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bonny-kookoo · 3 years

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Ready Player 01 | JJK x Reader | 🔞❤️☁️

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: dystopia!AU, former Game developer!Jk, former pro gamer!JK, former IT specialist!Reader, former programmer!Reader, romance, Smut, slight cyberpunk elements

Warnings/tags: injustice, forcefully controlled public, violence (police/government officials against citizens), unfair powerplay, interrogation, tech talk, Jungkook be antisocial as FUCK but so is the reader lmao wbk, fear of physical contact (Haphephobia), past trauma and mentions of a bad childhood, insomnia, crime, smut because yes it’s me hello my content isn't kiddy-proof in the first place what yall want from me I'm not sure, but that’s waaY at the end ya know, friends to lovers, a slightly sassy AI but we love her, reader struggles with emotions, I mean same tbh, they're both so sweet tho I cant, not proofread because let me live

Summary: there’s a war going on; silent, but it’s there. Media has been strictly become controlled and regulated- to the point of making it illegal to own a TV or phone with internet access without a valid license. But there’s always some people that will try to break free from the controlling force.

"-a new age. This is a new year. And remember; we're doing this for the greater good. Until tomorrow." The news reporter stops talking after she somberly looks somewhere behind the camera that is pointed at her.

Your room is dark- the TV brightness on it's lowest setting so you can see what's going on- but outside, no one can see the light shining in your tiny apartment. Investing in blackout curtains had really paid off at the end of the day.

You don't want to get caught.

There's an announcement van driving past your window; the tiny slits in your curtains where the light from outside can creep its way inside brightening a bit as the headlights pass your windows. Something is spoken, and by now everyone knows the routine speech.

"Electricity will be shut down in five minutes. We advice to save all progress immediately- and we wish a good nights rest. Electricity will be shut down in five minutes..-" It repeats, over and over, counting down the minutes. You slowly move into your kitchen, opening one of the loose floor tiles to turn on your own emergency electricity system. With well practiced movements you close the tile again, moving the rug over it as you walk back into your living room, swiftly sliding the TV behind your wardrobe to make it disappear. As if on cue; there's a knock at your door.

The same as always. Routine. Two times, loud and clear. You don't even have to look through the peephole to know what awaits behind it.

"Yes?" You ask, rubbing your eyes as if you had been already asleep. The officer behind the door nods at you shortly, a mild smile on his face as he looks down at you.

"We didn't mean to wake you miss. Just routine, as usual." He says, peeking into your apartment to look for any electronics still running. It's pitch black however- so he simply nods, as his colleague notes something into his tablet. "We wish a good nights rest miss. Again, sorry for intruding." He apologizes, and you nod, closing the door.

Only when the street lights turn dark, do you move from your bed.

"Creator." The AI voice chimes up, her voice greeting you as as you lift the tile on the floor again- your phone connecting to the AI to show information you instantly decode and note down inside your head. "Player01 has just connected." The voice states, and you sit down on your cold kitchen flooring, smiling a little. "He has sent a message. Would you like me to play it?" The voice asks, and you take a deep breath.

"Yes." You say, and there's a small sound indicating the start of the voice message. A male voice is head.

"Hey, whats up?" He asks, and you can hear something in the background- maybe an empty can or something similar. "I uh.. I'm on my way. Should I bring anything? Ah wait, I know the answer to that.." He says, chuckling at the end of his sentence, and you can hear him zip up his jacket as he moves around. "Yeah uh.. just text or something, I'll bring stuff over. Can't have you starve." He ends, and the AI speaks up again.

"Would you like to repeat the message?" She asks, and you shake your head at her; a signal the artificial intelligence has come to detect quite well. "Should I archive it?" She questions again, and this time, you nod- something your invisible assistant can pick up due to motion sensoring.

"Send him a message." You say. "Tell him: I only need you. Get yourself here in one piece and I'm happy. And I'm very capable of taking care of myself." You state, and your phone shows a small loading message- indicating that the voice is doing as you said. It chimes up after a moment. "Thanks Kana." You say.

"No problem creator. Would you like for me to run through the databases now?" She asks, and you nod, a smile on your face. "Database search in progress. Estimated time: sixteen minutes and eighteen seconds." You huff out a breath as you look at the tiny display on your arm; tiny, yet powerful as it's your way of keeping Kana- your AI assistent- close at all times. Tonight, there would seem to be a lot to dig through.

They really added a lot of content these days.

It's not the door that makes you notice that there's a visitor after a while- He never uses it anyways for some reason. You're sitting on your kitchen floor with a small cup of tea in your hands- kept hot inside a slightly beaten-looking thermos can since you can't use to water boiler at night. Using anything other than Kana would cause a spike the police would be sure to notice; and you're not ready to get caught yet.

Not tonight.

It's a boy who, after a moment, opens the unclosed kitchen window to climb in; his combat boots getting a little snow and dirt from the outside into your apartment as his 80's looking jacket makes distinctive noises as it brushes against the sides of your window. His blonde hair has grown out a bit these days you notice- the roots clearly showing. It's a little wet and slightly curly from the moisture. It must be snowing outside- or maybe it had. You couldn't know for sure.

You never left your apartment.

He closes the window after slipping on the tiles inside a little, the plastic bags noisy as he almost drops them- sheepishly taking off his boots as he smiles at you. His socks are different from one another- but that's another thing so distinctive and just so.. him. He's his own person, always has been; it's what brought you two together, after all. You both stood out against the 'regular public' these days; with his brightly almost white-bleached hair he was like an albino in a sea of crows.

But you knew he didn't need that to stand out to you.

You can still remember the first few times the boy in front of you has visited you; the times where he had just dyed his hair to rebel out, or when he pierced your ears in exchange for you to do it to him as well. It was like you had made a blood pact in your kitchen that night- you had somehow gotten closer, formed a little more than just a simple companionship in order to riot against the law. He began growing close. Gave you a nickname. Began calling you his player 2. Began calling you his 'ace'. He had explained that he thought of it from memories of his gaming days; the two fighting teams always called red and blue, and one of his favorite weapons having that nickname- simply because it always 'saved his ass last minute'. He had rambled on about his last tournament after that, eyes sparkling and cheeks round from cold noodles.

You had become friends.

"hey." He says after sitting close across from you on the cold floor; the opened tile and Kana's core exposed to you two, the only source of light apart from your bracelet. The colorful LED's paint marks on his face and illuminate his features to you; but it does the same to you from his point of view. It's a familiar sight. "How are you?" He asks, almost shyly, but you know that's not what's bothering him.

"Hey Jungkook." You simply say with the hint of a smile, as you answer him. "Haven't slept well these days but, what's new I guess." You chuckle, and Jungkook smiles too- though a glimpse of concern is still shown your way. He knows however that forcing you to sleep won't do much good- your insomnia was too bad to really conquer it in a day or two just by taking naps.

And also; who was he to talk about solving personal issues.

"Have you seen the most recent reports?" You ask him, and the boy somberly shakes his head.

"I was unable to." He states. "They were patrolling close to my apartment complex because there had been someone reporting a Glitcher today." A 'glitcher'- a slang word now commonly used for people like Jungkook and you. People who went against the nightly routines, people who tried to trick the system by using electricity at night, owning media, consuming it, or dealing with it. It somehow became worse than underground drugs. "They pulled him out at around twelve or so- but they seemed too on edge the entire day, so I didn't risk it." He says, and you nod. Jungkook had always been a very good person when it came to calculating risk versus reward. He was good at reading people too- even though he didn't interact much, he got out of his apartment a lot more than you did. "Anything important?" He asks, and you shrug.

"There was a report that China and Japan were still on edge- with the chinese government arguing that they would soon start with 'more drastic measures to get things under proper control', whatever that means." You say, and Jungkooks brows furrow as he starts to pick on the skin of his jaw. "Let's just hope the flood doesn't throw us under the sea as well if it escalates I guess.." You say, and the boy across from you nods.

"Creator." Kana's voice chimes up, making Jungkook look up before remembering that the only source would be your bracelet, which you look at as well. "My scan of your body shows that you have not consumed a sufficient amount of calories today. I recommend a meal in the next five to eight minutes to avoid malnutrition." She says, and you groan. "I take this as a form of verbal communication. Running data search..." She says, as Jungkook looks at you; thoroughly amused by the teasing banter between the AI and his friend. "My data search concludes that you are annoyed, creator. I have only stated a fact however-" She continues, and Jungkook steps in.

