when talking to Frisk about these things, and would have decided to make better decisions in his life once he was out of jail.

Amy's parent's reaction 🩰🎶:

So, to explain Amy's parent's reaction, first we have to know why Amy climbed Mt. Ebott. Essentially, her reason for climbing the mountain was to understand if monsters were truly bad, or not...she had been taught for as long as she could remember, that monsters were horrible, and evil...But, she noticed some people still thought that monsters were not all bad, and that them being trapped under Mt. Ebott was a horrible mistake...

Because of this, Amy had become very defiant the last few days before she climbed because she was so blinded by wanting to know the truth about monsters. It was so bad, that she thought her parents were going against her wanting to learn truth whenever they would tell her how dangerous the mountain was, and why she shouldn't explore it. Of course, that didn't stop her...

So, you can only imagine both Amy's mother (Alice) and father's (Jacob) reaction when they hear, and are presented with Amy's belongings...They would have both been horribly sad, thinking that because they were not willing to be strict enough, their daughter had perished...

But, Frisk tries to explain to them, that it wasn't all their fault. Amy was so blinded by wanting to know what was true and right, that she couldn't see what dangers she was putting herself into. Neither could she see that her parents only wanted to protect her...

In the end, with Amy's mindset...the outcome may have not been able to have been helped.

And Amy certainly regrets her decisions as much as her parents regret theirs...

Lucas's grandmother's reaction 📒💜:

Now we get into what would have been the shorter sections of the comic, shorter by some degree, at least...

For context, Lucas and Kaden are the only souls that have a parent/guardian that is dead...and neither of them are really aware of this, except for Lucas, who only assumes that could be the case with his grandmother.

Sadly, his assumption is correct, as only a few years after Lucas had climbed, his grandmother had passed away...

But, she was alive and well before Lucas climbed, and his grandmother (Margaret) influenced Lucas's climb pretty much unknowingly by talking highly of monsters. She remembered hearing about their kindness when she was much younger. However, Lucas heard at school and read books frequently that would say monsters were horrible beasts. This made him extremely conflicted. And, much like Amy, he wanted to know which side was correct. Not to mention, hearing stories that his grandmother told him would always leave him with more questions about monsters than answers.

Margaret was shocked that her actions had such an impact, and was very lonely, sad and worried once she realized Lucas had suddenly disappeared...Lucas had been the only one keeping her company...

I wanted Frisk to see both Lucas and Kaden's dead family members somehow and the only way I thought about doing this was by having Frisk lay the belongings of both Lucas and Kaden by where their family member was buried. So, Frisk had to go to whatever graveyard Margaret was buried, and lay Lucas's glasses and Notebook there...

However, when Frisk did this, I thought that perhaps something similar that happened with Chara would happen. Frisk saw Margaret's ghost by her clinging to their Determination. They either would have exchanged glances, or would have had a short conversation is what I had planned. But, once Frisk left, Margaret would no longer be able to persist as a ghost.

Kaden's grandfather's reaction 🍳💚:

Kaden's situation was different, however, since he had at least one member of his family still alive, and that was his grandfather. But, meeting him would have been easier said than done...

The reason why Kaden has question marks written on his part of the list is because, well...he was not able to remember his home address very well when Frisk asked him. He actually had a hard time remembering a lot of things...but, luckily for Frisk, he managed to remember the name of the hospital his mother stayed in.

While it wasnt a lot of info, Frisk does their best to work around it, and ends up having to visit the hospital Kaden had told them about. The receptionists, or possibly some of the nurses probably would have helped Frisk out, as they would more than likely have any info on Kaden and his family since his mother stayed in that hospital, and died there...

Once they obtain the address, Frisk goes to the home and is greeted by Noah, Kaden's grandfather, who is now the only person living in that home. Frisk breaks the news to him, and has to ask him if theres a graveyard Lily was buried in so they can lay Kaden's items there. Noah is obviously very shocked to hear all of this...but he tells Frisk there is a graveyard and agrees to ride with them, Payrus, and Undyne to give them directions and visit Lily's grave.

They get there, and Frisk and Noah go up to Lily's grave, and...Noah is just, completely distraught....he lost his daughter and nephew in such a short frame of time...its heartbreaking...

Frisk lays the items near the grave, but, again, the same thing happens with Margaret, where Frisk is able to see Lily's ghost, who is persisting via their Determination...She would have also been shocked and sad to know about what happened to Kaden, as...she didn't know he had went through all that suffering, just so that he could have attempted to help her.

Lily and Frisk can only exchange glances, though, since Noah is there, and Noah can't see Lily like Frisk can...

They don't visit for very long, but Noah is at least happy that now Kaden and Lily can be reunited in some kind of way now.

Justin's dad's reaction 💛:

Now, we get to Justin's dad (Adam). However, Frisk has actually encountered Justin's dad quite a few times before. Remember that one Undyne ask that mentioned how she was trying to get hired into the police force, but everytime theyd talk to the sheriff in the village, he'd always decline her? That was Justin's father. So Frisk is familiar with talking to him, to some degree.

Frisk would have gone to the police station in town in order to try and talk to Adam, and, once Frisk managed to come in and talk with him, and breaks the news to him, and shows him his son's belongings...

He was furious.

Monsters killed his son. And yet, now, Frisk is their ambassador. And he has to ask Frisk why they would have ever thought it was a good idea to let monsters, beasts who are not afraid to kill children, free on the Surface.

And Frisk has to do their best to explain to Adam that the monsters were only doing what they thought they could. And humans were doing everything they could. Frisk tells him that they remember the missing children being all over the news before they climbed Mt. Ebott. They wanted to help, and Frisk tells Adam that Justin must have wanted to help, too. But, sadly, monsters weren't being the friendliest when Justin, or Frisk climbed. But they're friendly now. Frisk would have had to explain that they were able to teach monsters that, even though humans did them wrong, acting out of rage wouldn't solve anything. Because of Frisk, monsters want humans to forgive them of the past, they just want to move on, and they want things to be peaceful, like they had been.

Adam remembers getting into multiple arguments with Justin about the search, and he remembers how desperately Justin wanted to help find those missing kids, and, he realizes that Frisk has a point...that Frisk and his son just wanted to do the only thing they could to help, and because of humans, monsters had to resort to violence...

He regrets having treated his son in a way that made him feel like a child, when, in the end, he could have been super helpful...perhaps if Adam would have thought through things more, and hadn't been so strict and angry, his son would have still lived...

In the end, Frisk teaches Adam to accept these new changes with monsters, and to realize that sometimes, being too strict can lead to bad things. That he needs a balance.

And, to add more to this happy ending, Adam decides to think about letting Undyne into the police force. :)

(Bonus) Chara encounter ❤:

So, I also thought about having Frisk climb back up Mt. Ebott, and summon Chara so that they could talk to each other. Chara is also considered one of the fallen humans, after all.

Frisk would have first apologized to Chara. (because, by this point, they had already done a Genocide route once, and they know that was a horrible experience for Chara to go through.) Chara, of course, begrudgingly excepts their apology...and Frisk would have promised to not RESET anymore.

Then, it would only make sense for Frisk to ask Chara about their parents. They would have explained what they had been doing with the other soul's items, and would have said that Chara deserves for their items to be with someone they care a lot about. However...Chara doesn't go into too much detail, but tells Frisk that they dont want the items going back to their real parents. They want Frisk to return their items to the Underground, where Chara thinks they belong since that is what they think their true home was.

So, Frisk would have ended up throwing the Locket and Dagger back into the Underground, and just like that, they would have returned every one of the human's items! :)

•••

So, that was my entire plan for each section of the comic! I just felt like it would have taken a long time for me to finish, and wouldn't have been as short as I orginally thought, it was just an overwhelming amount of work that I wasn't expecting. :(

But, still! At least I can share the plans I had this way! Feel free to ask more questions about the comic or the soul's pasts in general! Its fun to talk about! :)

16 notes · View notes

ladyfawkes · 3 years

Text

Desiderium by Trekkiehood and LadyFawkes Current word count: 15102 Current Chapter 8 & 9: The Useful Idiots; Eugene's Lament Rated: T for graphic descriptions of violence, wartime, torture, things of a POW nature. ATTENTION/ACHTUNG/ATTENCION: THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! [Nor a repost.] DESI HAS BEEN GIVEN ITS FOOOOURTH UPDATE IN LESS THAN A WEEK. WHOOPWHOOPWHOOP! Chapter 8 (but not 9) also the first chapter in which I've flown entirely solo thus far. Doth my eyes deceive me, or does our hero make a reappearance??? Hold onto your butts, buttercups. You finally get to learn what Regis is all about. Eeeeep!!! This one's intense!! You also get to learn exactly what Eugene wrote to his dearest Rapunzel in the hour or so prior to his capture.

Overall Story Summary: Desiderium: an ardent desire or longing; especially: a feeling of loss or grief for something lost. Eugene and Rapunzel's lives are turned upside down when a war breaks out between Corona and Equis. As Captain of the Guard, Eugene is forced to leave his wife and daughter to fight on the front lines, where a tragic berserker attack leaves Rapunzel a widow.....or so she's been led to believe. Now prisoner to a sadistic megalomaniac, our severely injured Eugene must fight harder than he's ever fought before in order to escape dire circumstances and drag his way back to his family. With battles raging, the enemy advancing, too many fallen troops, dwindling supplies under siege, and especially absent their most trusted strategic leader, the only chance Rapunzel, Corona, and Eugene have is if the kingdom can still somehow pull off the seemingly insurmountable task of winning this forsaken war. Has dusk finally arrived for the kingdom of the sun, or will she rise victorious once more? Chapter 8 Summary: Eugene finds "help" in the most unexpected of places. (Chapter 9 summary & chapter posted beneath Chapter 8.)

Javeen’s men had concussed the enemy captain in outrage and tightly bound his wrists and ankles with ropes for transport. Naturally, nobody amongst them had consciously thought to put pressure on the enemy’s` wounds. On the contrary, most of them had gone out of their way to avoid such a thing…. Their reputation had always been annihilation of all opposition and a literal scorched earth policy. It didn’t leave much room, if any, for compassion or medical training; most of the time, it left even less room for common sense. Before dawn that day, Commander Javeen’s underling had initially volunteered to perform the honor of actually transporting the soon-to-be-captured prisoner, the captain in red. However, by this point, Avila was less than thrilled; Uhlan Avila didn’t want the loathsome enemy captain to leak his blood and other bodily fluids all over his opulent saddle. He’d spent good money on it, after all. This was an unforeseen complication for which the uhlan had definitely not volunteered. However, now….he was stuck with it. Avila sprinted over to a fallen enemy horse nearby, loosened the saddle, and reclaimed the saddle blanket, padding, and two leather straps. Taking the woolen pad and folding it over a few times, he rolled the enemy captain up inside of it with the blanket around the outside, and cinched up everything with the reclaimed leather straps. Uhlan Avila was pleased with himself for being so clever. It was that one action of vanity alone which preserved Eugene’s life to this point; as otherwise short-sighted as these bloodthirsty barbarians were, transporting the wounded -- even their own -- was not something for which they spared much thought or effort. And so Uhlan Avila threw the prepared prisoner over the withers of his horse and ultimately brought the prisoner, retching and puking, all the way back to Javeen’s encampment outside Equisian city walls. Thus the Equisian army had done the enemy commander a secondary favor by attacking before breakfast; one cannot puke out what one has not eaten. And thus we've reached our third unintended positive consequence that the uhlan mistakenly provided the enemy: Avila had rendered him virtually unconscious. It was a profoundly merciful thing, remaining staunchly unable to recall waking memory of being hauled away so inhumanely, bound and profusely bleeding, with no way to brace or prepare oneself for the relentless jarring and jouncing motions on the arduously long journey ahead. The same afternoon Queen Rapunzel of Corona received her husband’s final impassioned missive, the currently defenseless abductee Captain Eugene S. Fitzherbert, Prince Consort of Her Majesty Queen Rapunzel, was presented to His Imperial Majesty King Regis the First and Terrible of Equis. Regis preferred just the one name, as ambitious as he was, wanting to further distinguish himself from anyone else yet in the history books. Fully expectant that his captive should be brought to him on a silver platter, King Regis was royally put-out when he was instead Summoned to Javeen’s encampment due to a quote unquote “slight problem”. However, he was determined nothing would spoil his mood for that day. That day had all gone off without a hitch, apparently, every carefully laid plan thus far. As well it should, Regis congratulated himself internally. Nothing would be better than his moment of being able to gloat in the face of this unworthy thieving interloper who had taken up such a plumb station within the neighboring kingdom. Regis had heard all about Fitzherbert from his cousin before his death. What idiots Corona’s former royal couple must have been, getting duped by the likes of such a wonton common thief. King Regis vowed he would die before he let such an accursed scourge back into his palace. King Trevor had regaled Regis endlessly about his woes with Corona, King Frederic, and ultimately, the insufferable thief Fitzherbert. And Regis….well, Regis was like Trevor multiplied one-thousand-fold. While they were close to the same age, Regis had had a lifetime filled with

having the throne denied him.

His gargantuan height of 6’11” made Regis tower over most everyone around him. Though he was tall, he was also toned and muscular rather than massive; though he could yell louder than most, he also had a silver tongue. His cruelty, selfishness, and vanity knew no bounds -- nor did his taste for ostentation. Unlike Trevor, who had a very pointy pinched look, Regis was exceptionally attractive, broad-chested, and “strong as a bear”, with his close-cropped full beard and once-dark-hair turned a respectable salt-&-pepper. Yet beautiful as he was, every horrible family trait that Trevor had ever possessed -- and then some -- were magnified to abysmal new depths within Regis….which is why lately, he’d been experimenting around with giving himself titles of repute. “King Regis the Great”....no, too generic. “King Regis the Horrible,”...no. Again, too….pedestrian. “King Regis the Terrible”...? Slight improvement but still not good enough. King Regis brushed an invisible piece of lint off his shimmering blue ermine cape, readjusted his most opulent jeweled crown and sauntered through the massive tent flap that had been pulled aside in anticipation of his arrival. He strutted toward the back of the tent, where he saw his 2nd and 3rd in command, Commander Javeen and Commander Thaddeus. Thaddeus backed away at a steady pace upon seeing him, after the commander bowed, saluted, and announced his king’s arrival. Regis picked up on an undercurrent of agitation between his leading men. As he approached Javeen and a heap of old rags on the ground, he learned precisely why. It was not a pile of rags before him. Now abruptly seeing his Big Moment evaporate in front of his eyes, Regis rushed up to see who was this mystery prisoner. Surely this could not be Fitzherbert….?? He’d expected him to be a bit sick and groggy from a pre-planned hellride over horse’s withers but not….. And Regis roughly clutched at the hair of the prone individual and yanked backward on the head so he could see the hidden features. And though this prisoner’s face was filthy, it was just as Regis feared: he was indeed looking at the face that launched a thousand Wanted posters, his avowed newest enemy, thieving “Prince” Fitzherbert. The enemy prisoner showed no outward reaction to him nor anything else whatsoever. He lay still, eye closed and expressionless, his body completely inert. With fury clouding his vision, Regis tore at the saddle blanket wrapped around his prey. The blanket had all but adhered to those once-leaking wounds through Eugene’s torso. By this time, Cmdr. Thaddeus had backed away to a safe distance outside the tent. “What is the MEANING OF THIS!?!?” roared Regis, unclutching his once-intended target’s hair and crossing the tent to Javeen in less than half a second. “GRIEVOUSLY DAMAGING MY CHOSEN PREY BEFORE I CAN EVEN SEE HIM?!?! “My-My Liege,” stuttered Javeen, “I thought you’d be pleased to see him in such dire straits!” At this, even Regis was taken aback. Briefly. “To reiterate….you ‘thought I’d be PLEASED’,” Regis made mocking air-quotes, “to see the very victim I’d been planning personally to accost now for months, suddenly in a position where nothing I can do can possibly torture or make him hurt enough, the way he should be!?!” At this, Regis twitched his wrist and an impossibly sharp filigreed 12-inch-length steel stylus slipped silently out of a concealed pouch in his sleeve. Now, the king was deceptively, eerily calm, ever-so-slowly advancing on Javeen, who was inching away. “Did it ever occur to you,” Regis rapidly whip-sliced in an upward diagonal with the stylus, his impossibly-lengthy arm snaking out from him, “that I might need to play with him first?” And then he whipped the whisper-quiet blade rapidly on an opposing downward diagonal, completing an X pattern across the chest of Javeen’s tunic. His second’s eyes bugged out and he continued to back away from Regis, stumbling, clutching at and trying to press his tunic against the new fresh wounds underneath to staunch the flow. Gritting his teeth and trying desperately

not to cry out, Javeen well knew how screaming and crying to Regis would only encourage him further. “This dirty thief has information I require, you fool,” Regis whispered, with deadly calm, as he threw the stylus at the dirt and it pierced Javeen through his foot. His hapless second screamed in spite of himself and fell backward, his foot still pinned to the earth through his boot. “I pay you to kill, maim, and follow my orders to the letter,” Regis stood over him prior to leaving, “not to do my thinking for me.” After giving his original intended victim Fitzherbert one last longing glance, Mad King Regis knelt down and plucked his stylus out of the shocked man’s pinned foot as slowly and agonizingly as possible, making Javeen yell mightily again as crimson gushed out the new holes in either side of his boot.

Regis then wiped his stylus clean on Javeen’s trouser leg, and said loudly, “Cmdr. Thaddeus, Summon the surgeon or apothecary, whatever he calls himself. Tell him he has a new charge. JUST THE ONE,” he growled menacingly at Javeen, his implications crystal clear although he still addressed Cmdr Thaddeus. And to think, less than five minutes ago, Regis had been having such a fine day. ---------------------TTS------------------------- Chapter 9 Summary: Varian has a visceral reaction after eavesdropping on Timothy's devastating report with Rapunzel. After several key delays, the queen goes down to the stables to speak with Maximus....and receives a letter. ============ Varian gradually pulled away from the door where he’d just been eavesdropping on Timothy and the Queen. His head was shaking side to side involuntarily and his eyes had frozen wide open. Clawed hands raked through his hair until Varian was frantically grasping his fringe in shock and disbelief. Everything had gone numb as he continued backing away. His throat constricted for a time and he struggled to breathe.

“Varian?” Ash approached carefully and lightly touched his arm; he flinched violently at her touch. “Varian, are you okay?”

No. No, he wasn’t. This was impossible. Eugene couldn’t be dead. He just could not!

“I-I have to go!” Varian choked out. And he simply ran. He wasn’t even sure exactly where he was going. He couldn’t go to his dad, as Quirin was one of the few Coronian citizens to have actually seen bonafide combat. Thus his services would be required with Corona’s dwindling army now more than ever….. He couldn't go to Rapunzel, she had enough problems to worry about, and he couldn’t go to Eugene because he was- no. He wasn't. He could not be! Maybe he was only missing, not dead.

Xavier. Xavier would know what to do. Varian needed to find Xavier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TTS~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Max,” Rapunzel smiled a weak watery smile as she gently stroked the horse’s face. “Heard you had quite the run.”

She offered him an apple that he accepted from her hand….but he carefully set it aside and refused to eat it.

“Yeah, I know the feeling, my friend.” Pascal chirruped in agreement and nuzzled a little against Max’s face from the vantage point of Rapunzel’s shoulder.

It still hadn’t completely sunk in…..Eugene’s possibly being gone forever. By the time she had gone down to speak with Max about an hour after first speaking to poor Timothy, about a half dozen of their other soldiers had also beaten a hasty retreat back to Corona proper, as Old Corona was even less safe than ever, due to the out-of-control fire. Sometimes not all of these men arrived in one piece, either. Rapunzel subsequently learned the enemy had started an oversized funeral pyre…..but why?? They also independently corroborated Timothy’s claims of Eugene’s being run-through. And even worse, some said that Eugene’s stricken body had been thrown…..on the top of that funeral pyre. She’d heard the chilling reports corroborated more than once, from soldiers who had little to no idea what their fellow troops had also seen. She had had those tunnel nightmares for ages. And yet...hardly anything felt real. She felt detached from everything. Once the tiny and woefully wounded and bedraggled troop contingent had arrived, however, news had spread throughout the palace grounds faster than the fire that spawned it: Eugene is dead. The Prince is dead. Captain Fitzherbert died in battle.

Maximus let out a soft nickering. Rapunzel allowed a few tears to finally fall for real. It was a stark reality, seeing Max without Eugene. Seeing the blood on the saddle. Seeing the thick bandages on Maximus as he was carefully laid on his side, being cared for in the stable. Seeing everything, everything that she had once thought of as strong and capable and larger-than-life, and practically invincible….all in such precarious states. She just…..couldn’t…..