"I've brought some leftovers from my dinner today we can eat." He says, pulling out some plastic containers as he moves to get proper cutlery out of your drawers. He makes sure to push them towards you, making sure to nod with a smile as you nod and thank him a little embarrassed. "It's nothing. You know I love you too much to let you starve!" He states with a grin, bunny teeth on full display as bitterness creeps up your throat- something you make sure to swallow down before beginning to eat.

Because the kind of love he's talking about right now, is not the kind of love you want him to feel for you.

"You forgot to give it a proper validation there-" He points out as you type away. "Otherwise it will just run instantly, and everything at once. That could crash older systems, and we know that V95 uses an older laptop, so we should take that into account." He says, and you nod, clicking back to the spot Jungkook is talking about.

This is what you're both good for.

Writing code for you had always been something you did with a passion- simply because you were good at it. Numbers and short phrases were something you could remember with ease; but you never had to think much about the visual aspect of programs in your department back when you were able to work for a simple programming company. You had simply always been tasked to program security systems and automatically updating firmware, or simple AI's for factory robots. Jungkook however had been all about the visuals; he had been programming games after all. That's why you two fit so well together in this scene. Whenever he would be in complete awe of the broad knowledge you had about official guidelines and security breaches, of staying undetected and unseen while still gaining as much as possible from every single line of code, he could always throw in his input to make sure the program you were both writing and updating for the glitch community was easy to use and simple enough so it could run smoothly on as many systems as possible. Be it phone, laptops, PC's- you two made it possible.

This program was connecting Glitchers all over the globe- and with yours and Jungkooks knowledge, you made it almost invisible. And even if it was somehow detected; there was no possible way to track down any of it's users.

The fact that you had to hide a simple program from the government made you sigh.

"Okay. Yeah I think that fixed the bug." He says, and looks at your arm- at Kana. "Oh, by the way, Kana?" he asks, and the chime gives him the cue to talk. "I heard you had a bug-fix too recently." He says, and the AI chimes again.

"I did, Player01." The AI answers. "The addition of code to my current program has proven to significantly increase my ability to observe and save more data." The female voice answers, and Jungkook grins. "You are happy, Player01." She states, and he nods.

"I am." He says.

"Why is that?" The AI asks, and Jungkook shrugs.

"I'm just happy you're doing well. Someone has to take care of ace when I'm not close by, yeah?" He states, and you try not to react to it. Jungkook is by now used to your more stoic expression; you're not too emotional and barely let things get under your skin. You've been hurt before, he knows this even if you never told him- he can see it in the way you hide inside the safety of your home, how you're so cold on the outside but still clinging onto him. Sometimes he wishes he could touch you; run his hand over your head to ruffle your hair like in those cheesy movies, hold your hand, or simply give you some reassurance in the form of a gentle hand on your back whenever you struggle.

But he's got his own demons, and they love clinging onto him just as much.

"V95 has connected to voice chat. Would you like to talk to him?" Kana states, ripping him out of his thoughts as he watches you nod.

"JK? Y/N?" A deep voice asks.

"We're here. Heard there was a raid close to you?" Jungkook asks, and he can see you grow a bit more serious at that. "Are you okay?" He adds, and V answers, although quite.. tired?

"I'm good. They got Jimin though." He states, and you sigh, running a hand through your hair as you stand up, frustrated. Jungkook knows you're trying to calm down by pacing. He doesn't mind. "They didn't officially arrest him, took him for 'questioning' though. We know what that's about." He states somberly, and Jungkook takes a deep breath.

"Jimin is a master manipulator V. He'll get himself out of it, I'm sure." Jungkook tries to reassure, but it doesn't gain him much than a hum from Taehyung on the other end of the line. "What about Sleeper?" He asks, and a chuckle is heard.

"He's been checking the videofeed from inside the past few nights. He said he's send some of the big bites to Ace though?" He says, and Jungkook looks over at your form.

"Yeah I've seen it." You simply say, though Jungkook grows uncomfortable with the way you're suddenly standing there. You're a little hunched, biting the skin on your thumb as you look at the tiles as if they suddenly began to move. He knows himself that things inside the 'rehabilitation centers' weren't all that nice to see- but you rarely ever displayed so much distress over it. "Let's just hope Jimin get's his ass out of this situation. We can't afford to loose him." You say, and V stays silent before he sighs.

"Yeah. I tell sleeper you've seen the stuff. Oh, and our prince charming has asked for a date with Ace. Again." Taehyung chuckles, and you groan- while Jungkook can't help but clench his jaw. Kim Seokjin was a very good asset to the team; with connections reaching deep inside the government and his position as a former lawyer- but he still hated his guts.

You didn't need to waste your time dating. You were totally capable of taking care of yourself, you had even said it personally! And for anything else Jungkook would provide for you. You didn't need anyone else than him.

He was totally not jealous of him.

"Can he not use our underground connections for that circus?" You say. "I don't even go grocery shopping, why would I want to go on a fucking date?" You mumble, sitting down next to Jungkook as you take a spoonful of rice. Jungkook feels a weird sense of satisfaction about the situation.

"Who knows." Taehyung says. "Alright, 10 Minute mark- I'll hear from you two soon. Take care." He says, and you both say your goodbyes before the line goes silent.

Although Jungkook hates physical contact, he likes keeping you close.

His heart is melting like chocolate as he notes the way your hand grips his jacket tightly as the two of you walk through town to get your license renewed- a way of holding onto him, and he somehow wishes it could be his hand. He knows yours would fit so perfectly in his, and yet he can't bring himself to do it.

His body is not cooperating.

He remembers vividly how his fear had developed; with his father and mother both being dramatically overworked and overwhelmed with having a kid at a young age, they had no idea how to make a child behave. Every second touch would bruise, every time he had been held would be force.

And at some point, he started to dislike physical touch completely.

It had just been like his growing interest in freelance climbing- the way he would walk and jump high over the heads of unsuspecting people, away from all judgemental gazes they'd throw his way for behaving the way he did. Only when the wind could hit him freely, only when he couldn't make out faces of anyone down below, only when he was high up- that was when he felt safe. The ground below had nothing of interest for him, no point in going down, as his apartment was located on the top floor of the complex. Jungkook never took the elevator, always the stairs.

He liked being reminded how high he lived.

And yet, there's one thing that pulls him down, brings his feet to the earth below, calls him like a siren song. It's you, hidden away from everyone's sight inside your tiny home, just as troubled and judged as himself.

He'd fallen in love with you the second you told him his name.

It had been a rainy night, his clothes drying on your heater as he was wrapped in two of your blankets; the smell of your fabric softener and something so typically you surrounding him like a mother's hug would a child. It had given him a feeling of comfort he had never quite experienced before, and it had also been the first time he had imagined what it would be like to hug you.

To have you close.

He had explained to you why he had freaked out when you reached for his arm to steady him when he almost fell inside your apartment through your window; had apologized and bowed his head in shame until you had simply shrugged.

"You don't have to justify yourself to anyone, Jungkookie." You had said. Jungkookie. "You're you. And I like you." You had said, not looking at him as you typed in some code to Kana's internal system.

His heart had warmed up at that.

And while you had accepted him, he had accepted you just as much. While at first caught off guard by your quiet and sometimes harsh way of treating him, he had also gotten to know just how gentle and delicately you treated the ones you loved. You were a loyal person, always going out of your way to be helpful, and silently basking in praise any time it was directed at you.

He loved that view. The way your cheeks would grow warm, how your eyes would sparkle; and he loved most of all, that he had been, according to Taehyung who was the second closest to you, the only one to see you smile.

You even laughed with him.

It filled him with pride to know that you were able to let go around him, even if it was just a little. It made him feel like he did something huge. It helped him sleep at night knowing that you were trusting him enough to let down your guard a little.

And it hurt him even worse knowing that he couldn't do the same thing for you.

He was a coward-

and you deserved a hero.

"Ace?" He asked, slipping through your window as he noticed the apartment silent and dark. Nothing greeted him. "..Ace?" He tried again, maybe you were asleep? But your apartment was quiet, empty, nothing spoke of your presence. Dishes were in the sink, a cup of water left untouched on the counter, and something inside of him churned painfully at the way this looked. He checked the kitchen tile, sliding it to the side like he's seen you do it countless of times.

It was dark.

Instead, he was greeted by a post it note. "Underneath the bed. Take care." Was all it read. He stood up, pushing your bed away from the wall noticing how your carpet had been torn a little. And as he lifted the cut flap of carpet, there was an envelope.

Your watch. A small in-ear piece, and your old IT-identification, folded.

A noise outside your hallway made his head snap up as he pushed the bed back into place, making an escape for it as he climbed outside the window, watch safely inside his jacket as he climbed back up on top of a building, before he examined it further, turning it on, after putting the earpiece in.

"Hello, Jungkook." Kana greeted him, and it felt weird to hear the AI say his name like that. "Creator has advised me to answer all questions you might have, and assist you from here on." She said, and Jungkook simply put the watch on, making his way to his own apartment.

"What happened?" He asked, his face serious as he walked.

"At around 6:12 O'clock, creator was taken into further questioning regarding illegal possession and knowledge of classified information and technological equipment. She had shown no resistance and complied with authorities. My observations however showed that she was taken with more force than necessary." Kana explained. Jungkook shook his head. "She had prepared for this instance during the night, approximately twenty-six minutes after you had left."

"She knew?!" He suddenly said, shutting his apartment door violently as he started to pace around, throwing his jacket on the couch. "Why didn't she contact me?"

"Analysis; your body shows signs of-" Kana started, but Jungkook interrupted.

"Shut up. Why didn't she tell me?" He asks again, and Kana seems to hesitate for a moment.

"Considering her close relationship to you, she probably wanted to not get you involved." She stated, and Jungkook sighed, sitting down on his couch as he gripped his hair. He should've stayed. Hell, it wasn't the first time he wanted to stay. He had dreamed of staying over, of fucking living with you for months to no end by now, but he was a coward. And this was his paycheck.

"Kana." He said lowly, and the small tune gave him the cue to talk. "Contact V95. Tell him it's urgent. We got an emergency." He says.

"I can't watch this." He says, jumping up and holding onto his head as to not punch his wall, unable to go through the videofeed of your interrogation room.

There's not much to see, but Jungkook knows that's simply because they haven't had the time to see to you yet. You and him knew best what really happened in these rooms, and he hated knowing that deep down they wouldn't go easy on you simply because you were a young woman. It didn't matter to them.

He'd seen teenagers way younger than you and him getting the rough treatment before- and elderly didn't get spared either.

The government bragged about having everything in order; yet they couldn't even control their own law enforcement it seemed. When he really thought back on his history lessons in school, not much had changed at all.

The world was still in utter chaos.

His palm shuts his laptop harshly- earning a tiny chime from the AI he’s already forgotten shares his home with him now. “I suggest that you practice care in treating your electronics to-“ he groans, successfully shutting it off at that. “Why are you frustrated?” It- she? Asks, and he sits down.

“I don’t know how to help her.” He admits in shame, thinking back to the footage of your hidden camera; the way they had pushed you to the ground, before grabbing you, leading you out of your apartment a few minutes away from him. “I don’t know what I should do.” He says.

There’s a bit of silence, until the AI speaks up again. “Do you have a romantic interest in my creator?” She asks, and his head snaps up at that.

“What the fuck? Why would you ask me this?!” He barks, unsure where to look since he can only hear the voice.

“I have observed both my creator and your behaviors; you seem to have a very deep rooted interest in each others well-being and opinions. This is commonly found in partnerships. I was only asking you to confirm if my assumption is correct.”

He’s silent for a moment, until he speaks again, watching the announcement van pass his window; voices dull and unintelligible though the walls and windows. “It’s no use anyways. Who wants someone they can’t even shake hands with?” He sighs, looking into his lap again. He hates that he’s like this; that even though he very much loves and adores you, there’s no magic moment that makes him forget- even though he craves the contact, he can’t do it. Every time he’s close to you, he knows that he could simply hug you; or let you rest your head on his shoulder, like in romantic movies. He wants to hold your hand, wipe your tears- but his body won’t cooperate. He can’t do it.

Not even with you.

“Creator seems very comfortable with you.” The AI states. “I have been asked to archive all text messages and phone calls of you two recently. When I asked for a reason, she claimed she would need it someday- I was unsure what she meant.” Jungkook furrows his brow, raising his head again. “Sometimes, when creator is deeply upset, she has the habit of playing some of the recordings of you singing, or reminding her to take care. My research has shown that it slows down her heartbeat to a more normal level and also improves her insomnia.” Jungkooks eyes widen at that.

Does that mean.. that you like him back?

"Kana, fuck- cut the feed." He says, agitated.

"Are you sure?" She asks, and he sighs, before yelling his frustration out, sitting down to take a deep breath. He slowly shook his head no. He couldn't let all your hard work go to waste like this.

He couldn't stay a coward.

"Jungkook, it appears to be that the creator is being let go." Kana suddenly chimes up, and Jungkook rushes to his pc setup to see for himself. And she's right- your arm is being held tightly, and something is being said to you, but your hands are no longer chained to the chair- you're free.

What just happened?

Jungkook sometimes really hates himself for being the way he is.

There's no sugarcoating it that you need comfort now more than ever, even though you don't openly show it to him. He can see it in the way you're still biting your nails, he can see it in your eyes which never stay on one point for too long. And he can definitely see it in the bruises on your upper arm, and the cut on your lower lip where you had bitten in anger and frustration. He wants to comfort you, he knows you'd let him- and yet he can't move any closer than where he is right now; only the length of his palm of space between you two. And yet it's like his joints are locked into place. He can't touch you.

What if he hurts you?

And it dawns on him right then and there while he watches you drink your can of overly sweet soda while typing your code like second nature, that he's not scared of you hurting him. He's scared of doing to you, what's been done to him. Because deep down he is aware that his parents never had bad intentions, never hated him or wanted him to suffer; they were simply unsure and not at all confident in how to really care for a child. They had been caught off guard and gotten overwhelmed by the sudden shift in their situation that they never truly knew what to do. And nowadays he felt like he was simply heading down the same road.

He was starting to feel like he was becoming just like them.

"Hm?" You ask him, ripping him out of his thoughts as he looks at you, your eyes wide and worried as you put down your almost empty can of soda. "What is it?" You ask him, and he wants to scream. He wants to throw a fit like a child at the way you seem to worry for him every time you should worry for yourself. He's a coward, he's useless, he's everything you don't need nor deserve in his eyes, and yet you always look at him like he's the main character of your favorite movie.

If he was, he was sure he'd be merely a sidekick- because you deserved to be the focus of every story told in his eyes. And if you weren't included in the tale, he knew he didn't want to ever know about it.

He swallows, before he manages to make his hand move, finger pointing at your arm where a green-ish bruise already formed. "Does it hurt?" He asks, and he's not even sure if he's asking you about the bruise, of if he's asking something else. He doesn't know what he's saying, doesn't even know if he's asking you or himself.

"No." You answer, and he looks at you, searching for any hint of a lie in your eyes. But he only sees that slight smile, lips turned a little, almost unnoticeable. But its there, he can see it, and he wants to print it into his mind to never forget it. You were so observant, knew him so well, that he was almost certain you knew of his inner fight and what he really meant with his blurted out question. "Are you okay?" You ask him, and he swallows again, eyes stinging with unshed tears as his body grows rigid like an unoiled machine, only moving with as much force as he can manage to come up with. His breathing is heavy as his eyes can't leave the spot on your arm, and your watch him with wide eyes as his shaking hand slowly reaches out.

He doesn't know what he expects to really happen.

Maybe like those electric shocks you get when someone had rubbed their socks on a carpet before touching someone else. Maybe he had expected to recoil instantly. Maybe he had expected nothing- but he was suddenly in a rush the moment his fingertip touched your warm skin, delicate, soft, everything his rough hands weren't.

And you were still as prey in front of a wolf.

But the wolf in this scenario was holding his breath while his tears finally fell. He wants to speak, but he can't, he doesn't know how to ask for something when he doesn't even know if he wants it.

But suddenly he moves again, his palm now resting fully against your upper arm, shaking, as it moves over the length of it, softly, as he imprints the way your soft skin feels. "Jungkook.." You whisper out, and he suddenly snaps, leans forward, his legs on either side of your body as he snakes his arms around you from behind, pulling you close to his chest. You can feel him shake as he holds you, his cheek resting against your back and you don't care about his tears staining your shirt as he suddenly cries openly and possibly for the first time since he was a mere child.