“I don’t know what I would’ve done had we lost you too, Max,” whispered Rapunzel. This was the only way, she decided, she could hold things together. With Max and Pascal, she could fall apart if needed, without anyone questioning her state of mind or suggesting she should step down from her duties. She just….couldn’t bring herself to give up on him just yet. Rapunzel instinctively knew that she was still the best chance Eugene had for being found. And that chance would diminish severely if she replaced herself with someone else in the highest command position.

Max nuzzled her hand before biting at his saddlebag and pulling out a folded letter with "Wifey" scrawled in hurried font on the back.

She accepted it with shaking hands. It still bore his scent and the official Captain’s watermark. Eugene’s. She could barely contain her trembling as she unfolded the pages.

My Dearest Sunshine and Darling Wifey,

The writing on the parchment here appeared peppered with large drops of clear liquid. Most of the ink was smeared, including the date in the top right corner, as if it were all written in a furious hurry. It’s doubtless the reason why Eugene never had time to seal the letter either.

If you’ve been given this letter, then I can assume I’ve entered a battle from which I will likely not return. Know that I did everything in my power to win for us. I’ve done everything in my power to return to you. I never wanted to leave you or Kleisonne. It was never my choice to stay away….but I’m sorry nonetheless. Not only do I have sworn duty to protect the kingdom and her heirs…..it’s most of all because I want you and our daughter to be as safe as humanly possible. You’ve been the best companion, wife, mother to our child, lover, and life-rescuer this flawed man could have ever hoped for. I’ve been more happy these past 5 years with you than the prior 23 years of my life combined. I’ve never wished more than now that an afterlife truly exists. Because whether in living life or afterlife, I would give absolutely everything I have just to spend even a tiny bit more of my time with you and Kleisonne, even if all I got to give you was a proper goodbye. I love you more than mere words could ever convey.

Also know how much I cherish you and how fortunate I am to have been given a second chance to get things right in my life. That never could’ve happened without you.

I’ll never stop loving you, Sunshine. Death couldn’t stop that before. Perhaps….the odds might smile on me yet again.

In my absence, I need you to be certain and watch that nanny. Please. My paternal instincts are just extra strong right now, I suppose but certainly you of all people can understand why I'm....careful. And in case I can’t return, please make sure Kleisonne knows I love her and that I never wanted to leave her. I didn’t abandon her by choice. Someone stole our time out from under us. Every moment we three are apart, I’m certain desiderium shall overwhelm me. Please….tell my dad how much I appreciate, love, and care for him. I completely understand his delay. I can’t imagine how difficult it would’ve been to pull together a virtual army and make his way back here in about 7 weeks. Two or three days shouldn’t have made much of a difference but in this case….? I fear Edmund will never forgive himself--but I will. Corona will still need him and the Brotherhood though, even if I’m gone. Tell Fred and Arianna thank you for everything…..they were my family at a time when I still had nobody else.

You were my new dream yesterday, you’re my new dream today, and you’ll always be the best dream I could ever seek, Rapunzel. I’ll remain forever your devoted husband.

All my love and more, Eugene

Rapunzel was openly sobbing now. Rivers of pent-up tears flowed as the Queen’s small body was wracked with uncontrolled weeping. She surrendered to the worst pain and emotional loss of her entire life. It just wasn’t right. It’s not fair for me to have saved him once, only for the enemy soldiers to get him just a few short years later.

Maximus whinnied low in his throat and nuzzled in, letting Rapunzel know it was safe for her to come closer, despite his bandages. It was clear the despondent horse didn’t care how much he hurt physically, which….comparably, still wasn’t all that much. The adrenaline still hadn’t worn off from his mad dash earlier, apparently. And it was the least he could do to give his queen a safe space to cry. She clung tightly to his neck, letting her tears soak into his mane. Maximus well knew how difficult it was for her to express herself when she felt vulnerable.

Events and every single independent corroboration thus far all pointed towards Commodore Fitzherbert having been killed. Virtually nobody had seen him alive since before the inferno effectively ended the battle. Several people had even witnessed his being run-through, and a couple of his men had even seen his body on a lighted funeral pyre. Rapunzel was wracked again with more sobs at these thoughts.

How could Eugene have possibly survived? Common sense told her he hadn’t. Yet everything else told her he was still out there, somewhere, needing urgently to be found. Everyone lucky enough to have retreated from the battle said they were certain he had not survived. Though it had been around 4-5 hours since the end of the battle, Rapunzel couldn’t give up just yet.

Most chillingly of all, the idea had finally begun sinking in….mostly due to morale being plunged to abysmal levels.

The whole kingdom had felt noticeably dimmer once everyone began to believe Eugene Fitzherbert was dead.

14 notes · View notes

browniefox · 3 years

Text

Above Drinking Age Isekai

Isekai - usually referring to Japanese stories (anime, manga, light novels or web novels) which involve the main character being transported into another world.

Phoenix, Miles, and Larry went to the magical world of Kesaii for six months when they were 9. Now, they're 24, and apparetly it isn't done with them just yet.

A series of scattered throughts and plot moments for this au.

1/?

oOo

There are some days when Phoenix doesn’t want to leave his apartment.

He’s familiar with everything in his apartment. He knows where all the items are, he knows how the light streams in through the windows, and which doors are a little squeaky, and he knows what to expect.

Outside his door? Back out on the streets? Who knew what he was going to see.

But Larry is wanted for murder, and Phoenix isn’t going to let his oldest friend get arrested for a crime he didn’t commit. He gets out of bed again, and puts on his blue suit, and bikes to the courthouse.

He almost hits a tree when he sees someone he knows.

He screeches to a halt, staring at the person. Their hair is longer than he remembers, and they’re dressed in casual clothes instead of the yukatas that were more popular in Mitama. They’re talking to a friend, and smiling, and he remembers that this voice sounded like a crisp autumn breeze and had brought the same chill physically, as if they were a slice of the season itself in mortal form. They had run their hands through Phoenix’s hair and smiled sweetly and told him to be careful, to remember that the leaves change color as they die but the tree isn’t dead, not yet, please remember that the tree hasn’t died.

Phoenix bites the inside of his mouth and starts peddling again.

It’s rude to stare, and he reminds himself that he’s never met that person before in his life.

oOo

There’s a lot of things adults don’t tell kids about magical fantasy worlds.

The first is that they exist.

The second is that settling back into home won’t ever feel quite the same.

Phoenix remembers stumbling out of the park with Larry right next to them. It wasn’t clear who was leaning on who, but they were both so terribly terribly tired. All of the rips and tears that had been magically mended over the past few months are all back at once. Phoenix lost one of his sandals at one point, and it makes his already-limping gait even more pronounced. One of his hands keeps going up and grabbing at his collarbone where his catalyst is supposed to be. It should be there, it’s always there, but now it’s suddenly and jarring gone.

“A-any sign of M-miles?” Phoenix stutters, looking around. His head is pounding. Thinking hurts. The light hurts. Every part of him feels sore and tired. Some part of him recognizes where they are, recognizes the so so familiar city, but the rest of him hasn’t entirely caught on yet. He has only one thought in mind, one goal.

“Not yet.” Larry grunts.

There’s a gasp from somewhere to their right and they both spin around. A surge of adrenaline rushes through Phoenix, enough to stand on his own for a moment. He reaches for the magatama - and again, his hand closes on empty air. Larry is running his fingers through the hair on the side of his head, as if the paintbrush that was supposed to be tucked behind his ear had somehow gotten lost in the short strands.

“Oh my god,” An adult is looking at them, hand to her mouth, “Oh. my. God! You’re those-those-those kids! From the tv!” She rambles. Phoenix looks over at Larry and Larry shrugs. She’s clearly human, not one of the noxious.

“E-excuse me, ma’am,” Phoenix says, taking a step forward. Larry clearly picks up on the fact that his legs are shaking and quickly resumes his position helping him stay standing, “M-ma’am, have you seen a-a-another kid, our age, gray ha-air?”

The woman isn’t listening to them. She’s pulled out a phone and has it held up to her ear.

“I don’t think she’s going to be much help.” Larry says and Phoenix nods.

“Maybe we left him, uh, left him in the park?” Phoenix considers. Larry shrugs, but they start to turn around and head back the way they came from.

“Wait! Stop! No, it’s okay, I’m going to help you, alright? The police are on their way, and I’ll, I’ll,” The woman digs around in her purse and then pulls out a black cylinder, “I’ll hurt anybody who tries to hurt you again, okay? I promise, you’re going to be safe!” The woman assures them. Phoenix looks over at Larry once more. Larry seems as confused as he is.

“No, that’s okay, we just need to find Edgey.” Larry tells her. There’s a loud and piercing whine and it’s not helping at all. Phoenix screws up his face and shakes his head as if it’ll help with the headache. It doesn’t. It’s only getting worse, and he sits down on the ground, holding his head in his hands, “Whoa, Nicky, you okay?”

“Y-yeah, just… just tired. You know how I am after, after…” Phoenix’s voice drifts off as he loses focus. His heart is beating in his chest and it hurts like a deep set longing. The world seems to shut down around him until all he can hear is that beating. His eyes are shut, but he swears if he opened them he’d see the Heart of Kesaii before him, still and silent.

That’s the last thing Phoenix remembers of that first night back on Earth.

oOo

Phoenix makes some rules for himself.

They help keep him going, especially in the very early days, when he half expects to find himself in the magical land of Kesaii at any second but he’s still trying to be normal around everybody else.

The first rule is not to mention Kesaii. It’s an unsaid rule between himself and Larry. Phoenix had tried, only once, to his mom when he first saw her again after the six months away. He’d said ‘I know you probably didn’t go to Kesaii, but does everybody go to a magical world?’ She’d worried and fretted over him, checking his temperature and completely baffled by the yukata he was wearing. She’d never answered, but she’d given him a very worried look, and then Phoenix had remembered seeing her on the other side of a raging river, trying to shout to her, and never being heard, never being understood, and he has his answer all the same.

The second rule is to ignore all of his memories. They can’t be trusted anymore, because he’s never shouted to his mom while standing on the other side of a raging river, the spray of it almost soaking him, chilling him to the bone as he tries to tell her, trying to get her to understand him. It never happened, and yet the memory is nestled in his head just like the rest of them. So he tries to make sure to reintroduce himself to everybody and make as few references to past events as possible.

The third rule is the first rule, but again, because he can’t be too careful.

The fourth rule is that he needs to find Miles.

He doesn’t know where Miles lives anymore. Miles never told them. He’d said that maybe, once they go the Heart beating again, he’d tell them what had happened to them. That moment never came, though, so Phoenix is left to try and find him.

He starts wearing a necklace. It’s not his magatama, not his catalyst, but it’s a weight around his neck and it’s like a safety blanket, a comfort. He notices how often Larry has pencils behind his ear after that, tucked where his own catalyst used to go.

They rarely talk about Kesaii, even to each other. Phoenix wonders if Larry keeps waking up and expecting to be back there, if everytime he closes his eyes he can hear the silence of the Heart, how his own heartbeat sounds mocking, a laughter in his own chest as it mocks their own failure.

Probably not. That’s probably just another ‘him’ thing.

oOo

“I can’t go back.”

It’s almost a whisper, but Phoenix chokes it out of his throat anyway. The young girl who had been kneeling next to Mia (her dead dead dead dead body) has woken back up and she blinks at him with sad and confused eyes.

“Huh?”

“I can’t go back, not right now,” Phoenix repeats himself with more force. He’d recognize those robes anywhere. Everyone in Mitama had own them. Phoenix himself had worn a version of them for the duration of his stay in that other world, “My boss - friend - Chief - is, is, is dead, and I need to, to do something about that, and I’m so close now, so close to actually really finding Miles, and-and-and I can’t go back right now, okay?” Phoenix flings the words out there and he realizes that he’s crying. His heart beat sounds too loud and erratic. His face is wet.

“You’re… Phoenix, right?” The girl says, slowly.

“Phoenix Wright.” Phoenix agrees and gives a strangled half-laugh half-sob. He’s shaking. Mia’s death feels like it’s only just becoming solid to him. God, he’d felt her body grow cold.

“I’m Maya. Maya Fey,” The girl says, “I’m Mia’s sister.”

“Mia’s… sister? Mia was from Kesaii?” Phoenix asks. Something isn’t adding up here.

“We’re from Kurain. I don’t know what Kesaii is.” She tells him. Phoenix nods numbly at that. It doesn’t make sense, because she’s dressed like she’s from the Mitama kingdom, and yet she’s here on Earth and Mia Fey’s sister and nothing makes sense anymore, nothing. “M-my sister, she’s-”

She doesn’t get through the rest of the sentence before Phoenix has surged forward and wrapped his arms around her. She’s warm, unlike Mia’s dead corpse in the other room, and her arms secure themselves around him. She’s sobbing into his shoulder now, both of them trembling like leaves in a storm.

Maybe nothing makes sense, but Phoenix knows that this girl is that little sister Mia was always talking about, and this girl just lost her sister, and holding her right now is all he can do for her.

“Police! Open up!”

There’s the sound of a door trying to slam open and Phoenix looks over to the front door to the office. It’s rattling to be opened, trying so hard to swing inwards, but there’s cold metal chain criss-crossing it and keeping it from opening up.

Phoenix shuts his eyes and shakes his head. He must be seeing things.

When he opens them again, the chains are gone, the door swings open, and the police flood into the room.

oOo

There’s never a good chance to talk to Miles during the case, and Phoenix wonders if at some point over the last fifteen years he missed his chance of actually really finding Miles Edgeworth. The man before him is a mockering of the boy Phoenix once knew, and it hurts him to his core.

The morning after the case is done, Phoenix wakes up and goes through his usual routine. His alarm clock blares at him and he sits up, sleep and dreams making his brain all foggy. He grabs his magatama off his desk, slipping it around his neck, and stumbling into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He sways on his feet and thinks about all the clean up that still needs to be done to the office. He doesn’t know how to get blood out of carpet, but he’s going to find out today. There’s also all the glass shards, and he hopes they’ll be big enough to easily pick out of the carpet. Maybe he should just see about getting an entirely new carpet. Oh, but that’s going to be so much money, and he’s only had two clients, one who never paid him and one who he took on pro bono. Hm, maybe-

Wait.

Wait a fucking second.

Phoenix eyes, which had drifted closed as he scrubbed at his molars, snap open and star at his chest in the mirror. Specifically, they lock onto the green stone that is hanging from his neck. Chains come off of either side of it, fading completely and seamlessly into the gem where they meet it, and then the two chains cross over each other behind his neck. The rest of the chains wave through the air like streamers in a gentle breeze, simply turning their noses up at gravity.

Phoenix almost chokes on his toothpaste. He coughs and spits it into his sink. He reaches up and grabs his magatama, and his hand really does close around the smooth surface. It’s just barely warm enough to be unnatural.

“What,” Phoenix whispers under his breath, “The fuck.”

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #larry butz #pearl fey #maya fey #isekai au #browniefox speaks #browniefox writes #also can be found on ao3 #under the same name

16 notes · View notes

theabyssalmuses · 3 years

Text

Arknights Verse: Kirschtaria Wodime

In this re-imagining verse, Kirschtaria Wodime takes up the role of Rhodes Island lead Doctor. A completely different life, a completely different person than the same “Wodime” from Fate/Grand Order. Just what kind of life could he live in this new and different world?

For other Doctor roleplayers, I am happy to diminish his status to that of Medical Staff / General Assistant if you wish, or we can simply have two doctors or something. Whatever you’re most comfortable with! :)

anyways this is long lol be prepared.

Wodime was born to a wealthy family in the city of Victoria. He was cared for, and his every want and need was catered to. Even so, he had no friends growing up, as his family were very wary of threats from outside.

His father is the CEO of Kirsch Corp, an extremely wealthy business that, on top of owning several other businesses, is well known for their incredibly luxury hotels all across Terra- a favourite of nobles, aristocrats, lords and the like.

Deep within the bowels of this company, though, something far more shady lurks. Their latest innovation, a series of large, flying hotels for only the elite of the elite to visit- but yet the CEO is not satisfied.

The true goal of Kirsch Corp? Space. The Skies above. Their use of originium for vertical propulsion is steadily progressing, and they soon hope to be able to exit this planet and find another - one free from the scourge of Oripathy...

...of the infected.

Kirsch corp, by it’s nature, from it’s CEO down to it’s secretary, are anti-infected. It’s only a thinly veiled secret- those higher in society believe it all to be for a good cause, while the infected are down trodden, and are told they are what they are fleeing from.

However. The CEO - Wodime’s Father - grew ill. It was not with Oripathy, and he was expected to recover in some time...however, for the time being, Wodime himself was pushed to cover public appearances for the company. It was at this time he was assigned a body guard - Neptune - for his own sake. Just in case.

Wodime did his best to please the public, to give the best image of their company that he could, however...he always felt something was wrong.He was told they would leave this world, for somewhere far more beautiful...but what? What was that beauty?

Months past. And then years. Wodime’s father never full recovered, remaining mostly out of the public’s sight. However, his extended isolation, his own greed and own twisted psychology...saw something. Wodime, in his position as public face- he saw his own son as a competitor. He belived that Wodime sought to take over the company. He saw it now- as he spoke to the crowds, they all thought HE should be the head. Hah. No. Certainly not. Wodime’s father gave Neptune a day off - which he reluctantly accepted...and on that very same day...

--BLAM--

The bullet pierced Wodime’s chest, causing him to fall backwards-- still alive. As the assassin reloaded, the man sent by his own Father to kill him- Wodime activated his arts -- A teleport of a short distance. It was out of control. It was unpredictable...and then his vison went black. Below the streets, in the maintenance tunnels is where he awoke. A dirty rag covered him, and the stench of rot filled the air. Disgusting. Repulsive. He tried to move, but struggled with even that- he was weak. And so there he lay for some time. Waiting for death to take hold...when he heard footsteps. Far from the killers he was expecting, a small infected boy appeared from the tunnels, holding a small piece of bread. He broke a piece off, before placing it beside Wodime - and then retreating to the otherside of the room and eating his bread silently.

This was..how things were for a time. Stale bread. Cold sleeping. Dirty Water. It was terrible. It was awful. And yet- Wodime saw it. In the eyes of that little infected boy, who nary spoke a whisper- there was a beauty.

A beauty in life - in wanting to live - in living, no matter what.

It was beautiful. Even through the pain, and the suffering, he managed to smile. His will restored, he pushed himself to get up. to get moving, to go. To get out of here...and after some time, he finally managed to stand for the first time in months.

Still, he stayed for a time longer, wishing to get his bearings, and ensure his assailants would not return...and it was in this time that the small infected boy - who’s name Wodime did not know - collapsed. His Oripathy gripped his small, frail body- which no longer had the strength to fight, no longer was there beauty in life- only agony and terror.

He did the only thing he could think to do. Wrapping his saviour in that same ragged blanket, he took to the streets of Victoria. Late at night, he scoured through the darkened roads for help, and by some stroke of luck-- he found it.

Luck...or perhaps Fate? Who can say? There was a large transport vehicle headed away from Victoria - full of the sick and weak - going to a place called ‘Rhodes Island’. Wodime boarded, blending in as best he could with the crowd, and began his journey...

His arrival at Rhodes Island was...interesting. People stationed outside the main landship eyed him with scrutiny as he strode inside. (the anti-infected ways of his father’s company weren’t exactly secret.) but even so, he faced it head on. Stepping inside he asked, begged and pleaded for help for his friend. Swearing to protect the infected, of course the boy was administered for care...and relieved, Wodime turned to leave...before collapsing himself.

Waking up in intensive care, The Doctor of Rhodes Island stood beside him. For Wodime, he was terrified- something about this person chilled him to the bone. Yet for The Doctor, Wodime was someone of interest. They had no expected someone from such a sheltered life could...act in this way. Someone of high stature, someone so deeply in grained into the anti-infected rhetoric. And yet, Kirschtaria Wodime sat- barely recovered, talking as if the fate of the infected was his responsibility. “The lives of the infected..matter to me! I wont allow anyone to discount that! No matter what...I... want to protect that beauty found in Life!”

Wodime, who had long since searched for the beauty his father spoke of, found it nesting in the eyes of what his father despised.

The Doctor, who was a master of the chessboard...The kings, queens, pawns and knights-- had come across a Joker Card. Something unexpected. Something new. From an entirely different game.

In the months that followed, The Doctor hung around Wodime alot. A sick curiosity, perhaps. As they shared time, Wodime learnt more of The Doctor’s tactical prowess - and yet. Wodime refused to back down on his belief; All Life Was Sacred.

To The Doctor- who was twisted beyond recognition of themselves...what a breath of fresh air...Not enough to save themselves, not someone they could call a friend...but, if the situation called for it...