He's unsure, overwhelmed, because you're so warm, you smell so nice, you're so soft, and he can't let go, doesn't want to let go. He whines out as you turn a bit as he thinks you're moving away but you're simply placing your legs over his as you sit in his lap, hugging him back as you make sure to give him a gentle squeeze.

He calms down after a long while of simply existing. Of breathing you in, of feeling you. "You're right." He whispers into your neck, and you can't help but shiver, leaning into his hug.

"It doesn't hurt at all."

"You know, I get why you come up here." You comment, as Jungkook makes sure to hold your hand tightly in his, your feet dangling off the edge of the building you're sitting on top of. "It's nice." You say.

He's not listening that well though.

All he can really do is watch your face, illuminated by the neon lights of the city, hair swaying in the wind as you look down below. He doesn't quite know what you two really are, doesn't know how long it will take him to really come out of his shell and give you the love you deserve, but he's trying. He's fighting, he's left his cowardly self behind.

He want's to change.

And not just for you alone, because while he hates seeing you hurt, he knows what you two are doing- what all of you are doing- is for the greater good.

Jungkook hates your ideas sometimes.

Simply because he knows they will work, but also end up with you getting into danger at the end of it. And just like now, all he can do really is hope that you make it out as he keeps a watchful eye on your movements from above, giving you directions via Kana as you sometimes trip and stumble a little.

You're not a very active person; running wasn't really your thing.

Fuck, you were basically a hermit, the most you walked around was from your bedroom into the kitchen!

But then again, sacrifices had to be made somewhere. And Jungkook really admired you; because every time he thought that you had reached your limit, you would face it head first and break through it.

"Ace, try and somehow get to higher ground. They're caging you in from all sides." He urgently tells you as he watches police chase you down the roads, pushing citizens aside to not loose sight of you.

The plan had been simple. Gain all the attention so Taehyung could infect one of the police station's servers with a new worm, giving you all a better and easier access to any data and communication of the area. Jungkook couldn't play the bate well enough; and you had been on their radar already, making you the best option to gain their interest quickly enough.

Although Jungkook hated that part.

"Come on, ah fuck it." He grits out, jumping down to grab a ladder, making his way to a nearby area he could pull you up. There was no way you could reach any of the fire ladders yourself, and by now, things were getting too hot for him to risk anything. "Here!" He barks out, not thinking twice about grabbing your hand and helping you upwards, trying not to worry too much about your heavy breathing. And then there's it.

A pop, loud, followed by another, and another, and another. You're suddenly falling, scraping your knees on the ground below as he can't catch you, too startled by the fact that they had actually decided to shoot to react quick enough. "Fuck!" He says, eyes wide and pupils blown as he looks at you.

"Jungkook, why the fuck aren't you running?!" You yell at him, a scratch on the top of your left cheek as you push his leg away from you- the only thing you can reach. "Go!" You bark again, and he growls out something, before he manages to pull you onto his back, adrenaline not letting his brain process what he's doing.

He can't just leave you.

"Taehyung, get out, Ace has been shot. Whatever was uploaded has to be enough." He says via the in-ear piece, doesn't wait for a response. He still gets it.

"Fuck, what?! Okay okay, I'm out" He says, and Jungkook can only catch a glimpse of the older man leaving the building via the backside entrance. He's only concerned with getting you somewhere safe.

"Urgh." You groan, slowly sitting up on Jungkooks couch. "I mean, I know paintball hurts, but rubber bullets? Jesus.." You complain, while Jungkook looks at you with a dark expression. "What?" You ask him, and he huffs.

"You sound like you haven't almost been killed yesterday." He grimly says, and you shrug. "Stop. I'm serious." He tells you, and you let yourself fall back down onto his couch.

"Whatever. At least we killed their communication." You say, closing your eyes. "Must've at least pissed them off." You say.

"Kana." Jungkook suddenly says, waiting for the familiar sound to tell him she's active. "Shut down for now." He says, and you sit up, hissing instantly at the sudden movement.

"Hey- ah fuck!" You say, as you watch on your bracelet how Kana complies; shutting down. "Why would you do that?" You say in an offended matter, before you grow quiet, watching him go onto his knees in front of you, as he lets his head rest on top of your lap.

"I just want.. you to myself. Just.." He mumbles, and you slowly bring your hand to his hair. "Just for a moment." He says, and you sigh. Jungkook had been under a lot of stress recently, you no doubt being the main cause of most of it recently. So you simply let him be, as he closed his eyes. "Y/N?" He asks suddenly, and you answer him. "I love you." He says, and your body stops moving.

What?

"It's okay if you don't." He says, not moving from his spot, and neither opening his eyes. "I mean it. I only want you to know." He explains further. "Because I.. couldn't fucking live with myself if something happened to you, and I've never told you." He admits, and you can't help but stare at him. Jungkook looked down on himself so much that it was sometimes frustrating to see; simply because you saw him as such an amazing human being with countless talents and beautiful flaws.

You knew you couldn't muster up the strength to actually answer him; not so spontaneously. You weren't that expressive, you couldn't communicate as freely and colorful as he could. All your words seemed black and white to you, mixing into grey and mundane sentences while his words seemed to bloom into the most amazing paintings. He had a way of charming those around him- and he didn't even know.

You slowly leaned down instead, moving his hair to the side as you placed a feather-light kiss to the top of his cheek, close to his eye.

You hoped he would somehow understand you.

And as he moved again, looking at you with eyes that sparkled brighter than any city's skyline ever could, you knew he did.

He'd always understand you, no matter how you communicated with him.

You didn't need words to understand each other.

The shy kiss you two shared, bathed in the purple glow of the neon lights outside his window, spoke enough.

"You should try and sleep." Jungkook tells you, taking away your can of soda as you whine at him. "No buts. Come on, I'll finish this for you." He says, and you let him take over the keyboard of your laptop. It's something you really only let him get away with- anyone else would've probably lost a finger or two trying to touch your work.

You don't trust anyone but him at this point.

"I know that Kana snitched." You comment, as you lean your back against his shoulder. He chuckles. "Can't believe my own creation goes behind my back like that." You mumble, and Jungkook has a light tune to his voice as he speaks.

"Well, it's a good thing though." He tells you. "I worry about you." He says.

"Ugh come on, you know that's not the part I meant." You laugh, and he grins.

"Oh, you mean the part where you listen to my crappy ass singing to help you sleep?" He tells you with a teasing undertone. "No wonder you got insomnia trying to find rest to that." He chuckles, and you playfully hit his thigh.

"Shut up, your voice is nice." You say, and he's glad your eyes are closed, and you can't see him blush.

Somehow, moments like these re-energized him again. Because it proved to him that there was still a piece of that innocent and untainted you inside that thick shell you had put up to protect yourself. And considering that you let him see you like that made his pride grow taller than any of the skyscrapers of his city.

Maybe one day the two of you will have a future together that won't be so difficult and unfair like your current one was. Maybe one day, you both will have changed enough to teach the next generation about what you've overcome.

But then again; living in the moment seemed to fit a lot better in his eyes, as he watched you sleep soundly against his shoulder.

Yeah, this moment was more than enough for now.

The world won't change over night- you both know that. All of you know that. But small things were starting to make a difference here and there; for example, the letter you held towards Jungkook as his eyes widened.

"..and we have officially decided that we no longer want to participate in the case against the defendant. The result of this agreement is that all charges against Y/N L/N have been dismissed and are no longer being investigated." He reads out loud, almost whispering as if saying it too loud could make it a lie. "They let you go?" He asks, and you nod, the small bandaid on your cheek making you look even cuter in his eyes as you shrug.

"Jimin had reached out too. They've let him go home as well." You say. and Jungkook huffs out in disbelief.

After infecting the police station with the worm you had all worked on, you had scared the entire country enough to take a step back from the overall aggressive tone. It wasn't much- but it meant that they knew you were there. You existed, and you were not bowing down.

You were still untamed.

Jungkook smiled brightly as he put the letter down to the side, reaching out to you to pull you onto his lap. He simply holds you for a moment, his lips kissing the skin of your shoulder as if in a trance. "I love you." He tells you, and you smile, squeezing him a bit in your arms. "I really do." He assures you, and you nod.

You don't answer him, and he doesn't seem to mind as he leans back from you, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he grins, hands holding your face so delicately as he places a kiss onto your lips, making you close your eyes as he breaks away from you, letting you rest your head against his shoulder.

He's still not letting anyone very physically close other than you; he's still scared of going out and around like everyone else. You're still rather hiding inside his apartment- both of your apartment now- and you still have trouble sleeping.

But Jungkook keeps the nightmares away.

And you make him brave in exchange.

It's really weird to hear the sound of a radio nowadays.

Things are still far from normal- but recently, citizens had been given radios to listen to public broadcast again. It only played crappy music with some rare good tracks here and there, but it was better than nothing.

Jungkook couldn't help but think that your breathless voice was far more entertaining than any music station he can remember from his youth.

While he hates touching other people, even friends and family, he can't help but feel a rush whenever he touches you.

His hands can't stop on one specific spot, can't seem to stay still even for a moment as his lips nip and suck at the flesh of your neck and shoulder, marking what's his, visualizing that you really belong to him. He bears the same mark on his collarbone from last night, and he should have been satisfied, but even an early morning couldn't keep him away from you.

The rain hit the window harshly, but he didn't notice at all. All his eyes could see was your form underneath him, skin glowing as he moves above you, euphoria filling his veins as he can't look away from where you're connected, where his cock disappears inside of you over and over and over again.

"I love you." He breathes out as he comes undone, holding you close, resting his head against your shoulder, as you hold onto his arms, a smile, a genuine and big smile thrown his way as he can't help but smile along.

"I love you too, Jungkook." You say, and he chuckles.

The radio in the background still playing, as you lay in each others' arms.

(c)Bonny-Kookoo. Please stop reposting my content on AO3 thinking I won't find it. I'm literally everywhere you clowns.

To everyone else: Thank you for reading this mess- I really apologize for the messy storyline, but I just wanted to put this out before the entire thing escaped me again and I would end up struggling to find my way back into it (cough cough flashback to mean lmao). I promise to somewhat post more regularly. Thank you for your kind words and for sticking with me!

#bts imagine #bts #bts fanfic #jungkook imagine #bts fic #bts smut #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts reactions

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soldmysoultootomeboys · 3 years

Note

Hi! Can I request headcannons for the human brothers accidently summoning an angel mc instead of a demon and the angel mc insisting on sticking around and helping them?

The other brothers: :) Satan: >:)

This has been in the drafts for too long. I really love the absolute mood switch between Lucifers and Mammons. And just Satans in general ig.

Lucifer

After years of religious trauma at the hands of his father Lucifer finally thought he was free of any connection to the church. Summoning a flaming seraphim at 3 in the morning was not a pleasant way to find out that he was wrong.

As for you, being summoned for the first time in your long long life was an unwelcome surprise. You were a seraphim for heaven's sake. The cream of the crop, highest of the high, and that wasn’t pride speaking only facts. You were crucial to running the celestial realm.

But somehow you’re undeniably tied to his human. You could feel where his soul became intermeshed with your very essence. How wrong it felt to be tied to something so mortal, and delicate, and free.

Any attempts to leave would surely be met with disaster.

So you stay. Lucifer is cold. You can’t blame him. Being there reopens old wounds that he’d rather have remained closed. But just ignoring each other isn’t going to work.

He’s not interested in the celestial realm, and despises any blessing you try and give him, but a fresh cup of coffee during an all-nighter seems to make him brighter than any magic you could do and when you run your hands through his hair he looks at you with more fondness than you can comprehend.

You learn to be more human. He learns to let go of the past.

And one day you find that you don’t want to leave anymore.

For celestial sake that thought should as well be treason! But it’s true.

It’s a spring afternoon and Lucifer plays celestial lullabies on his piano and you want nothing more than for the beautiful night to come so you can sweep him in your arms and remind him how he glows.

You don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore, but you know that this human is yours and you are his. To rip off your wings would be to find solace in his arms. But you can not give him that. This he knows.

So you promise to protect him, in words he can’t hear but he understands. The spread of your wings shield him from the world and you press blessings to his skin in the shape of the crescents in his back and your lips on his neck. If nothing else you’ll keep him safe. When the world seems too big and the stress of his life gets him down you’ll always be here for him to crawl back to. You can give him that much.

Mammon

That was it

You had to have been assigned the stupidest human in the world

When you were promoted to guardian angel you kinda thought it would be more ‘protecting orphans’ and ‘guiding lost puppies back home’ NOT watching a grown man spend his last paycheck on his eighth Nigerian prince scam

Seriously mammon? Did the prophetic dreams you sent mean nothing? The visions of the future he coincidentally had after hitting his head on a light post, only simple illusions? What more could you try beyond simply marching down their and clocking him on the head yourself?

...unless

Raphael would have your wings if you went to the human world. But that would be a lot less painful that having to watch whatever Mammon was going to do with all the rubber cement he just bought.

The next morning you decide to sneak down. The city was amazing, all colored light and fun machines that whizzed by you on the streets

But you had to stay focused

You were an angel on a mission

You made your way towards central park. Mammon went there every morning to swindle tourists out of their wallets. If you were fast you’d get there before the first patrol office started chasing him.

Spotting the albino you marched straight towards him, readied yourself, and smacked him over the head.

Maybe not very angel-like but it worked.

One introduction later and you're officially a guardian angel

Mammon’s actually pretty nice once you get to know him. Sure he may be a bit too obsessed with lining his pockets but for all his talk he never hesitates to try and help you out.

Consistent affection and care is good for him. He never really knows how to react when you wrap your wings around him but even with his tsundere objections it's obvious he’s pleased.

He’ll take whatever scraps of affection you’ll give him and practically beams at every little gesture you do, no matter how small or insignificant.

You do have to be careful though.

At his request you had attempted to bless him with a bit of luck. An easy enough spell for an angel like you (even if you were 90% sure he planned to go gambling after). Whatever scheming he’s doing immediately stops the moment you cup his face. He seems to freeze when you lean in, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek

You were about to congratulate yourself on a spell well done when you noticed the condition he was in. He was like a living statue, a statue with a very very red face

Before you can ask what was wrong he flails pushing you away and darting off to his room

Any attempts to speak to him the rest of the day were met with incoherent shouting.

It might be best to withhold any magic until you can figure out how humans work

Levi

Once again Levi’s dedication to anime gets him into trouble

It started with his most recent obsession, a new anime that follows a group of angels, produced by the famous company, Dove. The plot, the animation, the soundtrack, all of it was amazing so when they came out with a new limited edition item featuring the very symbol that the main character wore he just had to have it

The moment it came he was setting it up on its own altar, a handmade replica just like in the show only for- Oh no

Before his eyes burst a shining visage of light and then you

You blink in surprise, whether it's from taking a human form for the first time in decades or the strange new room you were in, only you know

The scene may be foreign but the guy quivering on the floor was not

BE NOT AFRAID

Your booming voice echoes around the room

For some reason the guy begins to freak out even more

Didn’t he see your halo? You even told him to not be afraid. Were humans really so strange? :(

Oh well. You hum making your aura as comforting as possible and slowly the guy calms down enough for you to coax him into a seat as you begin to explain.

Which might not have been the best move.

The moment it sunk in he was bombarding you with questions

Yes you were an angel, no you didn’t know what anime was, yes you had wings, no you didn’t have any secret ultimate moves...whatever those were

He ranted and raved over this and that and you let him. He seemed like he needed someone to talk to. It also let you piece together what had happened.

He seemed to be a natural sorcerer, and a powerful one at that if he could someone an angel with no training or even knowledge that he could do magic

Just a few minutes in his presence made his self loathing obvious. Mix in a bit of anxiety and envy and you essentially have Levi in a nutshell

So you decide to stay

What kind of angel would you be if you just left him here? Michael would understand.

Or he wouldn't, it didn’t really matter because you already made up your mind.

Living with Levi is an experience for both of you.

He introduces you to so many new things. He had little boxes that could control light and screens containing actual people to talk to. It was all quite fanciful

In return you act as his friend, encouraging him to go out with you and attending cons with him, even if you still weren't exactly sure what cosplaying is

Slowly he begins to open up for you

He’s still nervous to go out in public, and a complete introvert at heart.