Another King on the board. Another player in the game. A spare piece.

It was by [redacted]’s request that Wodime be placed into Cryo alongside The Doctor...however, when only Wodime recovered from the freezing...it was only natrual that the baton be passed to him. His beliefs unwavering, yet his memories fuzzy - though not entirely gone, he carries the will of The Doctor, and he fights--

He fights for the beautiful world he had always searched for.

“--Welcome back, Doctor Wodime.”

#verse post #Kirchstaria Wodime: Grand Order - Animusphere #Doctor Wodime: To Find beauty in it all.#ANYWAY #this is very #uhm!#self indulgent #i just wondered what it would be like to have him in this univverse because his character is very interesting to me #and his original fate backstory #actually ported over really well (As you can see!)#so! it's fun!#but YEAH if u rp a doctor we can work around this however u want u dont HAVE to make yours be his friend or whatever #you can have yours not remember him at all!#or ..!#i can make him just a general assistant or med staff or smthn!!#i REALLY dont mind!!! whatever makes u happiest friends do not hesitate to lmk #or we can just have 2 doctors u kno whatever #this does work well with this considering ''the doctor'' still exists in his backstory it's not as if he replaces them entirely #anyways! myes #Wodime in Arknights #who will stop me :)#Hope you enjoy!#this is his backstory by the waey #heheheh

6 notes · View notes

sshbpodcast · 3 years

Text

Tales from the Holodeck: DS9 Fanfic: Chris’s Story

Not only has A Star to Steer Her By wrapped all of Deep Space Nine, but your podcast hosts are also celebrating our fifth anniversary of bringing you through all of Star Trek! As a treat, we’ve concocted DS9-themed fanfic stories and teleplays in our much-celebrated “Tales from the Holodeck” series that you can listen to us cold read here (this one starts at 39:05). Read on for the transcript of Chris’s Weyoun-Ee’char story below, that might pilot a whole new series we’re all asking for!

[images © Paramount/CBS]

“Dude, Where’s My Ee’char?”

By Chris

Random picks: Weyoun, Ee’char

“Tea, earl grey, hot?”

Miles O’Brien instinctively glanced up at those words. Surely not. Sure enough, a lanky Andorian walked up to the counter and accepted the drink that had been called out. Admiral Picard – well, not Admiral, anymore, but even thinking of him as “Jean-Luc” was bizarre to O’Brien – had less than no reason to be hanging around Starfleet Academy. Or Starfleet anything, for that matter.

“Not that I can entirely blame him,” he mused to himself, going back to the PADD containing last week’s warp field dynamics exam. “Nothing’s felt right since Romulus was destroyed. And then Mars…maybe Keiko’s right. Maybe it’s time to retire.”

He sighed and put down his stylus. Twenty years of teaching at Starfleet academy and even he could see how things were shifting. The students grew less and less enthused, dropout rates going up, those that did stay becoming so by-the-book when it came to everything that it was maddening.

“They’re just lacking in imagination,” he’d moaned to Keiko one day. “If I’d thought like them we’d’ve never got the Defiant working like she did. They think the deflector array is just for deflecting things.”

He had immediately realized how ridiculous and old-mannish it had sounded. But even his wife had been on Starfleet ships long enough to get it. Everything on a ship potentially had a purpose no one had ever dreamed of, and dreaming it up in that critical moment could be the difference between getting the ship home and a warp core breach.

“Professor O’Brien?” came a strangely-familiar voice from behind him. He turned and saw what he thought, at first, must have been a Romulan because they were smiling. And there was a sardonic edge to the tone that didn’t seem terribly Vulcan, either. But the fellow had that waxlike pallor that was unique to the latter, something their cousin species had evolved away over their centuries apart.

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“No, but my employer believes he can help you.”

Well, this was shady. Was Section 31 out for belated revenge? Maybe someone had finally slipped in Starfleet Intelligence and the Orion syndicate found out he��d worked undercover against them? Could it be that some T’Lani was still cross about what he and Julian had revealed about their corruption? The grudge could’ve gone further back; someone related to the incident at Setlik III had tracked him down. Christ, for someone who’d only ever been an engineer he’d sure managed to pile up a list of old enemies that could come calling. Ought to at least make him an honorary Commander for that.

“And he would be?”

“An old friend.” The mystery man reached into a pocket and pulled out a small, red figurine. The coonskin cap was unmistakable. “He said this would explain. He remembers the hours you and the good Doctor spent on this.”

So it wasn’t Julian, but someone who knew how they’d passed their time in their DS9 days. Didn’t rule out Section 31, or necessarily a few others, but it did make him feel a little better. He realized the man was still holding out the figure to him, so he reached out and took it, putting it in the bag he’d been carrying his PADD and some miscellany in.

“My employer understands that you’re too cautious a man to just meet somewhere.” The man’s voice – what was it that was so familiar? – had dropped even further. “Be at your desk in twenty minutes. A signal will come in. Use the code on the bottom of the figure.”

The man turned without another word and strode off. O’Brien raised his eyebrows and watched him go. He’d have to tell Julian about this next time they talked; he’d be jealous. Goodness knows how long it had been since his old friend had been involved in any cloak-and-dagger shenanigans.

Despite everything O’Brien was a little surprised when, back at his desk, his computer began to chirp. The text on the screen read “incoming external transmission”. External transmissions were always supposed to go through central comms; only an Admiral could bypass that procedure, normally. He turned the little figure over and punched in the numbers he saw there.

“Ah, my dear Professor O’Brien!”

“Ga-” O’Brien stopped himself. For some reason he felt if he said the full name of the Cardassian now grinning at him from the screen it would just summon the whole of Starfleet security. Just behind him and to his left stood the mystery Vulcan/Romulan from the cafe.

“You look well, Professor,” Garak continued, not acknowledging whether or not he had caught the Engineer’s odd outburst.

“Having you call me that is a bit weird,” O’Brien admitted. “How about Chief? I think that’s still technically my rank.”

“Very well, Chief. I believe you know my associate?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Oh, how silly of me,” the man said, reaching up. “I still have the mask on.”

His hand slid down his face, and the telltale webbing of a holographic disguise flickered to life as the pallor, eyebrows, and eyes vanished. Instead there was a very different kind of pointed ear, skin like powder, and violently violet eyes.

“Weyoun…”

“Yes, it would seem there were, in fact, a few leftover despite what we had been told.” Garak smirked in that old, familiar, entirely unsettling way of his. “It seems they just meant their Alpha Quadrant supply.”

“Of course, I’m now the actual, final one,” Weyoun added. “Garak here found me right before I was…discarded. My predecessors had not been quite so lucky.”

“Is that where you’ve been the past two decades then?” O’Brien asked. “The Gamma Quadrant?”

“Mostly.” Garak raised his brow briefly. “Someone has to keep an eye on the Dominion. Starfleet Intelligence can hardly be trusted to do it on their own, the Romulans are too busy trying to keep their culture intact, and Klingons have never had a spy agency in their entire recorded history.”

“I see.”

“I came across a story that I thought might interest you.” He glanced down and pecked a few buttons just off-camera, and a ping sounded on the Chief’s computer. “Look particularly carefully at the upper left-hand corner of the screen. It was a pleasure to see you, Chief.”

“Wait…”

But Garak was already gone. O’Brien knew there’d be no point in asking for a trace. Should he report this? He was supposed to, certainly. But this was Garak. O’Brien…well, okay, to say he trusted Garak would be a staggering lie. But he certainly felt like both the Federation and he personally owed him enough that he could be allowed this little indulgence. At least once.

Decision made, O’Brien opened the message he’d been sent. He winced when he recognized rather quickly the world of Argratha. It had all the appearance of a news story of some kind. But the Universal Translator hadn’t caught up to the shift, so he started over and paused it.

Argratha. He’d been twice. The second time some fifteen years later, to testify at a public hearing about his experiences the first time. What his false-memory twenty year imprisonment had been like. There was talk at the time of abandoning the practice; it made the judicial process too casual, too many false guilty charges because, for those who’d never experienced it, what was really lost? The Chief and countless others had told them. How real the time felt, and how cruel the simulation was. He’d told the Special Envoy who’d arranged for him to go that he felt he deserved a medal for how calm he’d been during his testimony. The Envoy had chuckled until the Chief’s expression had told him he had very much meant it.

He started the story up again. When he’d not heard anything for months after his testimony he’d assumed the reforms had failed and the sick practice was still going on. But in fact it had simply taken a bit of extra time and work. The story was about the closing of the final facility that had run such incarcerations. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to weep or go celebrate. He was going to call Keiko straightaway, that much was…

The upper left hand corner.

“No.”

He had almost forgotten to look.

“No.”

Despite it being the entire reason Garak had dropped by.

“Fuck.”

Ee’char. His “imaginary” cellmate. Standing among the crowd of politicians and other self-congratulatory types formally shutting the program down. Almost identical to the twenty-year-older Ee’char from his memories, though one that had clearly lived a somewhat less wretched life. One who’d gotten proper meals and sleep and care, just like O’Brien had.

But did he have the false twenty years that still occasionally wafted into his nightmares and had him waking in a cold sweat? Did he still, on rare occasions, almost set aside a bit of his meal before realizing saving it wasn’t necessary?

“In short, friend,” the Chief said aloud. “Who the fuck are you?”

He was glad the stopover at DS9 to switch transports had been short. None of the old crew were there, anymore, but he was fairly certain he was at least vaguely acquainted with some of the Stafleet staff that still maintained a presence on the Bajoran station, and the last thing he wanted to be was some old man wandering around his old posting looking worn and nostalgic. Even Quark had shipped out for Freecloud. A part of him had been tempted to see if Morn was still at his usual seat in whatever the bar was called now, assuming it was even still a bar. But he had just stayed in the docking ring and then made his way to the next leg of his journey.

He spent the flight through the wormhole standing by a window with just about everyone else. He realized that he’d never gone through it after the War had ended, so it was his first time making the journey in ages that he wasn’t expecting to potentially die on the other end. It was so nice to just watch it, to get lost in its beauty, and vaguely wonder if Sisko was watching him just then.

O’Brien stood in the space between two homes, watching as a car slid noiselessly from the sky and halted in front of the house. Finding his old friend had been much easier than he’d expected; Garak had encoded everything he needed to find the man in the newsclip he’d sent. A door hissed open and the old Argrathan stepped out. He exchanged inaudible words with someone in the vehicle before the door shut and it lazily drifted back into the sky. O’Brien glanced around. No one else seemed to be coming. He watched as the other man walked towards the his home.

The Chief darted from the shadows and jogged across the street. If Ee’char heard him he showed no sign. O’Brien reached up, paused, and then gently tapped the other man on the shoulder. He gasped and spun.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I’m…ah…I’m Miles O’Brien.”

“Oh. Oh! Yes, yes, I remember watching your testimony.” He held out a hand “Ko’vax.”

“A pleasure,” the Chief replied, taking his hand and shaking it.

“But why did you come to see me?”

“We…well, we were cellmates, you see.”

“Were we?” He nodded slowly. “Well. Someone had quite the sense of humor.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been arguing against our mental prisons for a very long time.” His lips went slender and he glanced off. “Please. Come in, have a warm drink.”

“I…sure, thank you.”

“I never had the misfortune of experiencing what you or so many others did,” Ko’vax explained, putting down what seemed effectively to be a mug in front of O’Brien. “But my father did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” He picked up his own mug, almost took a drink, but didn’t and put it down. “His story was similar to so many others. To yours. Adjusting was so hard. Too hard. They don’t offer any kind of help to reintegrate to society. To help you deal with the fact that you’ve not actually lost any time but it still feels like a huge swathe of your life is gone. That might be worse than actually losing time. I don’t know.”

“Neither do I. I’ve never had the real version.”

“He lasted…half a year. My brother found him.” Ko’vax paused and took a sip of his drink, and the Chief finally did automatically. Not that he took any note of the flavor. “I’d already started writing letters, but I got more active after that. Showed up at politician’s doorsteps. Showed up and shouted at meetings that had nothing to do with it. Became a real pain.”

“Must’ve been afraid they’d…well, you know.”

“Oh, sure. But I didn’t care. Let them. Let them put me in a fifty year dream, a century, I knew I’d be fine. I’d have my rage to see me through.” He sighed. “I was so angry for so long. I mean, I never stopped being angry, but you can’t be as constantly angry as I was at first. That would be impossible.”

“So what happened?”

“I lived my life. But I never stopped my campaigning. Whatever free moment I could scrounge up was spent talking with others who shared my goal. I guess someone thought it would be a good laugh to have a cellmate based on the man who hated them and their program so damn much.” He smiled. “But then I got to be there today. When it all ended. Thanks to so many people. Like you.”

“I…” The Chief paused. “I’m glad I could help.”

“So what made you come to see me?”

“I wasn’t sure who you were, to be honest. Outside of looking like Ee’char. That was his name.” He paused. “I guess a part of me was almost hoping you’d been part of it somehow. So I could let you have it. And feel less bad about…how things went between me and the other you.”

“We didn’t get along, eh?”

“We did, eventually. And then for a long time. But then, towards the end…”

“It gets particularly bad, yes. Everyone says that.”

“Well. Glad to know it wasn’t just me getting special treatment, I suppose.” O’Brien took another drink. Now that he was paying attention he realized it was very pleasant. He’d have to find out what it was and bring some home. “We fought. You…he…I killed him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for. I killed you. Sort of.”

“I’m sorry on behalf of a government that will never properly apologize fo anyone affected by their sick little program because they think it’s just fine. They are giving it up with great reluctance you can be sure.” He paused. “And I’m sorry you were driven to that. I know we’ve barely met but you don’t seem the type. So it must have been truly awful to drive you that far.”

“I guess so. I hope so.” He paused. “I don’t know. I’d killed before. Served in one war already by then. But this was something else. Something that still comes up at me in the wee hours. Every time I’d killed before then I could justify it as having been for my survival. And that’s what I told myself it was that time, but I’d not actually proven that first. I told myself it must have been so I could.”

“I wish I could help. I’m almost sorry I’m not who you thought I was.” He shrugged. “If it helps, well…I didn’t go what you went through, but I saw firsthand what it does to people. I know how real it can seem, even to those who go in knowing it isn’t. You had no idea. I’m sorry they used my face as part of your torture. But, if it helps…well, I forgive you. On behalf of the false me. And I only wish you the best.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, nodded. “That actually is nice to hear, somehow.”

The wormhole again. Its eddies and currents and majesty unchanged even as the twenty years around it had entirely altered O’Brien’s world. Why had the gone all the way to the Gamma Quadrant? What would he have done if Ko’vax had been involved somehow? Certainly not killed him. Shouted for a bit? What good would that have done? But what good had this done? No. Time to move on. Figure out what’s next. He’d been in neutral for far too long, and…

“Oh, I know that look,” came a voice to his side that he scarcely believed he was hearing. “That is the look of the Chief when everything seems against him. When things have stopped making sense.”

O’Brien turned. There, not looking a day older when he’d last seen him, still in the now very out-of-date uniform, stood Captain Sisko.

“Well, Chief. It’s time for things to start making sense again. And I’m going to need your help.”

The End

—

For more DS9 fanfic, check out Caitlin, Jake, and Ames’s stories from this round of Tales from the Holodeck! And be sure to keep listening to new episodes every Thursday on SoundCloud, follow us on Facebook and Twitter, and stay out of brain jail if you can. Jay-sus.

#star trek #star trek deep space 9 #ds9 #fanfic #star trek fanfiction #ds9 fanfiction #weyoun #ee'char #miles o'brien #garak #hard time

3 notes · View notes

vulturhythm · 4 years

Text

heave her up and away we go

people across the globe have heard of the wolf of the sea. they’ve heard tales of a captain with hair as pale as the moon and eyes as yellow as the gold he seeks, of a brute of a man whose conquests are vicious and leave no survivors.

(no one ever points out that, if there were no survivors, there would be no tales.)

nearly all the coastal cities claim to have been visited by the wolf and his horrific vessel, the mohren. “he took our mayor’s daughter” or “we watched him slay all our finest soldiers...” all stories of bloodshed, of unspeakable acts the likes of which only a true pirate could achieve.

(no one ever points out that no one actually describes having seen the wolf in the wake of such assaults.)

the wolf has earned himself an awful name upon the seven seas, and it is said that he fears no other captain - not one who sails beneath the crown, nor one who hoists the skull and bones high. it is said, in fact, that even blackbeard cowers at his very name.

(no one ever points out that blackbeard has been many years dead and gone.)

and yet...

well.

for such a horrendous reputation, the wolf of the seas is, in fact, little more than a puppy in the shallows.

and who am i to tell you this?

none other than the wolf’s favorite companion, his most trusted friend, his private performer, his lover on the best of days.

i was born julian, but following my recruitment into the pack of the wolf, as it were, i have taken up a multitude of names - jaskier, dandelion, even songbird at times.

(more cruel names, such as bastard, wretch and ship’s rat, at other times. it all depends upon the side of bed upon which the wolf awakens.)

when geralt found me, i was playing for farthings - pence or shillings, on a good day - at a little pub in an even littler port city. some of you may know it, but it is likelier that the rest do not, so i won’t name it. it had been a rough day for tips, and yet still i sang. by the time a great, hulking man with hair as white as snow and eyes as bright as the sun walked inside, my voice was nearly gone, and so i pounced upon the chance to down a drink or ten with a mostly-willing partner.

(geralt is standing above me as i write this, and he says he was less than willing, but i question his memory at times.)

i don’t recall how long we talked that evening before the location of our discussion moved from the pub to the exterior wall, and then, eventually, to the loft of a stable, the owner of which i knew would be drinking until dawn. i caution against taking a man to bed amongst a pile of straw, for a multitude of reasons, but i have no regrets.

well, anyway.

dawn came, and i found myself loath to leave geralt entirely. he mentioned that he had a ship, the night before, and it was this that i repeated to him upon sunrise. “surely,” said i, “my prospects for money would be better in a new town with new ears,” and geralt sighed at me, acting so incredibly put-upon.

“to the next port,” he said, and that was that.

“but, jaskier,” you cry, “you set foot upon the mohren and did not immediately turn tail? such bravery!”

waste not your praise, fair reader, for, i must admit, i had yet to piece together the image of this powerful man with that of the infamous wolf of the sea. it was with foolish joy and a light heart that i strode up the gangway and onto the great black ship. first to strike me was the fact that the only visible crew consisted of a young girl, watching from the crow’s nest.

next was that this was most certainly not of the british crown, nor was it your average fishing vessel.

no, it was a large and sleek thing, meant for speed and endurance.

it was, in short, a pirate vessel, something which i confirmed for myself when i cast my eyes upward to see a black flag overhead.

a black flag that held not the jolly roger, but a massive white wolf skull, vicious teeth bared.

i assure you, dear reader, my heart was in my throat when i whirled to geralt, who had already begun to pull the wooden gangway back onboard.

“you’re the - “

“the wolf of the seas,” he said, and he sounded entirely unaffected, as though this was a daily conversation. “i have no plans to hurt you. like i said, to the next port, and no further.”

it was as i stood there, lute in hands and jaw upon the deck, that geralt stepped toward me, and i take pride in the fact that i didn’t flinch. “you have the song of a lifetime in the making, right here before you, but if you want to go back ashore, i won’t stop you. i’m merely offering transport.”

as i recall it, i was entirely robbed of the ability to speak for those first few seconds, so i was capable of little more than a nod. on the one hand, if i was killed, i could rest assured it would be painless, considering the strength and power geralt had made evident the night before. on the other hand, geralt was entirely correct - if i were to survive, i would have the makings of the finest song known to man.

i would live in luxury!

geralt took to the wheel shortly thereafter, and i followed along, standing near his side to observe.

the wolf of the seas, i can tell you all, is not a fan of idle conversation, so the bulk of our discussions for the next four days consisted of my eloquent monologues, halfhearted grunts, and, well, various other noises.

it was the evening of the second day before i managed to coax anything akin to an explanation from the incredibly silent man, and, once i had begun the process of extracting his story, i found it far more prudent to remain aboard than leave his company at the next port. geralt protested initially, but three years later, he has not yet rid himself of me entirely.

now, i wish to preface this - and all subsequent information - with the following:

all that i am about to relay has been pieced together over many a year of traveling with the wolf of the seas, and the writings in this journal are little more than a traveling musician’s attempts to chronicle the life of one of the kindest men to ever sail the world.

with that out of the way, let us begin.

the circumstances of geralt’s birth and early childhood remain a mystery, as any attempt to discuss these things results in a complete and undeniable refusal, so alas, i cannot tell you where the wolf was spawned. i can, however, tell you that his introduction to the sea came about as follows:

as a youth, he trained under a crew of shipwrights, one that built the finest of crafts for the crown - a crew that has, from what i’ve gathered, long since met their ends due to natural causes. geralt’s affinity with the craft paved a natural way for him to join the british royal navy as soon as he was of age.