But that was fine. You could both figure out this new world together, at your own pace

Satan

Definitely was not trying to summon a demon to lay havoc on his enemies

Nope, not him he says all while trying to casually kick away vials of mysterious fluids

...Right

You’ve been down to the human world enough to know a demon summoner when you see one

Or in this case a failed summoner

He has no excuse for why he called you and instead seems more insistent that you leave

As much as you you might like to return to the celestial realm, you cannot in good conscience leave a man that you know is going to try and raise hell on earth the moment your gone

So you stay, and it's a good thing you do

This man has anger issues like no other

You thought Raphael was bad this guy is like a demon himself

However he seems willing to try and make the best of what he considers a bad situation

He asks you a lot of questions on the celestial realm

For a guy who knows so much about the devildom he seems to really be lacking on any knowledge on the other celestial beings

He mostly asks you questions on the celestial war, which is a touchy topic at best and downright upsetting at worst

He’s very interested in your opinions as your point of view is very different from his own, what with being a different species and everything

You learn things too, mostly about humans and cats but you suppose its a fair trade

Because of this you become close friends

You really win him over when he finds out your calming aura naturally attracts the stray kittens Satan's been trying to pet for the last few months

It’s not uncommon to head out to late night coffee shops and discuss the merits of different aspects of your lives

But maybe you’ve gotten a bit to close when he starts asking you to revise his summoning notes

Asmo

Apparently a lifetime of partying has prepared Asmo for some very weird discoveries

When you're sent down to the human world you have one job, find and keep an eye on the potentially dangerous summoner who's been in contact with multiple high level demons in the past few days.

Instead you end up meeting Asmo

You were prepared for a fight, not to be tackled into a hug the moment you revealed yourself

Asmo on the other hand is squealing with excitement

Sweetie, he's been waiting for this moment! This is his first time meeting an angel after all

He immediately begins talking about everything he wants to do

You quickly find out that he hasn’t made any pacts...yet, if only because he “couldn’t bear to damage his skin with such an ugly mark”

...Well you suppose that's a reason to not sell your soul

Even thoughts he's aware of the three realms it doesn’t make him any less enamoured with you

He’s never met an angel, he’s quick to mention. He’d love to get to know you, if you get what he means ;)

Are all humans so upfront?

If you decline he still wants to see your true form, even after you explain that no, if you transform you will not just be a beautiful angel with wings but instead a glowing mass of eyes and feathers and angelic light that will probably end up blinding him

Blinded because of your beauty ;) ;) ;)

That said he’s easily satisfied when you just bring out your wings.

He loves fussing with them and decorates them with jewelry and roses whenever you leave them out

He even starts an angel trend on insta after posting a photo as if they were coming from his back instead

Claims your glowing aura is great for his skin

You’re not sure if that’s a pick up line or if he’s serious but he definitely basks in your presence

Loves when you talk about the celestial realm, somewhere he desperately wants to go

I mean it's the only place that's fit for a beauty like him right? But of course he can’t die yet, his fans would be sooo upset

You agree to bring him up there one day, even if that sounds a little morbid

Of course he asks you to become his guardian angel

That may not be your actual job but you can’t resist his puppy dog eyes

You and him go pretty much everywhere together, bar some more xxx rated sites

He introduces you to parties and bars, and while you don’t indulge it's enjoyable to see humans in their natural element. They’re so fun and free spirited just like Asmo

Maybe that's what attracted you to him in the first place

He loves life for what it is, something so admirably human

But you don’t slack off either. You take your role as Official Guardian Angel seriously. You guard his drinks when he goes to the bathroom, and hum celestial lullabies when he’s sad and escort him down dark alleys when walking home. He has nothing to fear with you around.

You’ve become very fond of this human. Perhaps you’ll stick around a bit longer than you planned

Beel

It’s rare to be assigned to a human so...mundane

But that’s exactly what Beel is. He goes to the gym in the mornings, works a nine to five, and comes back home to his dog

He even has a good relationship with this family, do you know how hard that is to find in this day and age???

The only thing even slightly abnormal about this guy is his appetite

He could put a gluttony demon to shame with the way he eats

But the point is you really can’t figure out why you’ve been assigned to him or how your supposed to guide him

Eat a little less? Stop stealing your brother's lunch?

It’s the first time in a long while you’ve been so stumped

So you do what any sane angel would, go down to the human world to meet him yourself

He’s a likeable guy and it’s easy to get close to him, more so do to your angelic status

Although it’s surprising how well he takes the whole angel revelation

To be honest your pretty sure he forgets most of the time

He tends to follow you around, especially at night when he insists on walking you to wherever you need to be. It’s sweet even though there's little that can really harm you in the human realm

You quickly realize that he’s the type to have nightmares, usually calling out for one of his brothers or his sister

It’s become habit to wake up and head to his room

Just being there seems to calm him down

The first time he wakes up when your doing this he ends up asking you to stay

Isn’t shy about sharing the bed either.

He’s easy going so goes along with whatever idea you have

Especially when he starts finding snacks in his bag, each one blessed for a good day or to stay full or whatever little thing you thought of that day

Belphegor

Humans can’t see angels. Not unless they want to be seen, you remind yourself for what must be the tenth time.

But you’re almost certain that guy is looking right at you.

Step to the left, his head follows

To the right, his eyes narrow looking at you like your some puzzle he just hasn’t figured out yet

…this was fine

You turn around pretending to just not see him in hope that he’ll get distracted by something else

...you glance back. Why was he still looking at you? What is with this creep?

Enough is enough.

You march over there ready to ask what his problem is. Instead he beats you to it.

Eh? You’re an angel right? He asks before you can say anything.

???? Shouldn’t he sound more shocked.

The guy just sleepily blinks. He doesn’t look like a sorcerer or a witch, in fact you can’t feel any magic from him at all.

You go to ask only to realize he’s sound asleep. It’s not like you could just leave him here. And at the same time a human who can just see angels is an oddity of itself.

You decide to hang around for a while. Belphegor doesn't mind. He only says something about it being "too troublesome to drive you off," and "you'd look like you'd just come back anyways"

Belphie sticks to you like glue, if glue was absolutely insufferable and seemed to enjoy annoying you at every possible moment

You would think this would be easy. I mean he sleeps all day and when he’s not sleeping he’s napping. Simple enough right? Wrong

When he was awake he was committed to pushing every single button you have

If it seemed like it might inconvenience or annoy you he was already doing it. Trying to smack your halo, pounce on you, or even jump off the roof just to see you scramble to catch him. He was like some terrible terrible cat

Luckily he was never energetic for long. When he wore himself out he’d retreat to the roof of his crappy one bedroom and wait for you to join him

He liked to look at the stars and he’d point them out to you. Orion, Polaris, Sirius, he would mutter, bringing you back to the days when Michael, who was once so fond of you, would sneak you down to the human world just to show you the stars and darkness the celestial realm could not offer

When he finally got tired you would take over reciting Celestial names and marking the sky with your finger just to show him where they’d be.

Those times were pleasant. Even if they were brief.

“I’m gonna jump.”

“Do it.”

“You’re an angel. Aren’t you supposed to stop me before I do something stupid?”

“You won't.”

“Aight. Bet.” Belphie pitches forward and you just manage to catch him by the leg before he falls off the roof.

Brat.

Always ruining a good moment.

You can’t even be mad. The moment you pull him up he’s already resting his fluffy head in your lap waiting for you to pet him.

He may be the most troublesome human in the entire three realms, but he’s your human

#obey me #obey me hc #angel au #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me shall we date #obey me au #angels #obey me angels

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spideyanakin · 3 years

Text

Far From Home - Part 1

Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis; Coming from another reality yourself, what will happen when you see straight through the lies of the mysterious Quentin Beck.

Part of the dialogue inspired by @thekamiiiworld //idk if you’ve seen the disney hercules movie but there’s a scene where hercules meets meg and meg says “i’m a damsel, i’m in distress, i can handle it. have a nice day!” maybe spiderman finds the reader in a bad situation and she says those lines cuz she’s a badass? do whatever with the rest of the plot. thanks!

Series Masterlist 🍒

Normal Masterlist 🧚🏻‍♀️

Your thoughts lingered to the day you had arrived in Peter's reality as you stared at the clouds from above. The memories slowly coming back up and you felt like the day you had failed your mission was happening all over again.

Your earth had been destroyed to pieces when a monster that thirsted for everything that lived had come from nowhere turning everything into bits.

You didn't even know how you managed to survive. You were holding on tight to your last piece of your lost family wishing that the storm ready to take you would go away and let you live. You used the last bit of strength inside your veins to create a dome of branches and vines, trying your best to protect the last survivors.

The last thing you remembered seeing on your earth was a skyscraper crashing. You watched from the small gaps in your dome of protection as it tumbled to the ground tears falling as you realized it was the end for you.

But suddenly some light sparks of orange came right near your face. The circle opened to reveal Kayland. You watched the familiar face and a smile had forced its way to your lips as hope lightened your chest seeing that a friendly face had survived.