(watching geralt, it is easy to imagine him upon a warship, and yet, i cannot fathom him in anything but a position of command. he is a leader, through and through.)

he saw few true battles, as my understanding goes, but it seems his frustration with the crown merely grew with each passing day, as he and his crew were sent to dispatch all pirate vessels. in moments of vulnerability, he has shared with me stories of horrific acts committed by the men said to be on the side of the law, of innocent folk harmed in the path of good, of men whose only crime was seeking a living upon the seas slaughtered like beasts for the altar.

to date, geralt hasn’t told me of the final straw.

i know better than to ask.

according to him, it isn’t that difficult to steal a ship from the navy when one is among the most trusted sailors.

i have my doubts.

geralt’s brand of piracy is a unique one, to be sure. i doubt the man is capable of a legitimate attack on another vessel, at least not on one that isn’t telegraphing clear intent to harm. a stark contrast to the brutal portrait painted by civilized society, geralt spends his days patrolling the seas with intent to help, not to harm.

in my time spent at his side, i have witnessed the horrible wolf of the seas escort smaller craft to port, dispatch empty slave vessels and let them sink in splinters, defend others flying beneath the jolly roger from the crown... perhaps most important, however, i have seen him offer men and women alike safe passage or a spot on the crew in exchange for their promise to spread the worst of rumors to those on land.

why?

well, according to geralt, the why should be obvious - no british officer is going to fear a pirate whose reputation is one of kindness.

—

the wolf of the seas travels with a motley crew, to be sure. in all honesty, his crew isn’t much of one to speak of, as the majority of those who travel with him regularly are kept on for... sentiment, as it were. in terms of combatants, he employs those whose luck has failed them elsewhere.

the young lady i’d spotted in the crow’s nest that first day goes by the name of ciri, and she was taken in when the crown left her town decimated in search of a presumed criminal. geralt thinks of her as a daughter, something i determined very quickly. she’s a bright child, although perhaps a tad too perceptive for her own good.

there’s a grown woman aboard, too - a lady with bright red hair and a sharp wit, known as triss. geralt’s interactions with her lead me to believe they were once rather fond of eachother. i bear her no ill will. she’s an interesting sort.

eskel and lambert - two rather formidable men, both of whom i tend to avoid, for little reason apart from their enjoyment of tormenting me. i’ve rescued my beloved instruments from their mischievous hands many times before.

there are others, too, of course, different people of different creeds, all taken aboard to be given a second chance, all useful in some way. i know none of them particularly well, but we live on friendly terms.

geralt makes a point of dropping in on certain towns regularly, to visit old friends - vesemir, yennefer... i never interact with them terribly much, but i have seen the fondness in geralt’s eyes when he returns from his much-needed retreats.

one thing for which i can vouch is that the wolf of the seas has never turned on one of his own. he treats each and every one of us well, and truly, we want for nothing. i, for what it’s worth, have a warm bed and a warmer body to enjoy each and every night, in exchange for little more than song.

i live what is far from a conventional life, to be sure, but i wouldn’t trade it for all the riches and status in the world.

well, the moon rises high, and geralt is calling me to bed. i must set my quill aside for the time being, but rest assured, my tales are far from complete.

until the morrow,

jaskier

—

you have no clue how nervous I am right now - I really, really hope you like this!

to the rest of you, don’t worry, merman!au is nearly done!

@xdandelionxbloomx

#geraskier #gerlion #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #wolf of the seas au #pirate au #my fics

213 notes · View notes

heliosphoenix · 3 years

Text

State of the Planet: 2020 Edition.

I know what you're thinking.

"How can you even think of doing one of these for this year? After everything that happened? You can't possibly be trying to do your little feel-good writeup!"

Well...you're right. I can't. That's right, State of the Planet is cancelled.

I don't really have to explain why, do I? I have no words to describe this year and I know you don't want to hear them anyway. I understand your anger, your frustration, your sadness, everything you're feeling, I get it.

This wasn't the year you imagined and almost certainly not the one you wanted. Thanks for being there the entire way, and I'll see you next year.

Okay, I'm just kidding. I couldn't do that to you folks, I just wanted to get some more mileage out of a dead meme.

I first started this missive several years ago when I noticed that people were developing a tendency to condense the previous lap around the ol Sun into a series of terrible, horrible, no good very bad events at the expense of anything good that may have happened. I don't know why this was done, maybe as a ways to ensure that the coming year would have to be better by default.

Well...we all saw how that worked out for this year, didn't we?

As you all know I prefer to do things differently. I prefer to go out on a high note and remember all the good things that happened in the past year. If nothing else, I think it helps remind us that as much as we want to bemoan and be pessimistic about the state of our culture, society, civilization and even species, there's plenty of evidence to suggest we're not doing so bad after all.

And even thought it feels like this past year the world went out of its way to teach us some rather harsh lessons, I'm still determined to find something good that happened. So let's take a look back at some of the good things that happened in 2020:

A circumbinary planet was discovered at the TOI 1338 system.

Luxembourg became the first country to make it's public transportation free.

The Bhadla Solar Park became the largest solar park in the world.

The BepiColumbo space probe departed for Venus, en route to an arrival at Mercury in 2025.

A fast radio burst was detected from a Magnetar in the Milky Way, the first time such an event has been detected in the Galaxy.

A team of British and Kenyan scientists discovered a microbe that can block mosquitos from transmitting malaria.

A black hole was discovered in the QV Telescopii system, at 1120 light years away it is the closest known black hole to Earth.

A 425 million year old fossil of a millipede was discovered in Scotland, one of the oldest fossils ever found.

SpaceX launched their Dragon 2 spacecraft on its first crewed missions, the first astronauts to launch from US soil since 2011.

The Perseverance rover was launched to Mars and is expected to touch down in February.

The Barakah nuclear power plant in the UAE became the first operational nuclear power plant in the Arab states.

Wild polio was eradicated from the continent of Africa.

Skeletons of 31 prehistoric animals, including 200 mammoths, were found at a construction site in Mexico City, it was the largest finding of mammoth bones ever.

The 5.37 mile La Linea highway tunnel was opened in Colombia, it's the largest road tunnel in South America.

Kosovo, Serbia, Sudan and Bahrain all decided to normalize their relations with Israel.

Phosphine, a strong predictor of microbiological life, was discovered in the atmosphere of Venus.

Preserved remains of a cave bear were discovered in Siberia.

A 1634 edition of Shakespeare's final play, The Two Noble Kingsman, was discovered at the Royal Scots College's library in Spain.

The OSIRIS-REx spacecraft landed on the asteroid Bennu and collected samples for return to Earth in 2023.

The Falkland Islands were declared free of land mines.

Molecular water was detected near Clavius crater on the Moon.

An AI algorithm called AlphaFold was able to figure out the process of Protein Folding.

The UN commission on Narcotic Drugs removed cannabis from its list of dangerous drugs.

The EU committed themselves to reducing greenhouse emissions by 55% over the next decade.

A Great Conjunction between Jupiter and Saturn occurred, the closest one seen in the night sky since 1226.

Comet NEOWISE passed by the Earth and was the brightest comet in the night sky since Hale-Bopp in 1997.

Among Us became one of the most popular games in the world.

Half Life: Alyx was released, the first Half Life game in 13 years (FINALLY).

Joe Biden was elected as the 46th President of the United States.

Remember all that? Good. Because that's where I'm at.

You, dear reader, are in the future. Perhaps you're reading this in the final hours of 2020, or the first hours of 2021. Or maybe so much time has passed that both those years are now confined to the history books.

Perhaps everything I listed above is not enough to overcome all the bad things that happened this year, and that's a fair assessment. Maybe at the end of the day there's nothing that can overshadow the fact that someone in China who ate the wrong bat resulted in the entire world coming to a stop. If that's your feeling, then I understand completely.

But let the record show that those things did happen. In a year full of chaos and uncertainty and anxiety and dread, there were still moments where we could objectively punch our fists in the air and say "yes!" Even if only for a moment.

So now comes the part where I have to take all the things that we just went through and sum it up in a single word. Usually I don't think about this until the day of, but this time I've actually known for months what I was going to say:

The word is...Goodbye.

It sounds both strange and appropriate at the same time, doesn't it? As we close out this year, as well as this decade (reminder that 2021 is the real start of the next decade) we can look back and realize we've had many experiences. Both positive and negative. Hopefully they were mostly positive, even during this year.

But there is at least one experience we've all shared together, especially in times like these: saying goodbye.

I will confess to you all that I have a hard time saying goodbye. Hell, I don't even like the word. Whenever I end a conversation, I always use some variant of "see you later", since, to me at least, "goodbye" just sounds so final. Though with that said, I will also admit there's some people in this world that I had no problem saying goodbye to, and I don't mean "till we meet again", I mean "get lost." And I'd be lying if I said there weren't some people who felt the same about me, but I digress.

In the last episode of his show, Red Green delivered a monologue about saying goodbye. A monologue that I am now shamelessly ripping off for your reading pleasure. Not just because it's a way to get this done quickly, but because I think what he said is very true.

Red says that when it comes to your good friends and your family, you never really have to say goodbye. Why? Because they're always in your mind. And whenever you think about them, you're together again. I can tell you from experience that works rather well, even when it involves people that I don't want to think about. But even in that instance, where our last interaction was a negative one, I can't help but think back to all the good times we had together, and for a moment I reminisce. It's nice when it happens.

We've all heard the phrase "nothing lasts forever" and we tend to dismiss it as a cliché. But we're still constantly confronted with that reality, even if we never realize it. As Al Pacino said in Any Given Sunday; "When you get old in life, things get taken from you. That's a part of life."

We've all lost things in our lives, and I just don't mean toys that have been sold or people that we love who are no longer on this mortal coil. I'm referring to the moments in our lives where we're forced to accept that our circumstances have permanently changed, and that the way things were can no longer be the way things are. This is why you shouldn't be having kids when you're in your 70's, and no one over the age of 50 should be naked in public.

On a more personal note, this year I got that feeling once again. It's not just because I'm most likely leaving one job behind for another job, but there were things in my personal life that shifted so dramatically that I knew things could never be the same again. And seeing as how, for the most part, I liked how things were, I'd be lying if I said that this change didn't cause me some distress.

But that's all a part of growing up, isn't it? As much as I may cringe about reaching 30 years of life on this Earth, I accept it all the same. Because, if nothing else, it's a reminder that I need to keep moving forward. Is it sad that the good ol days are now just memories and dreams? You're damn right it is. But that doesn't have to be a bad thing, because even if they're not what's happening now, they still did happen. And who knows? Perhaps the days to come will be just as good, if not better. In my opinion, that's something to look forward to.

And the same is true for all of us: if we want to live a happy fulfilling life, we have to keep moving forward. We can reminisce about all the fun we've had in days gone by, but it's just as important to be ready for the days yet to come.

I think that's why New Year's is such a poignant holiday for all of us. It's a tacit acknowledgement that we have to say goodbye to the old, so we can say hello to the new.

And at the risk of making this entry so long that by the time you're finished it will be 2022, I'd like to do that now.

To all the people that have been with me since my early days, thanks so much for all that you've done. I appreciate you sticking it out with me this far and I hope you'll continue to do so for many years to come.

To all the people that I've met recently and have decided to join me on this ride, welcome aboard. We're glad you could make it and we hope you'll stay a while as well.

And finally, to all the people that are no longer here, whether they've merely left my social circle or left this mortal coil altogether, all I can say is that we've had a great run. Whatever our reasons for parting are irrelevant now and I wish you nothing but good fortune in whatever it is you decide to do. Perhaps, God willing, our paths will cross again some day. But even if they don't, I hope that every so often we'll think about each other and smile a bit.

And now I'd like to close with something different. Usually I ask you to comment below with something good that happened to you this year. You're more than welcome to do that. But if you're looking for a change of pace, may I suggest that you close out your 2020 (or open your 2021) by listening to this song from the great Ashleigh Ball and Michelle Creber (yes I know many of you are hoping to leave the Miniature Equines in the past, but I'm hoping you'll permit them one last indulgence).

https://youtu.be/XjkPH6sZM_o

This is the song that inspired me to write this missive (along with the aforementioned Red Green) and as you're listening, I want you to think about all of those you said goodbye to this past decade. Think about all the fond memories you had together and give yourself a smile as the clock strikes midnight. Even if they're not with us today, we still have all the memories of them that no one can take from us, no matter what happens to the world.

And now the time has come for me to end this missive. Let the record show that this was my final word on 2020 as well as my expressed hope for charity, kindness and goodwill to flourish throughout the world in the years to come.

So, good night unto you all.

Give me your hands, if we be friends

.And 2021 shall restore amends.

12 notes · View notes

jedimordsith · 4 years

Text

Have a Random Blurb

From DBW, after Luke has had a rough day and gets home to find Mara in his apartment. (Slight NSFW?)

He stood up, a little abruptly. “Come on.” Scooping up the wine bottle and tucking it under his arm, he grabbed his glass with one hand and her hand with the other. “Lounge.”

Mara bit back a sharp retort about being hauled around like a sack of topatos and snatched up her glass before they were through the door.

“Tell me more about the food at the Palace,” Luke commanded, handing her toward one end of the sofa. “What you hated most.” He dropped beside her, close enough that their thighs touched, and scowled as he refilled her wine, then his own. “What could possibly have been worse than ration bars?”

“Ration bars,” she informed him primly, “are perfectly good food. They’re convenient and --”

“Not food,” he interrupted, decisively. “Tell me about real food, Jade. Fancy things. Weird things.”

“I bet they eat all sorts of weird things in Tatooine. Bugs.”

He laughed, scooted closer. “Not bugs.”

“Okay then what?”

“People think womp rats are weird,” he started with the air of someone having explained this countless times, “but --”

“Wait, womp rats?” she leaned towards him. “Like vermin?”

He waved a hand. “It’s all in how you stew them.” He thought back. “And you have to make sure they’re not diseased.”

“Stars, you are weird.”

“Not food, though.”

“You could be.” She raised an eyebrow, pointedly.

His face fell, pinched, and his grip on the wine glass tightened. She winced. “It’s not -- you’re beautiful,” he stumbled over the words, one hand ducking inside the robe at her ribs, pressing as if he thought she’d push up and away from him. “I — I want —”

“Rank,” she cut in. His face screwed up in confusion. “Rank,” she repeated. “It’s -- you asked what was worse than ration bars. It’s a -- a paste, sort of.”

Luke relaxed. “Yeah?”

He leaned in, nuzzled her shoulder, nosing aside the robe. “Tell me.”

“It’s awful.” In spite of herself, Mara wriggled a little lower into the sofa and tipped her head. Luke burrowed deeper against her. “Slimy.”

“Mmph.”

Taking that for “keep going,” Mara searching her memory. “They serve it in buckets.”

His chuckle was a puff of warmth against her throat. “Do not.”

“I’m serious. Hey --” She caught his glass as it canted dangerously sideways, appropriated it.

“Buckets.” Freed of his glass, Luke slid onto her, his hands shoving at the robe, rucking it askew. “Exaggerating.”

“I am not!” Indignation rose. “It comes out of barrels in a -- a slurry.”

“Hmm.” He sighed, inching down until his head rested at her collarbone, his arms tucking in around her. “Lies,” he mumbled against her skin, rubbing his cheek against her breasts the way Senator x’s overly affectionate office feline rubbed at her legs whenever she had the misfortune to attend meetings there.

“Lies! No, they served it in ships. Mainly cheap transports, I think. It’s only saving grace is that it had all the ingredients you need. Kind of like a ration bar, come to think of it, but the texture is terrible. Maybe it was cheaper, I’m not sure where they produced it. A lab somewhere most likely. Rank is not the type of food you actually cook, by any meaning of the word, but at least it’s not Hutt slime and diseased rats out on the edge of nowhere, Farm boy.” She took a breath expecting the obligatory quip.

All she heard was a snore.

She snuck a glance down, seeing his hair poofing around her chest. She could feel his breath soft and even on her.

Kriffing hell. Mara dropped her head back and let her eyes fall shut. He was asleep. On her. Like -- like she was some kind of pillow. Or -- what were those things his niece and nephew had in their travel carriers last time she saw them at an event? Stuffed somethings. Kashyyyki wild things of some kind in absurd colors, fluffed all out of proportion.

Five minutes. She was going to give him five minutes to realize he’d dozed off and come around, and then she’d make her excuses and take off. She spent the time surveying his apartment in detail, making note of things she’d missed before -- where the controls for the lights were,subtle security measures. Signs that someone -- probably Luke, or maybe someone from Organa’s staff -- had removed tech fixtures recently, doubtless to upgrade their encoding and anti-hacking capacities.

At the four minute point, Mara realized she was roasting. The apartment was always warm by her standards -- a fact that worked to her benefit when she was naked on her knees on Luke’s floor. Her cheeks heated at the memory, and her body reminded her petulantly that as naked as she’s been -- and as half dressed as she now was -- she had not, in fact, been kriffed tonight. She shifted her hips with an unhappy sigh. Luke mumbled in his sleep and nosed himself deeper between her breasts… which did nothing at all for her unsatisfied itch and served only to press more of his desert-bred body against hers, increasing the likelihood that she would die of heatstroke in short order if she stayed put.

At exactly five minutes from when he’d snored at her, Mara relocated both their half-empty wine glasses to the table behind her and shoved at Luke’s shoulder with the heel of her hand.

“All right, Jedi. Up.”

He snorted, jerking, and twisted to squint up at her, blearily. “M’ra?”

“Up,” she commanded again, using her best I’m in charge here tone. “Bed. Now.”

“Com’fble.” He nosed at her breasts again.

Oh, no. Mara grabbed a handful of sandy hair and tugged, bringing his head back up. “I am roasting to death,” she informed him. “And I’m not your pillow. Get. Up.” To emphasize her point, she tightened her core and did a full-body roll, as she might have on a sparring mat.

Unprepared, Luke toppled straight to the floor, hands shooting out clumsily to catch himself so that he landed on all fours. “Ow!” He scowled up at her, cranky and peevish.

Unmoved, Mara swung her legs off the sofa. “Bedroom.”

“Tired.” He complained.

Rolling her eyes, Mara hooked a hand under his arm and hauled him upright. “Yeah, I noticed.” He mumbled grumpily, but was pliant enough as she dragged him around the couch. “Don’t grouse at me, Jedi,” she pursed her lips as she hit the lights on their way into the bedroom, darkening the rest of the apartment and bringing up just enough illumination to see their way to the bed. “I’d planned to kriff your brains out, remember?”

Stopping beside the bed, she dragged the covers back, then set about making short work of Luke’s clothes. He swayed on his feet, obviously only half awake, if that, as she efficiently stripped him. If her hands wandered a little it only made her more aware of how the night had turned into a wash.

“I brought you food and my favorite wine,” she lectured, scowling at his sleepy face as she pulled his undertunic over his head.

He sighed when she dropped to her knees and peeled him out of everything below the waist, his hand drifting over her hair. For a second she held her breath that he could somehow bounce back and tug her forward, but when she looked up, he only mumbled, “Soft.”

“For the price of my cleanser it better be.” She rose. “Into bed.”

“Hhmm.” He didn’t so much climb in as fall, but she ignored that, turning instead to pick up the clothes laying in a heap where he’d been standing. Luke made a disgruntled sound. “You.”

Mara put his folded pants on top of his tunic. “I am not your pillow.” She grabbed his belt and lightsaber, setting them neatly atop his clothes and started on her own, still laying around from where he’d stripped her earlier.

“Space,” he pointed out, crankily. He made a useless, flailing gesture toward the other side of the bed.

“It would serve you right if I went home,” she reminded him, stacking her clothes neatly on the dresser.

She really should. He probably wouldn’t remember any of this anyway. Turning off the lights, she made her way back to the bed anyway. It was late. Disappointment and thwarted desire left her drained and unsatisfied, and the idea of riding the mav-lev like this, the too-bright lights, the crush of people, the silent, empty walls of her tiny apartment… Mara undid the belt of the robe, sliding it off her shoulders and draping it over the end of the bed. Crawling under the covers, she stretched out. Luke really did have a very comfortable bed.

There was a rustle, and then Mara jerked as Luke rolled directly into her personal space and latched his arms and legs around her like a Lew’elan star squid strangling its prey.

“Luke!”

The sound he made was somewhere between a moan, a mumble, and a sigh as he buried his head in the curve of her neck and went completely deadweight. Two seconds later, he was snoring again.