"They've accepted." Was all he said before holding onto the portal, signing for the people who you had protected to jump through it.

You felt the tears about to come down more than they currently were. You sobbed as you felt the weight of dying coming off your shoulders, the few 20 people or so you were protecting slowly fading into a new reality.

"And they couldn't have earlier." You sobbed almost falling as you let go of using your powers, the branches shielding you from the chaos that rained slowly disappearing back into the ground.

"C'mon." Kayland took you in his arms as you limped your way to the portal, your body crashing to the floor in pain as you watched the fumes from the closing portal.

As the portal fully closed, the only thing you could feel from your new home in the universe was the hard wooden floor. You let out a large sob as you realized it meant the end of everything you had ever known.

You stayed on the floor, a voice was talking with the rest of the survivors but you seemed to completely block it out as all you could think of was how you failed to save your reality. The one that was currently crumbling to pieces by the hands of a mad creature.

"Y/n! Hey!" Peter snapped his fingers in front of your face, giving you a light smile as your eyes focused on him.

"Sorry." You shook your head swallowing hard as your eyes slowly reddened. "I got lost in my thoughts again." You rubbed your eyes slowly coming back to Peter, looking at him with your tight smile. Everything about that day seemed like a distant memory that was still fresh in your mind. Even tho it had been a while, and even more than a while for others. The traumas were still here and fully engraved in your memory.

"It's alright." Peter smiled as he placed a strand of hair behind your ear. "This year hasn't been the kindest to us." He chuckled trying to make you feel better as he held on tight to your hand. Placing his head on your shoulder as he heard your heartbeat quicken.

Peter knew how much those events had broken you. Fighting Thanos and losing most of your new friends barely above a year after you had lost your planet had pilled up in your mind, scaring you even more than you had been. The only thing that Peter thanked was the fact that you had blipped together.

"Yeah." You scrunched up your face in order to push away the tears that were fighting to fall. "I really need a break." You sighed flopping your head down onto the plane seat.

"I think you mean we" He chuckled "We finally are..." You opened your eyes and met with Peter's brown orbs smiling at the contact.

"Finally." You smiled before pecking his lips and bringing him into a warmful hug, glad you finally had some time to relax.

You closed your eyes and took in his scent, never thinking you could get tired of Peter's hugs.

"Peter?" You questioned opening your eyes just to look at him. "Could you tell me a story...?" You eyed everywhere but his eyes as you told him your peculiar request. "I want to sleep before we get to Venice... And I don't think I would be able to on my own." You played with the strings of his stolen hoodie that you were wearing a little ashamed of your request. You dodge his eyes as he stayed quiet, Peter thinking of how cute your question was.

A smile crept its way to Peter's lips as he watched your shy body fumbling around the cramped seat.

"Yes," He smiled. "But let's get comfortable so you can sleep first." He made grabby hands towards you as he took you into a new hug all your worries slipping away. You snuggled into his side, Peter placing his arm tight around you.

"Alright." He chuckled as a smile formed on your lips as you lightly pushed your body even more against his, sighing in content when you were settled in.

"A story," Peter clicked his tongue as he tried to think of something to tell you. "A long ago in a Galax-"

"And it better not be Star Wars related or im going to push you in a canal once we get there." You grumbled and felt Peter's body vibrate as he let out a puff of soft laughter.

"Alright. You got me..." He paused for a second wondering what he could possibly say next. "So." He smirked as the perfect story came to his mind. "Once Upon A Time, two soulmates from completely different earths met..." He went on and you let the sound of his voice guide you into peaceful sleep. "Some say it was yesterday, but someday it was years ago. " He lingered the words as he looked down to you, your closed eyes showing no sign of dislike to his story.

"It was a quiet night in the streets of New York," Peter recalled as the words that fell out of his mouth faded into images flashing in both your minds.

The streets of the stretched out city couldn't have been quieter. It was rare for Queens Peter told himself as he swung across the streets for his nightly patrol.

He eyed one cat who made a soft noise as he jumped on the ground, barely audible even for Peter. A soft meow rang through into into his ears as he jumped from a building to another, landing on the edge of an apartment complex.

Suddenly he heard a strong door, the sound making it seem as though it was built in strong bulletproof metal. It made a loud squeak and a large boom as it closed again, followed by the knocking of heels ringing on the pavement floor. He watched closely his sharp eyes scanning the figure that walked out.

A girl had come out, shivering as she made her way towards the bridge leading into Manhattan, pocketing her gloved hands before letting out a sharp breath, the cold air sending a new shiver down her spine.

Peter could have sworn her gloves were shining in four different colors before they disappeared into her empty pockets. Her large boots looked similar to Black Widow's but Peter didn't let that thought linger too much in his mind.

You sighed as you walked a little faster, feeling multiple pairs of eyes on you. The rhythm of your heeled boots made faster sounds as you felt the air around you change, feeling a presence a few meters away. You thought once again about what you had to do before snapping your head around, now facing a tall thin man, his long shoulder-length red hair waving in front of his face as he pushed you inside an empty alley, knocking you against a wall.

He pushed his large gun to your temple, leaving a non-permantent mark as he did. You felt the cold of the gun on you as he stared at you with a wicked smile, grinning as he pushed you even more into the wall.

"You think you can outsmart me? Freak." He spat in your face, pushing his elbow into your side.

"You underestimate me." You said focusing part of your energy on the bullet of the gun, placing a puff of stong air and a coat of unbreakable ice inside making the gun unusable.

"It was your little friend who I underestimated. Your nothing but a pray." He harshly whispered making you smile.

"Well, that's exactly what I mean. You underestima-" You pushed him with a blast of wind, dropping your coat on the floor revealing your jet black suit, bright neon lines of blue, white, red, and green darting through your shoulders down to the tip of your fingers. Your timing being at the same time as a flash of white darted across you sending the man against the wall.

You stayed baffled for a second as you turned your head towards who had knocked your target unconscious. You saw a man awkwardly standing in front of your, your mouth still wide open as though you were trying to catch flies.

"What did you just do?" You pointed to the knocked down guy you were desperate to get information from as you looked at the person all dressed in red.

"Aren't you... A- A damsel in distress?" Peter asked his voice a little wavy as he watched your pretty traits.

"I'm a damsel, I'm in distress, I can handle this. have a nice day!" You waved as you approached the guy glued to the wall, trying to reach for his pocket.

Peter watched you a little dumbfounded as you minded your own business.

You clicked a button near your neck sending a strick of neon colors flashing through your neck just to reach your eyes, a mask melting on around them, leaving the bottom of your face bare.

"Meg do you know anything about this white thing?" You asked your AI as you turned around the guy.

"Yes. These are web fluids used by a Super Hero called Spider-Man." An image of the man who was standing behind you popped into your eyes. "Would you like me to tell you about its chemical properties?"

"No that's alright. Ice or Heat if I want to break this?"

"Ice."

"Alright." You nodded Peter still watching you with a shocked expression on his face as you formed ice on every part of the webs, turning it so cold it snaped into million pieces, making the man fall to the floor.

You turned around and fumbled through his pockets, catching a few pieces of paper with your fingers.

"How did you do that?" Peter asked dumbfounded as he watched you scan the content of the pages, a content smile painted on your face.

"Well, how can you stick to walls and swing around town Spider-Man?" You asked looking up to the bright white eyes of his mask, who opened even more in surprise as he thought of something to say to you.

"Radioactive Spider-" He said barely above a whisper.

"Well, I was born with it." You let out a sarcastic smile; your smile making Peter blush under the bright red spandex that covered his face. "Now move it, Junior, I don't need your help. I got this." You shook your head and waved for him to move away. "Can you believe it? The man is dumb enough to have stolen the wrong pages." You chuckled mainly to your AI not expecting a response from the boy standing behind you.

"Hey, how do you know im not older than you?" Peter defended as you touched the man's hand, slowly making his body freeze.

"Because your not." You chuckled eyeing him before looking back to your target. "You're my age. Everything about you screams my age. Your voice, the way you stand, talk." You rolled your eyes as you slowly watched the men that was on the ground slowly turning blue. Peter looked at the men in panic as your face stayed neutral, a smile even forming on your lips.

"Don't worry." You chuckled. "He's just going to be frozen for a few years. Nothing to worry about." You smiled as you stood back up, Peter being frozen to his feet as he scanned your figure once again. "Now. You've seen me without my mask, and I know you have night vision and your AI probably films everything you see. So hear me out Spider-guy, if you see me in the streets don't talk to me I don't need trouble. Ok?"