#random blurbs #Because Monday #DBW #Luke Skywalker #Mara Jade #luke x mara #sometimes it's rough to be a Jedi

21 notes · View notes

princessbunnyblossom · 3 years

Text

First and Last of her kind Ch 4 Where am I

Spinel after warping away from the garden opened her eyes to realize she was in Pink Diamond’s armory. Spinel stared around in slight awe. She never thought that her own dAmond would have a spot to keep all her weapons, but now wasn’t the time for memories Spinel needed a weapon that would keep her safe. Spinel quickly looked around searching for anything and knew she was running out of time. So she immediately grabbed a small rod with a small button on the side of it.

Huh. What could this be?

The small pink gem didn’t have time to wonder as someone was already in the armory with her sending the small gem in a panic.

Oh no! Oh no! What was she to do?

Spinel sounds around and could see that the yellow Topaz was getting closer to her and Spinel began to panic. She must’ve panicked and accidentally pressed the button on the small rod and gasped softly as she watched as the rod began lifting up much taller before an electric buzz sound was heard along with the sight of a sharp looking scythe blade at the end of it. Spinel gasped at the sight,

“St-stay back!” Came a pained soft barely audible voice from the small gem.

The small spinel coughed painfully the whole process of talking felt so forgin to her. She had stayed so quiet in the garden that it was so weird hearing her own voice. Now Spinel subterfuge that the much bigger gem had even heard her speak. Spinel watched as the big topaz gem mainly used for guarding certain places stared at the scythe weapon in fear . The small pink gem didn’t understand why she was so frightened by such a weapon she was holding. Spinel was so tiny and the gem was so massive yet the weapon the little pink gem held in her hands was one not to be trifled with. However when the gem caught sight of how hesitant the young spinel looked the topaz moved closer but would soon learn or rather….forget that it would be a mistake she would pay dearly for. Spinel gasps and quickly brought down the weapon which sliced through the gem with ease. Spinel cried in fear when she saw the gem’s face how shocked they looked so much so that it unsettled Spinel a little.

Spinel watched with terror filled pink eyes as the thin cut from strike exposed light and the small pink gem watched as the top half of the topaz’s form began to droop which unsettled the small pink playmate even more and suddenly the massive gem poofed into a cloud of yellow smoke. Spinel stared at the gem that clattered onto the floor and listened as the noise bounced off the walls of Pink Diamond’s armory. For a moment all time seemed to stand still.

Had she? Had she defeated…a topaz guard?

Spinel stared at the gem and sucked in a breath, she looked around and could see that the amethyst guard was no longer there with her. She must’ve ran off when she saw what the small pink gem had done to the topaz and must’ve gone off to get back up. Well Spinel had another reason to leave Homeworld. The small gem made a beeline towards the warp pad and while putting the weapon that she grabbed in her gem for safe keeping. She needed to get out of here she just defeated a giant topaz guard, now as much as she was surprised that someone like herself a small playful spinel managed to take down a giant topaz guard made her so surprised she was also fearing the consequences .

Spinel had defected a high ranking guard, if they found her they would surely punish her. Spinel swallowed hard thinking of all the terrible things they could,possibly do to her making her shiver in fear. They could shatter her if found guilty . Which would obviously be the case since she had dissipated another gems form with a weapon which wasn’t technically hers. Would that make her a their? , The small pink gem shuttered of what the new pink diamond would do if he ever got his hands on her. The thought alone made Spinel scared, she couldn’t nor wouldn’t want to think of what could happen to her except a shattering of course. Spinel stepped onto the transportation device which wished her away from her diamonds weapon room and when she felt herself finding her destination Spinel promptly fell flat on her face. It had truly been a long time since she used a warp pad. So she was a little rusty, but there was no time for that Spinel needed a place to hide.

Homeworld may be a big planet but under the wasteful eyes of the diamonds it made the planet seem so small. Spinel never thought in all her existence she would defy a Diamond’s orders. Running away from the garden, dissipating a high ranking gem’s form and not only had she escaped….well sort of escaped the new Pink Diamond but now she could be taken to him and be kept as a trinket.

No way!

Spinel didn’t want that, she didn’t want that at all. Spinel could hear the amethyst guard and Pink Diamond’s new replacement, walk off the warp pad to which the small pink gem quickly hid behind a pillar. Spinel wasn’t going to allow them to catch her….not without a challenge. The small pink gem ran in the opposite direction and took a sharp left not caring how many odd looks she got from other gems passing by. Spinel was just happy to be away from both of them. However that feeling was shirt lived as she heard a few shouts from the amethyst guard who was hot on her trail.

“Hey! You! Stop right there!” The purple gem hollered.

Spinel’s body went rigid but she soon enough found herself running again. Nope, nope, nope she did not want any of that. She needed to try and hide somewhere, anywhere. Spinel hurried off making to try and lose them by hiding herself among the vast crowd of gems passing through, however in doing so she felt so many gems staring at her confused,. Spinel looked away not liking their unfriendly looks yet none of those gems stopped her. Perhaps they didn’t want to be involved in whatever it was she had done or didn’t want to get into trouble themselves.

Spinel hurried though taking another sharp left, there weren’t many gems in this area which wasn’t good since she could no longer hide amongst a big crowd. Now they would definitely see a small dirty disheveled pink gem running away from a high authority diamond and a quartz soldier. Spinel ran though, she ran as fast as her little legs could carry her and didn’t dare look back so when Spinel reached what looked to be a bridge she began to panic. Of course she could keep running but Spinel knew eventually there would be help on the way and she would be caught. Spinel as stupid as it sounded got onto the ledge of the bridge and watched as the amethyst guard came to a stop.

“Whoa,! Whoa! hey there’s no need to do that. Let’s just go back to the palace. I'm sure your diamond will understand what happened.” The amethyst said trying to coax the gem off the ledge of the bridge.

Spinel felt a sharp pang in her chest, a hot heat radiating from her gem. She wanted to scream at the purple gem and tell her off that who she saw wasn’t her diamond. Spinel shook her head and gritted her teeth. That new new diamond. He was the one who took her away from Spinel in the first place. Why should she ever bow down to him? Pink was her best friend and he took her away from Spinel. Conflicted feeling began bubbling up inside her head as she shut her eyes.

Was Pink ever her friend?

Did she not love Spinel anymore?

Spinel could feel, tears bubbling up in the corners of her eyes as memories began replaying in her head. The memories all of them were tainted by betrayal and sorrow and Spinel never thought her diamond would do something like this in all her lifetime. Without warning the small pink gem jumped off of the bridge and down into the darkness below.

She secretly hoped she’d die from this.

Oh how wonderful that would be, she would no longer have to feel those horrible negative feelings that made her feel worthless and unloved. Or hear those terrible thoughts that lingered in the back of her head. Instead of feeling a sharp pain and nothing more when falling the small gem felt her body hit the ground with a soft thud and when she groaned, opening her pink eyes and looking around she couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she was still somehow alive. Which meant she would still feel those negative feels and emotions she had no clue how to deal with. It was unpleasant but Spinel slowly got up and winced almost falling during the process. Luckily the young gem managed to use a wall for support to lean her eight against and keep her upright. Her legs were so sore and her back and feet were hurting so much. At least she managed to get away from the supposed new diamond and amethyst guard.

Question was. Where on Homeworld was she? Spinel never seen anything like this. She was always brought to the palace and straight back to the garden and Spinel even inside the palace wasn’t allowed in certain places most of which were near the Diamond’s chambers. She was however allowed to enter Pink’s room and Spinel was so happy spending many happy hours playing together and before she knew it she was taken away back to the garden. Well it was fun while it lasted. With sad eyes the small pink spinel waved goodbye to her diamond and watched as her beloved friend disappeared into the bright blue light of the warp pad, but now Spinel had no clue where she was.

Well only one thing left to do now, find another way out of Homeworld. She couldn’t stay in Homeworld anymore, not after what she did. Escaping a diamond, going against diamond orders despite her diamond already being long gone and dissipating a high ranking gems form. Nope, she was no longer able to return now. There would only be a good shattering for her. Spinel shook with fear. No, no, no. She didn’t want that she didn’t want to be killed. The tiny pink gem looked around frantically. Where should she go? Were they gonna find her? Spinel swallowed thickly and proceeded to walk forward, or they might find her. The small gem hurried and kept walking for what seemed like forever. Her legs aches up once again and the small pink gem needed to stop for a small break. Her legs were killing her. Spinel sighed and looked around where she was before groaning softly rubbing her back where the pain spiked up. Spinel could see that in the rocks were small holes were gems must’ve emerged from.

Was this?....Was this once a kindergarten? That would make sense due to the holes she saw. Spinel continued to walk and stopped when she heard a strange noise. She stood still listening closely for the noise and then it came again. It sounded like a drone like device and the small pink gem caught sight of what she was hearing. It was a round metal sphere with a glowing red light in the center of it. There came a strange noise emitting from the metal sphere as it scanned an area with a red light and proceeded to fly over s different location. Spinel tilted her head.

How strange. Were they looking for something?

There was no time to think as Spinel turned and yelped seeing the same machine behind her and without fail scanned her until the bright red light reached her gem. Spinel didn’t even have a chance of understanding what was happening and watched in horror as the machine turned violent attempting to yank her gem out. Spinel gave out a shriek as she stumbled back away from the now deadly device narrowly escaping its grasp. She idiot understood why that machine wanted to do that but she decided it was best not to know. So the small gem took off running away and running as fast as her small pink legs could go and could see in the corner of her eye that the first machine that tried yanking her gem out was hot on her trail. Spinel gasped seeing another machine coming at her at full force. She was done for, there was two of them coming at her and nowhere for the small pink gem to run. Spinel froze in fear shutting and biting her lip as tears formed in her pink eyes. Was this how she goes out?

Spinel shook and shuttered fear freezing her in place and slicing right down her very core. Suddenly the small gem felt her hand being grabbed and pulled into a small secret cove and the small pink gem squealed as the two machines quickly flew past each other . Spinel watched with scared yet shocked eyes as the machine slowly flew off in an attempt to look for something else. Spinel painted softly she was so lucky if whoever this gem was hadn’t helped her she might have been good as shattered.

The small pink gem turned to face the gem who had saved her and was very grateful for their help. Spinel opened her mouth wanting to say thank you but stopped and stared at the gem or rather gems that saved her.

#steven universe #crystal gems #fanfic #spinel steven universe #diamond steven #stevniel #Stevnel

10 notes · View notes

starfirette · 4 years

Text

Every Which Way: Chapter Seven

The Wayward Souls

⇢a/n:aksfjghdlfjknv i’M SO SORRY. pls forgive me for this being late, and also for how potentially painful it is

⇢Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Join The Taglist

⇢ Din Djarren x Reader/The Mandalorian x Reader | impregnation kink (smut) | mild violence | angsty ending | word count: 9, 287more or less idk anymore

🏷 @woterezwhet @talesfromtheguild @poupoupoupoupou @multifandom-fiasco @fandomqueen74 @fifiyau105 @shayna-winchester @mserynlarsen

>>NEXT CHAPTER AVAILABLE NOW!<<

The gathering hall is filled with Mandalorians and their children, all eager to bid Din and his new bride goodbye. You felt dizzy as you thanked and hugged person after person. Din had given every child (who had formed a line) a warm hug. Your heart fluttered to see him hug younglings while still decked out in his armor. He had a fine way of holding them gently against the plates over his chest.

You watched from the sidelines; you didn’t mind that you weren’t being swarmed the way Din was. You liked to see this side of his life--the one side that could be his and his alone. How it truly warmed your heart to see Din give and receive such affections. You could see him tilting his head in to no doubt say his goodbyes to the younglings.

Wendi appeared at your side. She leaned up against the stone walls. “He’s always been a natural with them,” Wendi said in her melodic voice. Spinning a sheathed dagger between her fingers, she sent you a sideways glance, her helmet reflecting the light of the hall. “I’m surprised he hasn’t wrangled in a foundling by now. Even more surprised you’re not juggling babes by the dozens by now.”

You felt a furious blush loom across your cheeks. “What makes you say that?”

“Well,” she said in a purr, “you have been a rare sight aroudn these halls since your wedding. I can only assume that you’ve been ‘busy.’”

You graoaned. “This isn’t a conversation I want to have, with you of all people.”

“Aw, why not?” Wendi laughed. “You know lots of girls are jealous of you. Din is what we know to be a resident heartbreaker. I’m sure everyone is dying to know just how well endowed he is.”

“What does that mean?” you asked.

“You know what it means. The size, of course,” she says then.

“The size? Of what?”

“Oh sweet stars. Annie Aniri, I of course mean the size of his penis.”

“Ohhh,” you say as you realize. “I would say it’s normal sized. How big are they usually?”

Wendi let out a pained sound. She hesitated as she audibly tried to think of how she might word this. “It’s not often that they are decently large. In fact you could even say it’s hard to tell when it’s in. It’s what makes most marriages feel more like a punishment.”

You grimace. “I didn’t know that,” you groaned. “I think all I can really tell you without being too innapropriate is that he’s certainly on the larger side. I guess it really depends on the average size range.”

Wendi hummed as she thought. She held her fingers out, creating an invisible model that went about four inches wide. “Too big or too small?” she asked.

You winced. “Much too small,” you tell her. She went up a bit, but it still didn’t do Din justice. You finally adjusted her hands for her, and she let out a small gasp. “Annie, how are you still able to walk?” she cried out.

You stifle a laugh that wheezed way back in your chest. “You’re too embarrassing,” you told her when you could breathe. Wendi knocked her shoulder into your own. “I hope you two will have fun,” she says finally. “It’s not often we have a happy couple around here. Everyone is very happy for him. Despite all the trouble I give you two, I’m also happy for him. I don’t think there’s a better match for him in all the galaxy. You’re both terribly annoying, either way.”

“Much appreciated,” you tell her, meaning the words with all of your heart..

She held her hand out without really facing you. The dagger had become still in her open palm. “This is a going away present,” she says.”For some reason I have a feeling you’ll be getting into trouble out there.”

You could hear the vague amusement in her voice. You took the dagger and pocketed it after a brief examination. It’s dark silver with paracord wrapped tightly around the handle. “Thank you,” you say with a small incline of your head.

“Have fun in the world, Annie,” Wendi tells you. “But be wary of it. You never truly know what will happen.”

The Razor Crest lifted off the ground with a rumble you could feel under your feet. Leaning forward in your seat, you could see the figures of Gold and Paz preparing to depart back to the tunnels, waving the ship goodbye. Waving you goodbye. You waved back, half knowing they couldn't see you. They’d been kind enough to escort you and Din out of the city. Imagine the surprise in the trooper’s voices when they saw four Mandalorian’s leaving.

The sky cast around you like an endless sea; clouds wandered the sides of the ship as Din rose into higher altitude. The fog parted into the dark sky of what you knew had to be space.

You were completely enamoured with the sights that you hadn't realized time was ticking by. The stars weren't like you'd imagined. From the ground, the stars looked like close neighbors, but as you are among them you can see now that they are spread out farther than you would have ever thought possible.

When Din spoke, it snapped you out of your trance. His voice tethered you to your reality within the ship.

"What are you thinking?" he asks.

"That I should have paid attention the first time I was in space," you say. "I guess I had other things on my mind."

"It's very beautiful," Din comments.

You made a small sound of agreement. It really is.

Din pressed a few buttons on his dashboard. The engine hummed in the back of your mind as Din slowly took his hands away from the steers.

"Are you sure you don't have the force?" You tease him.

He gives you a look and you know it is exasperation that is behind his helmet. "Auto pilot," he ammends you.

"Ah, I suppose I should have thought that first,” you chuckle.

"My thoughts exactly," Din snickered back. He unbuckled the straps of his pilot's chair, rising to his feet and pulling off his helmet. He runs a gloved hand through the unruly waves of his hair. "Would you like a tour, Mrs. Djarren?" he asks with a crooked grin quirking his soft lips.

You slowly removed your seatbelts. "I've been on the Crest before, you know," you tell him pointedly. He helps you navigate out of the narrow cockpit with his hands gently on your waist.

"Not as my bride," he pointed out. "The ship should be your home away from the covert. Our home."

His words rang in your ears. You are grateful for the dim lights that hid your eyes which falter under the embarrassment. It's amazing that you could still feel embarrassed with your husband, even after everything you two had been through.

Perhaps it's the utter lack of people that has you feeling this way. You'd never really been "alone" before. The first trip, towards Nevarro, you were alone with Din but in a much different way. You'd been a much different person!

Now, you're alone with your husband. The man that you've grown to love so dearly. The man that warmed your bed!

You suppose you're not sure what you should expect from this trip.

Din guided you first towards the engineering bay. It sat directly beneath the cockpit. On the walls were the electric panels, as Din called them. He briefly explained how inside the panels were switches, or "breakers", that controlled the flow of electricity and power to the smaller utilities of the ship, like the lights and the stovetop. In a strange jar to the left is the storage bay. There’s enough food and clothes there to last for at least a month.

The hallway straight ahead were the cells that Din used for storage. He had lots of weapons in there. You were stunned at just how many weapons a single bounty hunter needs. It seemed on par with the entire armory at the covert, but condensed into four of the six cells. You recognized one as the cell you'd taken refuge in. Lined with pistols and spears, you had hidden inside and stayed there, sweating as the ship turned in violent spins to evade the Aniri ships.

It seems like long ago; practically a distant memory. And yet it's been a matter of months, hardly even three.

You asked Din what occupied the final two cells. He pulled back the doors to reveal a strange machine. You couldn't guess it's purpose after a few tries (and laughs from Din). When you gave up, he explained that he wouldn't have it if he didn't need it.

"What is it?" You asked, now unsure if you wanted to know at all.

"A carbonite freezer. It can freeze and keep lifeforms in perfect hibernation."

You looked at Din with incredulity in your wide eyes. "Are there convicts on this ship?" You asked in a low whisper.

"Not currently," Din said. "My mother told me it's impolite to keep frozen criminals so close to a lover."

You couldn't really laugh as you stared at the strange contraption.

"So it freezes people?" You asked as you ran a palm over the smooth, dark surface of the metal.

"It does. I can use it to transport bounties without worrying they'll cause trouble." Din sounded too calm to be saying such things. But you guess it's something all bounty hunters have to worry about. You cringed away from the freezer as you imagined the process.

"Does it hurt?"

Din shook his head. "No. It could be dangerous, though. It takes calculation."

You sank into his arms, which folded around your back to keep you tucked against him. "Mmm, my amazing husband is dangerous and calculating,"you grinned.

Din tipped your chin up with his forefinger. "Would you want it any other way?"

He pressed a warm kiss against the corner of your mouth, just below the crevice of your dimples.

He turned you around, to look at the freezer once more. “I’ve heard,” he muttered as he nestled his chin onto your neck, “that those coming out of hibernation feel ill. Feverish, shaky, even blind.”

“I’d hate to be frozen,” you said as you imagined the process. An endless sleep only to be followed by days of severe sickness.

“You won’t be,” Din promises you. “Not unless you’re a prisoner.” His hands rested over your stomach She.

"Wendi told me marriage is a lot like being a prisoner," you point out.

“Then you’re my prisoner, and mine alone,” Din whispered into your ear. “Shall I lock you up in a cell? Freeze you? Or should I let you attempt to negotiate?”

“Do you often negotiate with prisoners?” You ask.

“Only the beautiful ones,” Din says. “And you’re much more than beautiful.”

“You’re a scoundrel,” you giggled as Din nipped your ear. With his arm around your shoulder, he pushed you along towards the kitchen. It’s small, but it’s enough, with a cooler and a stovetop. Past the kitchen are the living quarters.

The lumpy bunk that was once propped into the corner has been replaced with a wider mattress, one that is surely capable of fitting both of you.

“You’re a sneak,” you sigh as you push onto the mattress with your hands. It’s so lusciously soft that you’re looking forward to falling asleep.

Din leaned up against the door jamb. “I couldn’t force you to endure that old excuse for a bed. Is the ship up to Mrs. Djarren’s standards?”

You felt pinned to the wall by his smile. His damn smile. The warmth of his eyes that crinkled under his smile seeped into you like warm cacao and cinnamon on a cold day. You could feel his gaze rush through your blood as he took a step closer towards you.

“Would you like to wash up?” He asked, his words a suggestive murmur. You nodded more eagerly than you would have initially liked to, but it earned a laugh from your husband.

You helped him out of his beskar, the ship still rolling softly throughthe cosmos in autopilot. The beskar is discared oto the bed, followed by your clothes. His hand slid into yours, and while you giggled, he led you into the refresher.

You’d remembered bathing in here for the first time when Din had saved you all that time ago. You recall being ecstatic by the warm water.

Steam rose between the walls as Din pulled into his hold. You sighed under the feeling of the everlasting heat. The water and his body could keep you comfortable for an infinite age of time.

The crown of your hair knocked against Din’s chest as the warm water streamed down your neck.

Din’s open palms curved around your breasts, thumbs tweaking your nipples while his lips sucked bruises over your neck.

Words of affection floated between the stream of hot water and the steam. His hands slithered down to your hips. He held you tightly, making you whimper in sheer anticipation. Even under the streams of water, you could feel your thighs becoming slick with arousal and excitement.

“Turn around,” Din murmurs in your ear.

You slowly turned, his hands never leaving your body. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him until he forced you to do so. His finger tapped the underside of your chin. “Are you my prisoner?” He asks, his thumb pulling your bottom lip down.

His dark eyes are filled with focus.

His looks are intoxicating. The brown scruff coming in along his jaw is scratchy, but you find yourself fond of the feeling it leaves between your thighs.

"I could be," you gasp.

You pull him down by his hair, forcing him into a rough kiss that made your heart pound.

Parting your lips to let his tongue sweep over yours, you moaned his name. You earned a low growl in response. The growl resonated way back to your throat.

Din’s hands raked down your back. He held you tightly, like he feared you’d be torn away with him at any second. All of his strength poured into his hold onto you.

You lifted your leg to grip it around his thigh. “Din,” you rasped against his mouth. “Please. It hurts.”

Your cunt ached roundt its own emptiness. You’d become swollen and your heartbeat pounded all the way to your clit. Something within you screamed to be filled and ravaged by Din. The thought of his cock slipping its way inside of you practically did the job itself.

Din’s eyes hardened as he grabbed you by the waist. You are pushed into the shower wall, then lifted with remarkable ease. He fixed your legs around him.

“I need you,” you gasped. The weight of his eyes on your body had become unbearable.

“You want to take me alraedy?” Din said in your ear. His voice is hoarse and thick and low, striking a pleasurable chord deep in your stomach. “You want my cock now?”

You nodded, sinking your face into the crook of his neck.

Keeping you hoisted with one arm, Din slid a hand between your two torsos. He gripped his thick cock in his large hand.

Looking down, you watched with strained eyes as he rubbed the tip of his cock into your clit. A strangled gasp pushed out of your mouth as he whispered more intimate words to you.

“You’re going to be a good girl and take it all?” Din asked. His rough voice wavered as he guided his cock into your cunt. You cried loudly at the feeling. The velvety walls of your cunt eagerly accepted Din’s cock, hugging around him tightly to feel as much as you could.

“My seed,” he grunted, “will stay inside of you all night. Will you give me children?”

His strong thrust knocked your hips back against the walls of the shower. You sank your teeth into the flesh of his neck as he rocked into you unrelentlessly.

“Will you bear all of Clan Djarren with your pretty hips?” he snarled into your ear. “Will you take my cock without question?” Your brain felt like it would short circuit at any minute. You could hardly stammer out the “Yes” you so desperately wanted to scream. The idea of it all made it all the more unbearable. You could feel him reaching for the stars of climax deep inside of you, hips snapping into yours loudly under the water. You whimpered his name as his arms kept you upright. His strong, smooth biceps flexed widely as he grunted against your skin.

“Ah, fuck, my meshla,” he swore loudly. As if he wasn’t moving fast enough already, his hips quickened their pace, snapping against yours with the loud slaps of wet skin to echo around you in the steam.

You couldn’t even process a coherent thought as you felt lost in the pleasure you’d been plunged into.

“Taking me so fucking well,” Din hissed to you, nipping at the lobe of your ear. “You want it?”

“Yes,” you stammered. You clutched against him as tightly as you could, your thighs and torso shaking violently as you lost control of your senses. The spasming climax burst in your stomach like an explosion of fire. You jerked in his arms, but he pressed you flat against the cold tiled wall with his smooth, broad test.

“Din, I want it,” you sobbed.

He groaned so loudly you felt the reverberations in your chest. His hips rocked so hard you thought he was going to split you completely in half.

As quickly as it had started, he spilled his seed into you, making you shudder and spasm closer into your hug.

Din buried his face into your neck, his laugh muffled by your skin. You both panted for breath for a solid minute. His cock remained hard inside of you, but any movement made you flinch and clench around him.

Din licked the sweet drops of water up your jaw before whispering into your ear, “Can you take it again?”

Laying in the bed, tucked into Din’s chest, you asked him, “What is the bounty we’re going after?”

His hand that played with your hair paused for a brief second before resuming the little swirls. “A man that’s wanted for evading debt.”

You nodded. “I see. That means he owes another man money, right?”

“Correct,” Din said. “We’re going to a planet called Bespin. The manciple of Cloud City, Lando Calrissian, has reported this man to be roughly a million credits in debt. I’ve heard the bounty’s name come up before. He’s most likely in deep debt with multiple people.”

“Frightening,” you murmured.

You kissed over the heart of your husband. Laying your ear over it, you could count the beats without even thinking. The rhythm sank into you so that your own heart eventually beat in perfect synchronization with your husband’s.

“Did you mean what you said about children?” you asked suddenly.

The rumbling of Din’s ship is all you heard for some time.

“Yes,” Din replied softly. “Since we married, I have been consumed with the image of you with my child.”

You chuckled, though feeling bashful. “I’m honored.”

“Meshla,” Din breathed. His fingers combed through your hair in the darkness. “I am honored. Honored to be your husband. Honored to be the one you’ve chosen to bear warriors with.”

You nuzzled closer into his arms. “I love you very much,” you say quietly.

“And I love you more than you’ll ever, ever now,” Din replied. “For now, let’s sleep. We can devise to make children tomorrow.”

With that being said, you were lulled to sleep by the humming of the engine and the beating heart of your one and only husband.

After two days, you and Din reached Bespin. You learned that ‘Cloud City’ is a literal name. Tucked in the fluffy clouds is an actual city, which Din explained prospers through mining.

Din explained that he suspected the city is being used by the Empire to operate trading posts. Because the city is known for its peace, Din said, their governor would likely cooperate with Lord Vader to keep his people out of danger.

The ship rumbled as landed on its cleared pad.

For a long moment, Din sat behind his steers. You watched him carefully; you wonder what he is thinking.

“Din?” you finally say. “What are you thinking?”

Rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, Din cast you a glance. “I’m thinking you should stay on the ship and wear your armor. I can’t say for sure that the city is under Imperial authority. It’s only a hunch. But I can’t risk your safety.”

You sent him a soft smile. “My doting husband,” you sighed. You unbuckled your self from the copilot’s chair. “I’ll be changing into armor. Will you be alright?”

Din nodded. “I’m going to meet with a few officers. They’ll give me their puck and then we can go after the bounty.”

You took his hand in yours before you left the cockpit. You pressed a small kiss over his glove. “I’ll be here.”

It is a struggle to dress in your plates quickly. Din showed you how to do it many, many times, but you’d never been able to do it as fast as he could, especially on your own.

Your small arsenal of weapons fits snugly around your waist. Your flute, your blade, and your pistol have been your constant companions since you’d been gifted them from Gold. It felt strange to be without her. Strange, but exhilarating.

You knew you would eventually find your way back to the covert when Din decided to take a break from bounty hunting. You looked forward to the moment you could see your newfound friends and tell them all of your adventures.

You left the bedroom in you beskar, the rosegold sheen blinding you in any sort of light.

You found Din in the engine bay, fiddling with what you presumed to be his puck.

You are both in your armor and helmets now; with your visor down, you felt like a proper woman. It made you feel safe somehow, like you could truly protect yourself.

“Where is he?”

“Off the city,” Din said. His voice is rougher through the modulator, much like yours. “It won’t take long to find him. Before that, I have something for you.”

You tilted your head. “Oh? I am sorry to say I don’t have a gift for you.”

Din chuckled. “It’s more for myself than it is for you, actually,” he admitted. He fastened something small to the tunic behind the breast plate. “A tracker. If anything happens, I can find you.”

You repressed a sigh. You wished you could ease his fears. You hadn’t realized how he felt until he had mentioned it before. He didn’t like the thought of you mingling with Imperials.

“It’s going to be alright,” you promised him. “It’s just a normal bounty. Only you have a supporter with you.”

He couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh. “Wear it for me,” he said after catching his breath. “It will make me feel truly at ease.”

You couldn’t say no to that.

With the tracking beacon hidden behind your breast plate, you and your husband returned to the cockpit. Din let you hold the puck on the way off Cloud City. You hadn’t realized just how intense bounty hunting was until you fiddled with the puck’s features. You learned from Din that some pucks can be synced with the target’s genetic signature. This can allow any bounty hunter to track them throughout the galaxy.

When you’d noted just how intense that is, Din explained that is usually used for the higher rewards: murderers, serial thieves, other similar criminals. “Our guy,” he said, “isn’t that serious. He was just sighted a matter of hours ago. I doubt he’s ran off anywhere, especially if he has no money. I think we’ll find him just fine.”

You had started to hope that would be true.

The Crest took its landing ten minutes later, on a lower city thick with fog.

You had prepared to follow your husband, but he set his hands on your shoulders and warned you to stay put.

You sighed. “What if you need help? You may be able to track me, but I can’t track you. What if––?”

“Meshla,” Din sighed. “If I need help, I’ll call the ship’s comm. You can come find me then. Just stay put to guard the ship. I’ll need my loyal, supportive wife to stay here so I can bring the bounty back without any obstacles.”

It’s clear he knew what he was saying, as well what his words would mean to you.

You mimicked his sigh of annoyance. “I do not like that you’ve used my own supportive creed against me,” you told him sternly. “But I will stay. How long should you be gone before I get truly worried?”

Din thought about that for a moment. “At least,” he finally replied, “an hour. I give you full permission to come after me after two hours.”

You warned him you would come looking for him after two hour’s time. You would have liked to kiss him goodbye as he left the Crest, his hunting cape flying in the cool breeze as he did.

You proceeded to sit in the cockpit for your mandatory two hours. You tried to read a book you’d found in Din’s bedroom while you waited. You felt impatient, and you thus could not focus on the first paragraph, as your eyes continued to wander to the comm embedded in the steer’s dashboard.

It took almost the full two hours for Din’s voice to come through.

“I’m coming back. Be ready for us.”

You sighed loudly with relief. By Prince Melv’s kind, resting soul, you’d been very close to leaving the ship to go after your husband.

You waited at the ramp for him, your hand resting steady on your pistol sheathed at your thigh.

His voice finally called through the mist. You squinted, using the focus feature of your helmet to scan through the fog. Two figures were dragging through the thick clouds towards the ramp.

You ran after them, eager to help Din.

His bounty is being dragged in unconcious. As you hooked one of the limp arms around your shoulders, you debated asking him what he had done to the poor fellow.

You’d seen Din in action before; you wouldn’t ever want to be one of his bounties. You somehow feel he wouldn’t be as kind to them as he is to you.

You helped Din drag the bounty into the cockpit. The poor fellow’s body got slumped in a side chair. “Close the ramp,” Din asked you. “Leave your helmet on. If he wakes up, don’t even speak a word to him.”

You lifted a brow behind your visor. He didn’t look that vicious. “Is he so dangerous?” you asked in a low voice.

“No,” Din answered. “But I don’t trust him around my woman either way.”

You shook you head as you went to shut the ramp.

Rentering the cockpit with a glass of water from the kitchen, you found that Din had already tied the bounty up in the seat. “That was quick,” you noted as you offered it to him.

Din lifted the helmet up just enough to gulp the water down. He thanked you for it. Before you could leave to put the glass away, he grabbed your wrist. He rested his forehead against yours, the metal of either helmet clinking together like bells. “I am lucky to have such a supporter with me,” he murmured.

“Oh, Mando,” you sighed. You hadn’t used the nickname in a long time. It felt nice to say it now. “How romantic it is to hear you speak sweet things as we coddle one another in front of a criminal.”

Din howled out a loud laugh. “Just buckle yourself in. We’re returning to Cloud City.”

With the bounty still unconcious, the Razor Crest lifted up through the fog. You thought about many things on the ride back.

“Could I ask an unintelligent question?” you finally asked.

“Of course, though I seriously doubt it will be so bad,” Din assured you without looking away from his screen.

“Well, why is debt such a serious crime? I understand that it’s wrong, and of course why someone would want their money back. I’ve only thought that people should know the potential consequences.Wouldn’t that alone be enough to prevent such crimes?”

Din did not ridicule you for asking. In fact, he answered you perfectly. "Debt isn't often overlooked," Din says. "Many times, people are in debt due to high interest rates or deep end gambling."

"Why gamble if they know they can't pay what they'll owe?" You asked.

"It can be addicting for some people," Din explained. "They will give themselves the benefit of the doubt, thinking they have a good chance at winning a sum. Eventually, they owe more than they had originally hoped to win."

You cast a glance over your shoulder, looking to the bonded man in the spare seat. He hasn't come to, not yet, and you're half dreading the moment he does.

Din could take him easily enough; though you still feel unnerved to be in such a small space with a wanted criminal.

The rational voice in your mind knows nothing bad will happen. The hard part is done, at least.

The landing pad is cleared for Din's use over the Razor Crest's commlink. You watch the clouds out the window as Din descends through them, lowering the ship slowly onto the pad.

The ship rumbled as Din shut down the engines. You looked back at the bounty.

"Should I come with you?" You asked as Din unbuckled.

He stayed silent as he leaned forward, examining the surroundings of the Crest.

"It's not very crowded," he noticed. "I'd feel better if you stayed aboard the ship," he finally says. "Be careful."

"Shouldn't I be telling you that?" you asked him with a small smile. He seemed to hear the affection as he leaned over your seat. He pressed the forehead of his helmet against your own, resting like that for an easy moment.

"I'll be back soon," he assured you.

He approached the bounty calmly, bending down to use his hand to carefully slap the man awake.

The man awoke with a great start, jerking back into his bindings in a panic to get away from Din.

“Knock that off,” Din warned him. “Get on your feet. Meshla, stay here,” he called to you.

You nodded, not saying a word as you recalled Din’s earlier instruction. You listened to the bounty attempt to negotiate with him all the way out.

You followed behind them to close the ramp.

That had gone smoother than you’d really been expecting. It’s half a let down, half a relief. Part of you had been expecting somehting exciting. You pulled off your helmet as you settled in your chair in the cockpit. You used the inside of your wrist to dab away the sweat that had formed along your hairline.

Now, you could rest easy; you even looked forward to the next place Din would take you. Perhaps you’d actually be able to go exploring that time. Though you wouldn’t be surprised if Din would coax you into staying on the Razor Crest.

You settled into the copilot’s chair, shutting your eyes to rest them. It took some time for the commlink to ring with static.

You peered closely, expecting Din to ring in to tell you he’s on his way back.

What actually came through sent fear shooting through you.

“Get off the ship and run. You’ve got to find me, Y/n, but go now. Someone’s coming for you.”

You had almost misunderstood his words. You had almost thought them to be a joke.

They weren’t.

You grabbed your helmet and shoved it over her hair, not bothering to keep it neat.

You raced out of the cockpit on shakey legs. You darted into the weapons cell. You grabbed what you knew you’d be able to carry. Din had a large amban riffel that you could keep strapped on your back. You also grabbed his vambrace. You weren’t sure how it worked, but you figured it would be good for him to have.

You sprinted off the ship, unable to look back and give it one last goodbye.

You ran across the landing pad, keeping the riffel steadied in your arms.

You’re not fucking sure where to go, or what to do, but you know that Din’s hunch must have been right. That’s all you can assume. Imperialites must be swarming this place. But how could you know who from who?

As you darted through the large building, you saw many people who simply gave you puzzled glances.

Not many seemed threatening until you reached the intersection at the hallway. On one path is a swarm of officers with their weapons drawn and aimed at you.

You fired the amban. It had very little recoil,or at least from what you’re used to. You hadn’t expected a bolt of electricity to spear down one of the officers. You truthfully didn’t know what an amban riffel did. You just knew it had the basic workings of any other riffel. You’d expected plain old plasma. You darted around a wall, holding your breath as you fiddled with the dial that hid right beside the trigger. You spun it to the next setting, before you darted back out to the open, the riffel aimed outright.

You shot at an officer that promptly fell to the ground, his shoulder a cloud of ash that scattered to the floor.

Oh.

Alright.

You recalled everything you’ve learned today as you sprinted down the halls, pointing and shooting everyone who tried to shoot you first.

Gambling is an addiction.

Amban rifles have several settings.

Curiouser, and curiouser.

You weren’t sure where to go from then on. Din had told you to find him, but where could he be? You’re the only one with a tracker, and the opposite link is still on the ship. As far as you know, there’s not a way to hunt Din down besides using pure luck.

Your boots stomped down the hallways as you ran around. It became easy to seperate the enemies from the bystanders. The bystanders, for the most part, hid and ran away from you. The enemies just ran towards you. Little did they know, you have an amban rifle. You assume they don’t know what it can do, like you had just a matter of minutes ago. Unfortunate for them.

You cleared a hall, switching between the settings to do a better take down of officers with more durable suits.

You approached a large room. It looked a lot like an engine bay. Hissing tanks that let off steam stand everywhere. It’s like a maze of boilers and dials that you darted through.

“Mando!” you yelled. “Mando, where are you?!”

Your heart faltered as you realized Din might not be here; you’re not sure where else he could be.

You went through another series of corners and turns. Cast along the wall in front of you is a tall shadow, a very visible weapon in hand. You armed your riffel up, your finger sweeping just by the trigger as you bolted forward to catch the by surprise.

“Oh, Mando!” you cried when you found your husband turning, his own weapons drawn up like you. “What’s going on?!” you exclaimed as you are drawn into a tight hug.

“Thank the stars,” Din breathed in a heavy sigh of relief.

“No, no, no thanking anything yet,” you snapped. “What’s going on?”

You shoved the vambrace into his arms. As he fastened it onto his right arm, his voice, tight and taught, echoed around the metal floors and walls. “I think we’ve been setup,” he said. “I delievered the bounty to Calrissian, and he took me to a room where I was ambushed by someone else. There are many sorts of Mandalorians in the galaxy, but a small handful of them branched off to work with the Empire.”

You are quick to remember the lesson you’d been given by Gold:

And meanwhile, the cruel descendant of Tarr Vizsla began to attack the Creed more and more.

The Way has been deserted on Mandalore, but it has lived on through coverts, such as this. There are others like us. Others are waiting to seize our place as protectors as they hide on distant planets like lakebats.

“There are mandalorians here?” you asked in a trembling voice.

“I think so. I saw one. Listen, it’s going to be alright,” Din promised. “Do not ever take off your tracker. Don’t even mention it. If you have to, swallow it. If we get separated, you can’t come after me.”

Stirring with shock, you stammered, “That’s crazy. I’m not going to leave you.”

“You will if I tell you too,” Din demanded from you. “If it comes to that, then we’re going to have to split up.”

The words felt like a slap in the face. You couldn’t imagine splitting up. You couldn’t imagine how you would sruvive without him. You’re not as skilled as he is; by now, you’ve been getting along from sheer luck and an nasty build up of lifelong rage issues. You’re not a Mandalorian, not really, and you aren’t able to take down giant crowds like your husband.

In the distance, beyond the boilers, came gunfire. You and Din seized up by each other, trying to gauge where it had come from.

“I’m not looking to hurt anyone, today,” a voice echoed around. It had the familiar static of the modulators found in any Mandalorian helmet. That must be him. That must be the terrorist Mandalorian that Gold had mentioned so long ago.

Din caught you by the wrist and forced you to run alongside him.

“I hear you, little mice,” the voice called. His footsteps came from everywhere, but nowehere, all at once. Despite the clammoring of the Mandalorian’s boots, you couldn’t pinpoint which directino he’d been coming from.

Din dragged you into a small gap of a room, just off the main path of the boilers. You both huddled close together in the darkness. You tried to steady your breath out, so that it would not give you away.

Din pried his helmet off, to your surprise. You felt frantic as he tugged yours off as well.

Shut in the darkness, Din could only run his hands through your hair.

“Never stop fighting,” Din says into your ear. “Do you understand that? I will find you. You can never stop fighting.”

You managed to nod. “Alright,” you shuddered. “Never.”

Din’s hands grasped the sides of your face feverishly, tipping your head back so he could press a hard kiss to your mouth. You felt his lips tremble as you tried to grip onto his chest. You clawed against his chest plate.

Your mind turned over the possibilities of what might happen the moment you and your husband ducked out of the small hiding place.

The fighters that raged beyond the little walls are searching for you both, and searching quite loudly at that. They call out to one another while you beg the galaxy for more time in Din’s arms.

He held you in a tight hug for a moment longer, his breath shuddering as he hid his face in your neck. You wished to know what he was thinking; but you had an idea. He is likely thinking the same as you—that he must memorize all the finer details of your scent and skin, because there’s a good chance one of you will die.

You hope it’s you.

There isn’t any way you could live without Din; it’s too late for that.

Din places a kiss on your eyelids, his lips wiping your tears away. “I love you,” you rasped.

“I love you, too,” Din said. His hoarse voice didn’t sit well in your stomach. It felt painful to be unable to comfort the man who had always comforted you. You wouldn’t get the chance ever again. You know that in your heart as Din pulls his helmet back on.

He slapped his blaster in your hand, forcing you to curl your fingers around it tightly. “If you see a way out, take it,” he instructed. “I don’t care if that means leaving me.”

Your bottom lip quivered at the thought. You couldn’t do that, but you refused to tell him, knowing it would only pain him more. You forced yourself to nod in understanding.

Din steadied himself. His face became pinched with focus as he fit your helmet back over your face; he followed in suit.

You two waited in silence. You listened for the footsteps of the Mandalorian that lurked the maze like a ghost.

Your stomach wrenched painfully when you heard the strange clicking of boot buckles round the corner. You could tell that this was the end. He would find you both, and you couldn’t fathom what he would do.

The footsteps paused for the longest handful of seconds you’d ever felt. You felt the same fear you’d felt when you were caught by the court guardians during your attempted escape. Your heart seemed to clog up in your throat, leaving you unable to breathe as you waited in anxious anticipation.

Din held you tightly as the Mandalorian found you. He cackled behind his modulator. He loomed over you and your husband as he sheathed his pistol. “I found you.”

You and your husband became tied up on two unsavory chairs. The Mandalorian led you both at gunpoint to a new room at the other end of the building. He tied you both one by one, knowing neither of you would take the risk of running when he had stationed officers everywhere. You knew you couldn’t risk Din’s life that way.

That must be the very same thing Din thought about you.

Sitting feet away felt more like miles. You could strain your head back to look at your husband. The strange sight of Din being bound is one you’d never forget.

The Mandalorian that had caught you both stood tall as he paced back and forth. His armor is a dull, forest green, faded as though he’d seen many years of battle.

He had the telltale marks of a Mandalorian, even down to the jetpack strapped on his back Those were rare enough, even at the covert, reserved for the most elite of the warriors. You know deep down he can’t be a true Mandalorian––you couldn’t imagine Din greeting another Mandalorian with such malice.

As the green Mando paced back and forth, the odd buckles on his heavy boots clicked, like an ominous bell counting down to your demise.

“I suppose neither of you know what I want?” he finally asked.

Neither of the Djarrens answered this question. You knew better than to speak when Din hadn’t.

The green Mandalorian sighed in disbelief. “Imagine my surprise when not one, but two Mandalorians show up here. It must be my lucky day. I’ve been waiting for you both for such a long time. It’s been a while since I’ve been with my own kind. You both can imagine the feeling, right? We Mandos are quite misunderstood in the cruel world.”

“What do you want?” Din finally asked.

The Mandalorian paused, his helmet focused on Din’s chair. “You really can’t guess?” he asked. His voice is heavy through his modulator. “I’d like to know where the rest of us are.”

You didn’t know what the really meant. You assume Din could, for he remained silent. The Mandalorian sighed, sounding rather crestfallen. “I mean, of course, that I’d like the locations of the other coverts.”

Your heart fell like a stone into the pit of your stomach.

“And is that why we stay hidden?” You asked. “Because of the Jedi?”

Gold weighed stones of steel in her hands. They scrape over the edges of the newly bred sword, sparks flying as the edges build a razor tip.

“There are more threats than the Jedi,” she mutters, voice pitched darker than you’d ever heard. “War rages throughout the galaxy as we speak. Mandalorians have abandoned their dignity and fall in league with the Imperial scum.”

You shudder. Imperial scum. You know of such people. You’d unknowingly worked for many.

Clearing your scratchy throat, your blurt out, “Why? Why would the “pacifist” Mandalorians work for such horrible people?”

“Not all Mandalorians or black and white,” Gold explains. “This has happened in the past. The descendant of Tarr Vizsla had worked with an Imperial Sith Lord. He had intentionally waged territorism on his planet, even abandoning his child. It is more common that you might expect, Y/n.”

The Mandalorian held his hands out patiently. “Well? Wouldn't you rather tell me where your covert is than face what I could put you through?"

You kept your head down, staring at your thighs through the focus of your visor. You're breathing so hard that the Mandalorian no doubt hears you.

His boots clicked as he approached your chair. He knelt before you, tucking his hand under your chin to force your gaze upward.

Din jerked in his bindings; an unfamiliar sort of snarl tore from his mask. He spat threats to the Mandalorian who donned the forest green armor.

“Calm yourself,” the Mandalorian said coolly. “Your lover is in tender hands. Isn’t that right?” he asked you. Tears dripped down your face behind your helmet. You didn’t feel as scared as you did angry. Fury had bellowed in your belly, as it had Din’s when he saw the Mandalorian lay hands on you. You became filled with the urge to unleash as much pain on the Mandalorian as possible; it drove you mad to feel such a rage that you’d never felt before.

It felt similar to the anger that had driven you to kill the men on Nevarro. At least there you had a valid reason. Those men were Anirians, your greatest threat. But this man is a stranger––you fear that you are being driven to such anger too quickly, and for bad reason.

“I only want to know where the coverts are,” he assures you. His tone is almost believable; he sounds so troubled to be inflicting the mental torture onto you and your husband. You easily know that it’s a lie. It isn’t hard to fight that off. “Could you at least tell me your name?” he tried.

Your jaw ached from the everlasting flex it had been locked in.

“Tell me your name,” the Mandalorian urges, “or I’ll kill your lover.”

“Vidia,” you spit out. “Vidia Thorpe.”

You felt guilty for using your late best friend’s name this way, but it was the only possible thing you could say to avoid inflicting harm onto Din.

“Interesting,” the Mandalorian mulls. “I’ve never heard of Clan Thorpe. You must be a foundling.”

You couldn’t calculate what to say to that. Recalling every single rule and tradition you’d been taught, you did your very best to withstand the Mandalorian’s interrogation.

“Who took you in?”

“Shut up,” Din shouted.

“I asked you a question, Vidia,” the Mandalorian repeated. “Which clan rescued you? Can’t you see that I mean you no harm? We both have sworn the same creed, as you can clearly see. We share the same armor. I guess I’ve been a bit rude, however. My apologies. I am Boba Fett, the first and only heir of Jango. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“I will not tell you anything,” you said again, trying to sound firm. You know that your voice betrays you as it wavers out of your helmet.

The Mandalorian stared at you in silence for a long two or so minutes. Sweat dripped down your back, even in the folds of your wrist that have become chaffed by the bindings.

With a soft sigh, the Mandalorian sheathed his heavy pistol on his hip. He lifted off his helmet with no resolve or guilt. He dropped it to the metal floor, the helmet clattering loudly. You couldn’t begin to express your shock.

His dark skin and hair and eyes are too cold and unfamiliar for you to feel anything but nauseous. You swore that his eyes seeped into yours, seeing straight past your helmet and heart and into your insecurities.

“You still don’t trust me do you?” he asked after a second of silence. “I’m not sure what else I can do to encourage it...I do, though, think that you and I are the same.”

“I’m nothing like you,” you say in a tremble. “You’re a traitor to your own kind.”

His eyebrows quirked at your words. “My kind? Why not ‘our’ kind? Vidia, would you like to know what I think of you?” he asked. “I think,” he says slowly, “that you’re not a Mandalorian at all.”

“And you are?” you say through your clenched teeth. “You broke your creed.”

“And what is that creed?” the Mandalorian asked; his lips puckered as his words wrapped up in a coo. “I don’t think that you really know it because you’re not really a Mandalorian.”

He took a step closer to you, kicking his helmet away. “Let’s do us all the pleasure of seeing your face.”

You struggled against him as his hands gripped the undersides of the helmet. He tore it off, leaving your hair in disarray. The Mandalorian whistled a low tune. “You’re very beautiful, Vidia, but I always knew that you were a liar. Do yourself a favor. Tell me where the covert is.”

“Why do you want to know?” you gasped. You jerked your chin out of his hands. He frowned down at you. “Because they’re my people,” he says kindly. “Do you doubt it?”

“You broke the creed,” you seethed at him; you feel that you’re practically foaming at the mouth with anger. “You removed your helmet.”

“But not my armor,” he amends. “You should do your research before playing the role.”

His boots click as he paces towards Din’s chair. Your husband had been silent all this time.

“So are you a Mandalorian?” he asks your husband. “Or should I reveal your face, too?”

“No,” you exclaimed as he grabbed the edge of the helmet. Din jerked his head back, fighting the Mandalorian as best as he could.

The Mandalorian stepped back, hands raised defensively. “Forgive me,” he said, touching his chest. “I truly assumed. Well, this is an interesting match. I’ve heard of inter-marriages, but never of dressing an outsider in our garb. He must be trying to protect you. Am I right?” His thick brow lifted in questioning, his eyes flickering to you both for an answer. “I think,” he says slowly, “that I am right. I’m on a roll, right? Let me ask you both one more time. Before you answer me with your determination, allow me to explain the terms. Behind me you see a carbon freezer. I intend on using it today. It’s by far my favorite contraption. Usually, I’d freeze you both, one by one to encourage some talking. Unfortunately for all of us I only have enough material to freeze one of you. Meaning I’ll go home with one trophy, and one of you will be losing a spouse. If neither of you answer me, I’ll freeze Mr. Stoic and I’ll keep Vidia for my own use. She’ll make a fine gift to the Hutt clan. I’m sure she’d look gorgeous in one of those skimpy bikinis.”

“Like fuck you will,” Din roared. “You’re not touching her.”

The Mandalorian held his hand out again, trying to ease Din’s rage. “I won’t touch her if you tell me what I want to know. I’m only asking for some planets. What’s the worst I could do with that?”

Your heart thumped in your chest.

Din’s loyalty to the creed forbids him from betraying his people; your loyalty to Din forbids the same.

You can’t hold back the sob that shakes your body when you finally realize that you’ll be losing this fight. You’ll be left without Din, in the hands of the strange Mandalorian who has openly expressed his plans for you. You have to fight back. You promised Din that you would.

The Mandalorian sighed. He pulled out his dagger and approached the back of Din’s chair. “There’s still time to get talking, lovebirds,” he warns you both.

Din shook his chair, even in his bonds. He thrashed and bucked like a wild animal in a trap. “You’re a fucking disgrace,” Din bellowed. “You’re an insult to man and to your father. You’re not a Mandalorian. He would never be proud to call you his own.”

Boba Fett paused his sawing past the ropes. His handsome face contorted into a mask of anger; his eyes filled with more hatred than you’ve ever felt before. You never imagined someone could express such emotion.

Without a word, Boba tipped Din’s chair down. Your husband landed on his side with a groan, the clash of his beskar to the floor loud enough to hurt your ears.

You flinched when Boba walked towards you.

You hear his blade cut through your ropes with remarkable ease; the splitting of the threads sent icy fear through your veins.

“Disgrace?” Boba repeated. His teeth ground together loudly as he grabbed you roughly by the shoulders. Even through the arm bands you could feel his grip bruise your skin. “Insult? I can accept those,” he hissed. “I don’t think I can begin to tell you how hurt I am that you’d bring dear old dad into this.”

Manhandling is all you could describe as Boba Fett pushed you towards the freezer. Your eyes widened as you realized what he had intended.

“I figured that freezing her man would be enough to scare Vidia into sharing some information with me,” Boba laughed. “But I see, now, that you’re not willing to play nice.”

Boba roughly tossed you into the chamber of the freezer. You watched Din thrash violently on the floor, still bound in his ropes. His voice echoed around the room as he shouted. He shouted your name more than anything. You could only hear your own name in his voice, which has never been pitched with such despair. It frightened you.

The anger you’d felt before had disspeared. All you could think of now was the shade of Din’s eyes.

His lovely brown eyes, the exact shade of hot cacao. Your mind raced through all the images you’d collected over these months; his eyes, his messy hair in the morning, his damn smile.

Boba shut the chamber before you could begin to scream at yourself to fight back.

There wasn’t a way out of this.

You collapsed against the metal, a high scream ripping out of your throat. You screamed your husband’s name, hardly able to understand that he was pleading with your captor.

The chamber hissed loudly, the sound bursting your ear drums. You clutched onto the blank pendant that swung around your neck as you cried.

The pendant was meant to one day be stamped with Din’s signet. He had told you himself he was looking forward to the day your belly swelled with his child, so that he may officially have the symbol of Clan Djarren stamped into the back of his armor.

It would never happen.

You would never lay with him again, let alone bear his child.

You couldn’t register that pain as the icy freeze blasted over your face, leaving you frozen in time, forever.

>>stay tuned<<

Comment your thoughts!!!!!!!

35 notes · View notes

ladyfawkes · 3 years

Text

Desiderium by Trekkiehood and LadyFawkes Current word count: 13423 Current Chapter 8: The Useful Idiots Rated: T for graphic descriptions of violence, wartime, torture, things of a POW nature. ATTENTION/ACHTUNG/ATTENCION: THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! [Nor a repost.] DESI HAS BEEN GIVEN ITS 3RD UPDATE IN LESS THAN A WEEK. WHOOPWHOOPWHOOP! It's also the first chapter in which I've flown entirely solo thus far. Doth my eyes deceive me, or does our hero make a reappearance??? Hold onto your butts, buttercups. You finally get to learn what Regis is all about. Eeeeep!!! This one's intense!!

Overall Story Summary: Desiderium: an ardent desire or longing; especially: a feeling of loss or grief for something lost.

Eugene and Rapunzel's lives are turned upside down when a war breaks out between Corona and Equis. As Captain of the Guard, Eugene is forced to leave his wife and daughter to fight on the front lines, where a tragic berserker attack leaves Rapunzel a widow.....or so she's been led to believe.

Now prisoner to a sadistic megalomaniac, our severely injured Eugene must fight harder than he's ever fought before in order to escape dire circumstances and drag his way back to his family.

With battles raging, the enemy advancing, too many fallen troops, dwindling supplies under siege, and especially absent their most trusted strategic leader, the only chance Rapunzel, Corona, and Eugene have is if the kingdom can still somehow pull off the seemingly insurmountable task of winning this forsaken war. Has dusk finally arrived for the kingdom of the sun, or will she rise victorious once more? Chapter Summary: Eugene finds "help" in the most unexpected of places. Javeen’s men had concussed the enemy captain in outrage and then tightly bound his wrists and ankles with ropes for transport. Naturally, nobody amongst them had consciously thought to put pressure on the enemy's wounds. On the contrary, most of them had gone out of their way to avoid such a thing…. Their reputation had always been annihilation of all opposition and a literal scorched earth policy. It didn’t leave much room, if any, for compassion or medical training; most of the time, it left even less room for common sense. Before dawn that day, Commander Javeen’s underling had initially volunteered to perform the honor of actually transporting the soon-to-be-captured prisoner, the captain in red. However, by this point, Avila was less than thrilled; Uhlan Avila didn’t want the loathsome enemy captain to leak his blood and other bodily fluids all over his opulent saddle. He’d spent good money on it, after all. This was an unforeseen complication for which the uhlan had definitely not volunteered. Now….he was stuck with it, however. Avila sprinted over to a fallen enemy horse nearby, loosened the saddle, and reclaimed the saddle blanket, padding, and two leather straps. Taking the woolen pad and folding it over a few times, he twisted up the enemy captain inside of it with the blanket around the outside, and then cinched up everything with the reclaimed leather straps. Uhlan Avila was pleased with himself for being so clever. It was that one action of vanity alone which preserved Eugene’s life past this point; as otherwise short-sighted as these bloodthirsty barbarians were, transporting the wounded -- even their own -- was not something for which they spared much thought or effort. And so Uhlan Avila threw the prepared prisoner over the withers of his horse and ultimately brought the prisoner, retching and puking, all the way back to Javeen’s encampment outside Equisian city walls. Thus the Equisian army had done the enemy commander a secondary favor by attacking before breakfast; one cannot puke out what one has not eaten. And thus we've reached our third unintended positive consequence that the uhlan mistakenly provided the enemy: Avila had rendered him virtually unconscious. It was a copiously merciful thing, remaining staunchly unable to recall waking memory of being hauled away so inhumanely, bound and profusely bleeding, with no way to brace or prepare oneself for the relentless jarring and jouncing motions on the arduously long journey ahead. The same afternoon Queen Rapunzel of Corona received her husband’s final impassioned missive, the currently defenseless abductee Captain Eugene S. Fitzherbert, Prince Consort of Her Majesty Queen Rapunzel, was presented to His Imperial Majesty King Regis the First and Terrible of Equis. Regis preferred just the one name of his, as ambitious as he was, wanting to further distinguish himself from anyone else yet in the history books. Fully expectant that his captive should be brought to him on a silver platter, King Regis was royally put-out when he was instead Summoned to Javeen’s encampment due to a quote unquote “slight problem”. However, he was determined nothing would spoil his mood for that day. That day had all gone off without a hitch, apparently, every carefully laid plan thus far. As well it should, Regis congratulated himself internally. Nothing would be better than his moment of being able to gloat in the face of this unworthy thieving interloper who had taken up such a plumb station within the neighboring kingdom. Regis

had heard all about Fitzherbert from his

cousin before his death. What idiots Corona’s former royal couple must have been, getting duped by the likes of such a wonton common thief. King Regis vowed he would die before he let such an accursed scourge back into his palace. King Trevor had regaled Regis endlessly about his woes with Corona, King Frederic, and ultimately, the insufferable thief Fitzherbert. And Regis….well, Regis was like Trevor multiplied one-thousand-fold. While they were close to the same age, Regis had had a lifetime filled with having the throne denied him. His gargantuan height of 6’11” made Regis tower over most everyone around him. Though he was tall, he was also toned and muscular rather than massive; though he could yell louder than most, he also had a silver tongue. His cruelty, selfishness, and vanity knew no bounds -- nor did his taste for ostentation. Unlike Trevor, who had a very pointy pinched look, he was exceptionally attractive, broad-chested, masculine, and “strong as a bear”, with his close-cropped beard and once-dark-hair turned a respectable salt-&-pepper. Yet beautiful as he was, every horrible family trait that Trevor had ever possessed -- and then some -- were magnified to abysmal new depths within Regis….which is why lately, he’d been experimenting around with giving himself titles of repute. “King Regis the Great”....no, too generic. “King Regis the Horrible,”...no. Again, too….pedestrian. “King Regis the Terrible”...? Slight improvement but still not good enough. King Regis brushed an invisible piece of lint off his shimmering blue ermine cape, readjusted his most opulent jeweled crown and sauntered through the massive tent flap that had been pulled aside in anticipation of his arrival. He strutted toward the back of the tent, where he saw his 2nd and 3rd in command, Commander Javeen and Commander Thaddeus. Thaddeus backed away at a steady pace upon seeing him, after bowing, saluting, and announcing his king's arrival. Regis picked up on an undercurrent of agitation between his leading men. As he approached Javeen and a heap of rags on the ground, he learned precisely why. It was not a mound of rags before him. Now abruptly seeing his Big Moment evaporate in front of his eyes, Regis rushed up to what was clearly a passed-out prisoner. Surely this could not be Fitzherbert….?? He’d expected him to be a bit sick and groggy via a pre-planned ride from Hades over horse’s withers but not….. And Regis roughly clutched at the hair of the prone individual and yanked backward on the head. And though this prisoner’s features were filthy, it was just as Regis feared: he was indeed looking at the face that had launched a thousand Wanted posters, his avowed newest enemy, Eugene Fitzherbert, Prince of Thieves. The enemy prisoner showed no outward reaction to him nor anything else whatsoever. He lay perfectly still, eyes closed and expressionless, his body completely inert. With fury clouding his vision, Regis tore at the saddle blanket wrapped around his prey. The blanket had all but adhered to those once-leaking wounds through Eugene’s torso. By this time, Cmdr. Thaddeus had backed away to a safe distance outside the tent. “What is the MEANING OF THIS!?!?” roared Regis, unclutching his once-intended target’s hair and crossing the tent to Javeen in less than half a second. “GRIEVOUSLY DAMAGING MY CHOSEN PREY BEFORE I CAN EVEN SEE HIM?!?! “My-My Liege,” stuttered Javeen, “I thought you’d be pleased to see him in such dire straits!” At this, even Regis was taken aback. Briefly. “To reiterate….you ‘thought I’d be PLEASED’," Regis made mocking air-quotes, “to see the very victim I’d been planning personally to accost now for months, suddenly in a position where nothing I can do can possibly torture or make him hurt enough, the way he should be!?!” At this, Regis twitched his wrist and an impossibly sharp filigreed 12-inch-length steel stylus slipped silently out of a concealed pouch in his sleeve. Now, the king was deceptively, eerily calm, ever-so-slowly advancing on Javeen, who was inching away. “Did it ever occur to you,”

Regis rapidly whip-sliced in an upward diagonal with the stylus, his impossibly-lengthy arm snaking out and away him, “that I might need to play with him first?” And then he whipped the whisper-quiet blade rapidly on an opposing downward diagonal, completing an X pattern across the chest of Javeen’s tunic. His second’s eyes bugged out and he continued to back away from Regis, stumbling and stuttering, "N-no-no, Si-sire." Javeen clutched at and tried pressing his tunic against the new fresh wounds underneath them to staunch the flow of blood. Gritting his teeth and trying desperately not to cry out, Javeen well knew how screaming and crying to Regis would only encourage him further. "This dirty thief has information I require, you fool,” Regis said low in his throat, with deadly calm, as he threw the stylus at the dirt and it pierced Javeen through his foot. His hapless second screamed in spite of himself and fell backward, his foot still pinned to the earth through his boot. “I pay you to kill, maim, and follow my orders to the letter,” Regis stood over him prior to leaving, “not to do my thinking for me.” "Un....underst-stood, Si-sire," whispered Javeen. As abject terror gripped him, Javeen still knew he'd gotten off easy. He was still alive and allowed to keep all limbs and sensory organs. After giving his original intended victim Fitzherbert one last longing glance, Mad King Regis knelt down and plucked his stylus out of the shocked man’s pinned foot as slowly and agonizingly as possible, making Javeen yell mightily again as crimson gushed out the new holes in either side of his boot. "You'd best hope he lives," Regis threatened pleasantly, nonchalantly inspecting the bloodied point of his stylus. Regis then wiped his stylus clean on Javeen’s trouser leg, and said loudly, “Cmdr. Thaddeus, Summon the surgeon or apothecary, whatever he calls himself. Tell him he has a new charge. JUST THE ONE,” he growled menacingly at Javeen, his implications crystal clear although he still addressed Cmdr Thaddeus. And to think, less than five minutes ago, Regis had been having such a fine day.

4 notes · View notes

ryder-s-block · 4 years

Text

Jaig Eyes (Ch 68)

Jaig Eyes (68/?)

Summary:

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

————————-

Chapter Sixty-Eight: Peace Talks

Despite having been on Mandalore before, I’d never actually been inside the domed capital city of Sundari. Obi-wan had talked of it often, in the many times he’d told stories to the clones on late nights during campaigns. He told epic tales of his time protecting the young Duchess Satine. His men saw them as morale-boosting war stories. But I knew better. I knew the true allure that laid within those memories for Obi-wan. He was telling love stories.

And what a better setting for them? The city was beautiful, reminding me of what Coruscant’s lower levels would look like if they were well-maintained.

And cared about art.

Having rejected the old Mandalorian way, the new pacifist government didn’t even let me wear my beskar in. I had to leave it, along with all of our weapons, back on the shuttle. Knowing this would happen, I’d asked Padme why she wanted me along.

We’d been sitting in her apartment on Coruscant when she’s suggested it. I’d told myself, while guiding my speeder through the air towards her, that I was going there to look for Anakin. He had to be told about what happened...right?

But deep down, I felt that he already knew. And that he was at the Jedi Temple, trying to sort this all out.

And the truth was that I was going to Padme’s apartment for her and the comfort she provided to me. I’d exited my speeder and entered her apartment without issue, her security system still recognizing me. I hadn’t even bothered to change after leaving the transport that brought me back from Umbara.

When the senator saw me, she only held out her arms to me, her face sad. Anakin must have told her. Or maybe she saw the entire story etched into the lines of my face.

I ran to her, letting the kind woman take me under her wing as she had with her younger sisters when they were young. She listened. Consoled. Forced me to clean up and then fed me.

The Coruscant skyline was bathed in the golden light of the sunset when Padme finally suggested a new mission. She saw it as a leave of absence without actually asking for one. I’d go with her to some rather uncertain attempt at peace talks, as I had once been her personal security, and be able to escape the battlefield for a bit.

She claimed Anakin needed it sometimes, too. It made sense. After all, I’d given it to the clones when Echo died.

I felt overcome with guilt as I stood beside Padme’s chair, my hands folded behind my back. Here I was, taking on an easy mission without even thinking about looking after the clones. Of course, I’d tried to see them, but they were all on lock-down, more or less.

Considering all that had happened, there was a lot of briefing to be done. Even Rex, who had snuck away for a moment to comm me on our private channel, told me that he’d likely not be able to see me for a while...until all the protocol and scrutiny was gone.

I had a fair share of my own, of course, considering I raged out on a Jedi. Still, Dogma took the brute of it all, willingly. I wanted to defend him. To leap forward into the Chancellor’s office and explain that I was every bit as willing as Dogma to shoot Krell. I’d chopped two of the Jedi’s arms off, for Ka’ra’s sake.

But in the end, what use would that be? I’d just get more of us tried for treason. And Dogma’s mind screamed that. This was his redemption. So I let him.

That didn’t mean I’d ever stop feeling the guilt, though.

My attention was dragged back to the room when I felt a spike of frustration ripple from the representatives across from us. Beside me, sitting in a simple chair, was Senator Amidala. Beside her were Senators Organa and Mothma. Behind us were a line of Republic Senatorial Guards.

To my far left, overseeing the meeting, was Duchess Satine. She’d remembered me well. I felt the confused emotions towards me when I’d first entered the room. I’d kept her and Obi-wan’s secret. But I’d also murdered a guy. Which was bad to her, even if it was to save an entire ship of people. But whatever.

On the other side of the throne room were Seperatist representatives. There was a Gossam, named Amita Fonti. A Siniteen I knew to be called Bec Lawise. And finally, Voe Atell, who was glaring rather darkly at Padme as she spoke.

I forced myself to tune back in. “The Republic recognized the tragedy of war, but there is nothing we can change that has already occurred.” I swallowed thickly past the frown that wanted to climb to my lips. In the end, Padme was right that there was no way to alter the past.

Still, that didn’t mean we should ignore it. The past was there to learn from it. And even though she didn’t mean it that way, I felt it came across as….dismissive?

Unfortunately, the Separatists didn’t know Padme’s heart like I did. Nor could they feel her genuine emotions when she spoke.

Thus….

“Say it aloud before this gathering,” Voe Atell demanded, “As representative of Chancellor Palpatine, that you declare, without reservation, the Seperatist State legitimate.”

I cut my eyes sideways to see Padme frown in the following silence. We both knew she didn’t have the authority to do that. Nor would she, under the circumstances that the Separatists are being led by a Sith. Of course, it’s not like we could tell them that and they’d believe us.

When I became worried that I’d die from the tense pressure building in the room, a voice finally spoke. “I have something to say about the legitimacy of the Separatists.” I leaned my head forward slightly, peering around Padme’s chair to see a young man who looked no older than myself. He was handsome, his hair swept to the side and his dress proper.

A senator, I assumed, but not one I recognized on sight. And then it made a bit more sense.

“It’s Lux Bonteri,” Bec Lawise whispered, seeming alarmed.

“Why is Lux Bonteri here?” Voe asked at the same time, her gaze casting worriedly across the Republic Senators.

“What could he possibly have to say?” Lawise spoke again, this time louder and intending to mock the young man. Still, Bonteri didn’t seem bothered as he walked between the opposing groups to approach the Mandalorian throne.

My brow arched, my arms crossing before my chest to try and smother my amusement. I’d had the absolute pleasure of interacting with his mother once. Since then, I found it good fun to watch her absolutely decimate people with her ability to argue. She was a damned good politician, and she cared for her people. It was a shame her people lost her so early.

It seemed her son inherited her tendency to piss people off. I smirked when I heard Voe hiss, “He was not invited.” As if this was a fancy dinner party. Please. If I could get an invitation to this stupid thing, I wasn’t surprised the son of a senator got in.

I leaned down to Padme’s side as Bonteri passed, his gaze passing over us. For a moment, I saw a flash of disappointment. Huh. I’d investigate that later. But for now….

“Was this planned in any way? Cause if so, I’d like to be filled in next time,” I whispered in Padme’s ear.

She glanced at me, shaking her head. Usually she at least had a glimmer in her eye when I joked. But this time, there was only worry. I sobered immediately, looking back as Lux bowed to the duchess.

“I don’t know what he’s doing,” she whispered back. Her tension was distracting. Damn my emotional connections to people.

With a small sigh, I touched Padme’s shoulder gently, resting my hand there. She eased slightly, letting me smooth over some of her anxieties with the Force. Bonteri turned back to us, having received permission to speak from Satine.

“I stand before you,” he began steadily, “Son of Mina Bonteri, loyal Separatist, a patriot, a friend.” He cast his eyes towards Padme briefly, that spark of disappointment igniting in him again when he saw me beside her. I tilted my head, curious.

There was a wide range of emotions I was used to feeling when people laid eyes on me. Disappointment, weirdly...wasn’t one of them. Fear was usually more likely.

“It has come to my attention that my mother was murdered by Count Dooku in cold blood!”

My jaw dropped open as the boy spoke, my hand tightening on Padme’s shoulder when she tensed in fear. Bec Lawise leapt from his chair immediately. “That is a lie! Remove this traitor immediately.”

On pure instinct, I moved to step forward as two commandos grabbed Bonteri. Padme’s hand quickly grabbed mine, keeping me glued to her shoulder. I tugged at her for a second, but a firm look stilled my movements.

“I will not be silenced!” Bonteri cried as he was dragged away from the throne.

Duchess Satine rose angrily. “Stop this!”

Voe Atell got up from her seat as well, her voice terribly respectful. My nose crinkled at her. “We would ask you to respect that we deal with this matter ourselves.”

“No,” Lux cried, his hands bound as he was led from the room. “Dooku is deceiving you! You will all be betrayed, just like my mother!” My jaw set as the doors snapped closed behind him and his captors. What if that were true? Did Dooku murder Mina?

If so….

“I apologize for such a rude interruption,” Lawise announced to the room. “Please let us continue.”

The representatives all settled back into their chairs, the room filling with a low mumble as they reorganized themselves. I took the opportunity to lean down again, my hand still held against Padme’s shoulder.

“Senator, we can’t just let them take him. He could be killed for what he said. And if it’s true…”

Padme looked at me over her shoulder, nodding slightly, her brows furrowed. “Do what you can. But be discreet.”

I smirked. “If I’m not, you can just blame the bounty hunter.”

“Not funny.”

Still, despite the words that left her mouth, the slight glimmer of humor was back as I turned and slipped from the room before the discussions could continue. I guess that meant she trusted me to save Mina’s son.

I only hoped she was placing that trust correctly.

A quick shuttle back to the landing platforms revealed Bonteri to me again. The Separatist platform was crawling with commandos--and these ones were armed, since they were outside the city.

Osik.

Ducking between crates, I made my way to the right edge of the platform, watching Bonteri be led up the ramp past two guards. Apart from those two, I counted another patrolling the walkway and a fourth at the front of the ship.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I slipped along the side of the walkway, staying out of sight. I stopped, pressing myself to the metal wall, listening to the droid walking on the platform above. My eyes closed, my hand opening at my side, palm facing the sky. The Force moved at my gentle nudging, closing around the commando walking its patrol route.

My fingers clenched quickly, my fist dragging backwards. With the movement, I pulled the droid with the Force, sending it hurtling past me and towards the desolate surface of the planet far below.

Of course, this drew the attention of the other droids. But not enough for them to call for help. I leapt from the ledge, knowing three commandos would be looking over it any moment. Thankfully, while the Mandalorians had taken my weapons, they didn’t take my grapple.

I aimed it up, the tether securing against the underside of the platform and swinging me to the opposite side. A little help from the Force and a whole lot of practice…. And I was up on the left side of the platform, the droids all searching frantically off the other side.

I couldn’t help but smirk as my grapple detached and I raced aboard after the Bonteri boy. The Force moved darkly, and while I knew he wasn’t aboard, I knew someone was conversing with Dooku. It was freaky, how powerful his presence could be, even when he wasn’t fully there.

The Force whispered as I hurried after Lux’s signature; He was in trouble. I stopped at a door, a familiar pompous voice speaking, “I think it is time we reacquaint the young senator with his mother. Kill him.”

Nope.

The door hissed open under my touch, revealing a kneeling Bonteri before a hologram of Dooku. Two commandos stood on either side of the young man. With a confident smirk to Dooku, I thrust out my hands, the first droid rocketing backwards and into the hologram projector. The count’s image disappeared as I vaulted off the wall, slamming my feet into the faceplate of the second commando. They fell together in a sizzling heep, their mechanics whirring.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Do you care?,” I replied, waving his curiosity away. We’d have time for that after we were gone. “I’m not currently trying to murder you, so I’d say that I’m a step up.” I gestured to the fallen droids, my hand on my hip.

Admittedly, I probably didn’t look like much. The only tough-looking thing about me was the scars that marred my face. I didn’t even have my beskar to make me look intimidating. I was in more civilian-typical clothes--gray pants with a black leather jacket. It’s not like I looked like a bounty hunter. Or someone who could Force-push a droid into a wall.

Thankfully, Lux shrugged in agreement, following me into the elevator. As we descended, I tapped my comms, wishing the Mandalorians had let me keep my advanced communications system. And by that, I mean that I wished I could call to Apex for help.

Still, R2 wasn’t a poor substitute by any means. “R2,” I said into my comms, waiting for the door to hiss open again. “Prep the shuttle. We’ve gotta go.” The astromech beeped back dutifully, but with a touch of snark.

I smirked, thankful Anakin had loaned R2 to Padme. He did that a lot, actually, which made me even more sure that they were the worst kept secret of the Jedi Order. I mean….her protocol droid was literally Anakin’s creation.

I shook that thought away, focusing on now. Leading Lux from the elevator when the doors snapped open. The commandos that had been searching for me earlier had returned to their posts beside the ramp. I raced down the gangway, leaping onto the back of the first commando. Locking my legs around its hips, I swung my weight sideways, pulling us both to look at the other droid.

The other guard was aiming at us, but not firing since the commando was in my way. I wrestled with my captive quickly, firing off two shots from the commando’s weapon to take out the other. I finally wrenched my arms sideways, ripping off my captor’s faceplate.

Landing deftly on my feet, I glanced at Lux, who just seemed shocked. “Come on,” I growled, leading us away as the final guard at the ship chased after the sound of blaster fire. We hurried across the landing pads, more commandos converging on our position and opening fire without hesitation.

I still didn’t have my weapons, so there wasn’t much I could do but run faster and hope the young senator had kept his cardio up. I ducked into the gorgeously decorated halls that threaded through the landing pads. I was surprised to see the senator right on my heels as we rounded a corner.

“You were with Senator Amidala,” he panted as we ran, ducking blaster fire. “Listen, I appreciate the help but--”

I grabbed his collar, dragging him around a corner as four shots rocketed past where he had just been standing. Glass shattered to the floor around us when the shots decimated the glass walls. He breathed slowly, moving to thank me, but I ran off. “Run now, talk later,” I called.

Thankfully, he seemed to agree, following me through the winding paths I’d memorized on the flight here. Padme had been busy with the other senators attempting to develop a plan for their peace negotiations. So, being who I was, I planned for the worst and memorized the layout of the landing pads….especially the areas occupied by the Republic and Separatist forces.

I rounded the corner onto the platform manned by the Republic. The ship we’d arrived on--a Senatorial shuttle called ‘Phoenix’-- was well-guarded by Senatorial Guards. “Captain Taggart,” I called to the leader I recognized, having met him many times when I worked for Padme, “I’ve made some friends.”

He dropped his gun from his shoulder as I stopped beside him, Lux racing out of the hallway after me. The sound of the droids approaching echoed towards us. “Friends?” the captain repeated, slowly turning his weapon towards the hall entrance.

“Care to say hi?” I asked sarcastically, grabbing Lux’s shoulder when he was close enough, only to throw him behind me and towards the shuttle.

“We’ll cover you, sir,” Taggart yelled dutifully as his men opened fire on the incoming droids. I turned and ran after Lux, following him up the gangway and into the shuttle.

I tapped my wrist comm swiftly. “Go, R2,” I called, hearing the engines engage. The droid dutifully navigated us away from the platforms outside Sundari before we even made it to the cockpit. The moment we did, he beeped happily, notifying me of an incoming message.

I sat in the seat closest to the console, patting the astromech’s head as he rolled past and out of the room. “Kida,” Anakin’s voice greeted through the hologram as he shimmered into existence, “Padme just contacted me.” I flinched slightly at his informal reference to the senator. He didn’t know Lux was with me. “She told me the peace negotiations have all but collapsed.” That was unfortunate. As much as I never expected them to succeed, I still held some small hope that my pessimism wouldn’t be right for once. “Where are you?” the Jedi finally asked.

“Senator Amidala,” I said with a blatant clear of my throat to tell Anakin I wasn’t alone, “Sent me after Lux Bonteri after the Separatists threatened his life. We’re on our way to Coruscant now.” I didn’t worry about whether Padme could get back. She was more than safe on Mandalore until an alternative transport could be found.

“Master Jedi,” Bonteri interrupted over my shoulder, earning a raised brow from me, “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble.”

“It’s fine,” I dismissed, sensing Anakin’s interested expression. “The Republic can keep you safe from Dooku.” Strangely, I felt some disappointment from the boy. What was I missing? I wanted to root into his mind a bit more, but I had to be careful. He was a clever one, and I wouldn’t go unnoticed if I didn’t take my time. And right now, Skywalker was talking again.

“Alright,” he conceded, “Bring Bonteri to Coruscant immediately and we’ll discuss giving him amnesty.”

“Got it.” I tapped the projector, cutting off the connection with Anakin. When I rose to calculate our jump, though, a darkness moved in the cockpit. I turned around abruptly, seeing Lux aim a pistol at me. “What the shab are you doing?” I growled, my muscles coiling in apprehension.

“I can’t go with you,” he said, holding me at gunpoint. “I don’t even know who you are. You work for the Republic and wield the Force, but you’re not Jedi.”

I popped my hip, my arms crossing grumpily. “A thank you, would be nice,” I mocked him, acting unbothered by the weapon in my face. “And no, I’m not a Jedi. But clearly I work for them.” In a flash, I reached out and ripped the gun from his inexperienced grip, turning it back on him.

Lux raised his hands to his side, his eyes wide with shock. “Don’t.”

“Relax, pretty boy,” I chuckled, taking the aim off him and examining the weapon. “Where did you even get one of these? You’re a senator’s kid, not a fighter.”

The boy frowned at me. “My mother was.” I glanced away as he continued, the gun dropping to be held at my side. “And I’m no longer a Seperatist, either. I won’t join the Republic.”

I crossed my arms. “I never said you had to. But if you want protection, the Republic is your best bet. Especially since you’re running around accusing Dooku of murder.”

“There is a different way.” The way he said that scared me. His voice deepened, the energy around him darkening ominously.

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

His anger flared slightly as he sighed at me. “I’ve already made contact with a group on Carlac who are noble and are allied with my cause.”

“Your cause?” My brow lifted suspiciously. Anytime anyone said they were aligning with a group that shared their goal….oftentimes led to me finding out that someone was associating with a very dangerous group. “And what might that be?”

The Force darkened around the young Bonteri boy. “To kill Dooku.”

I couldn’t help the snort of laughter that burst from my nose. I crossed my arms again over my leather jacket, giving the kid a smirk. “I’ve tried that. Trust me, the only one you’ll succeed in killing is yourself.” I cast him a sideways glance as I approached the console again, beginning to type in the coordinates for Coruscant. “Besides, your plan doesn’t seem to be well thought out, Bonteri. If it weren’t for me, how would you even be alive right now?”

I felt him move before her did, making me pivot in my stance beside the pilot’s chair. “Like this!” the young senator grunted as he lunged forward with a taser. I grabbed his wrist, but was surprised by his strength. Both of his hands slammed down over mine, shoving the taser down and into my chest.

“You--” I would have cussed him out in every language I knew, but my blood felt like it was boiling in my veins from the electricity. I blacked out, my legs buckling.

The boy was kind enough to catch me as I fell, cradling me against him. “I’m sorry,” I heard him whisper. It sounded genuine.

Of course, that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to punch his lights out the second I woke up.

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

MANDO’A

Ka’ra-- stars; ruling council of fallen kings

Shab-- fuck

14 notes · View notes