Peter nodded hanging on to every word you spoke. You kept eye contact nodding towards Peter as a way to seal the deal. Once you were content with the situation you took a few steps back to grab your coat that was still scattered on the floor.

"Wait. Before you go can I at least get your name?" He wondered, liking the way you made him feel a little too much for him to let you slip away without a name.

"They call me Nymph." You smiled as you tied your coat, hiding your suit from the rest of the world

"Why aren't you with the Avengers Nymph. I mean look at what you can do!?" Peter raised his voice in amazement.

"I don't know..." You realized. "I don't think they know who I am." You frowned as you folded the pages that you held tight between your fingers. You delicately stuffed them in your pocket and clicked the little button on your neck, making the mask that hid your eyes fall back.

As Peter's eyes focused on yours a shiver tumbled down his spine making him blush as he took in every feature of your face, not even caring if he didn't know your real name.

"Well, Nymph. Im sure I could introduce you!" His high-pitched voice rang through your ears and a slight smile formed on your lips.

"You know the Avengers?"

-TagList-

#peter parker #peter #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland x y/n #spider man #spiderman x reader #spider man x y/n #spider man x you #spider man x reader #series #far from ome #spiderman #spider man far from home

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ectonurites · 3 years

Note

for the character headcanons ask, tim or steph

i ended up doing both LMAO

so for Tim:

 A (realistic headcanon): i will stand by this being realistic but TIM CONTINUING TO SKATEBOARD! like okay yes in canon he only used redboard like twice, and once he had his car back he didn’t really rely on it, but he put the time into learning how to and really enjoyed it! i think it would be fun to see him do it more and like i think steph could also skate with him (altho honestly she has more roller skate energy to me but they could still hang out at a skatepark together) i also have this idea for a fic im at some point going to write of Damian finding redboard and Tim being like ‘oh i can show u how to use that-‘ and him being like ‘NO i will do it on my own’ but eventually it becomes a whole bonding thing for them

B (hilarious): other people joke about this a lot but Tim skateboarding around Wayne Enterprises will NEVER cease to amuse me. just the general chaos of a seventeen year old in a power position like that. I think like Lucius and Tam would keep record of stupid shit he does (skateboarding in the office, Interesting fashion choices, the mountain of mugs and takeout containers that build on his desk, his use of glitter gel pens on official documents, threats to pull a seto kaiba and make WE’s primary goals be trading card related, etc) and make a lil scrapbook to give him on his 21st birthday or something when he’s like Slightly More of an adult

C (heart-crushing): Young Justice being Tim’s first friends he can feel real around that he doesn’t think are going to just be temporary. like... i’ve done a lot of rambling about Tim and again we know he’s a kid who grew up going from boarding school to boarding school, he could make friends easily enough but they were very... fleeting. they weren’t meant to last and he went into it knowing that. even though at the start of the group he couldn’t tell them everything, I feel like Young Justice were just the people he eventually was able to be himself the most around, since he didn’t need to hide being Robin. (again him needing to hide being Tim for a while definitely created some distance, but it was very different than hiding the whole hero life from people he knew at home and at school) and then ya know the core four group moving onto the titans together further solidifying this sense of ‘we are a group who can get through stuff together’... until it all falls the fuck apart after Kon dies. and Tim & Cassie have their weird bad coping things. and Bart dies. i think for Tim it would just be so crushing to have the first group he was able to consider being more permanent fall apart like that (not to mention his dad and steph dying around the same time on top of it- being two of the other types of relationships [familial and a romantic partner] that had more permanence to him) and even when people come back and bonds heal, that sense of stability would just forever be shattered, he lost them once and knows that it could happen again and that fear would always be there in the back of his mind

D (canon is a coward and won’t): that he is bisexual LMAO

aaand now Steph

A (realistic headcanon): alright this is kinda canon related but okay. we have seen MULTIPLE alternate versions of Steph with really short hair (future state, that time she imagined herself as nightwing, earth-3) so i really feel like by current-ish canon she’s already thinking about chopping her hair off, like it’s one of those ideas that just every now and then she’ll see someone with super short hair and be like oh... i want that... but never really go through with it (like she’s had some kinda short looks preboot but i think the shortest was like a bob. im talking pixie cut here) and like im imagining maybe after some mission her hair gets caught on something or even burned or idk and she just says fuck it and her, Cass and Tim get back to one of their apartments/a safehouse after patrol and cut her hair in the bathroom at like 4am (yes im aware i place many situations in the middle of the night in the bathroom with friends... [like that timkon fic i wrote a bit ago] its just such a special setting okay) like Cass with the scissors Tim’s holding up a reference pic Steph found on pinterest. it looks great once it’s done

B (hilarious): the eggplant vs purple thing. i think that now in this post death metal world of dc, where everyone’s remembering things from before the reboot, steph should have a small mental breakdown about how she betrayed her old self by rallying behind the color purple (‘enemy of crime and people who hate purple!’) vs how she used to be so insistent her color scheme was eggplant (‘its eggplant. purple would look stupid’). everyone else is having their brains break because of like conflicting memories of their traumas (and she’s got that goin on too, dont get me wrong, she’ll get to freaking out about that later) but steph is just sitting there staring at a color wheel trying not to cry

C (heart-crushing): i’ve seen some fics explore this a little but i think she’d end up doing a lot of thinking about her baby that she gave up for adoption. like that was something she experienced so young and i feel that would just always be a lurking thought in her mind, where is the baby? is she happy? gotham’s a dangerous city, there’s a lot to be afraid about there. Not that she wouldn’t already because she is just a caring big sister type of person, but I think Steph looking out for all the kids in Gotham (especially once she’s batgirl) in some small part could tie back to wanting to make sure her kid is safe out there wherever she ended up. (additionally since she had a rough upbringing with her whole dad situation she just especially is protective over kids anyways. Sometimes I think she might get kinda insecure about it… maybe even question herself about why she’s saving people, is it because she genuinely cares or is it something more selfish? it’s definitely a self doubt i could see manifesting)

D (canon is a coward and won’t) not to be repetitive but also that she is bi i will stand by this

#stephanie brown #tim drake #dc comics #batfam #sam writes

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 3 years

Text

Motion Sickness Chapter 39

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I took my position alongside the mansion. Stealth was the goal and it was the dead of night which made my semblance a no-no. My semblance was the antithesis of stealth. I waited next to Neapolitan for a pair of guards to approach the same blind corner we'd snagged Nickel from and killed his buddy.

Random chance that we ended up with Nickel and depositing the other guard's body in an alley. I suppose Nickel ended up in an alley too so there's that.

A patrol was coming up.

I activated my semblance at the last second and spent it leaping out and grabbing one of the pair. "Hey-gck." I broke his neck by using my semblance on the move. He had aura and I just went right through it. It was blue colored and small compared to the flare of my semblance. A double flash of blue accompanied the sound of breaking bones and cartilage.

The shattered moon shone it's soft light down overhead, giving everything an otherworldly appearance.

Neapolitan brought her's down much more stealthily. She smirked up at me to rub it in while she choked the dude she was holding to death or unconsciousness.

We dragged them into the mansion's blind corner. I stepped up, jumped off the wall, and pulled a security camera off the wall and crushed it with my bare hands. The metal crumpled beneath my fingers.

"How long do you figure we have?"

She held up five fingers.

I nodded in relative agreement. It could be as many as five minutes. That wasn't all that much time all things considered. In a fight it was practically forever but for a series of fights as we infiltrated? Not so much. I started charging up my next Limit Break. When we moved we moved together like we'd practiced it. In truth we were both relatively skilled hunters. This just came par for the course. I pulled my longsword and tried to jimmy the mansion doors open with the tip of the shorter, thinner blade.

Neapolitan teleported up high on the mansion walls and disabled another security camera. Whoever was supposed to be watching those wasn't doing a good job. Or malfunctions were common in which case Don Corneo deserved this. He deserved what we were about to bring down on him.

I struggled with the lock. The long blade I was using wasn't designed for this kind of play. In the end I resolved to simply cut it at the lock. I stepped back, took careful aim, and swept my sword down at the door. I hit the lock dead on and prayed I wouldn't trigger an electric alarm system.

Cink.

The door opened and we trickled inside. No alarms went off. Maybe it was luck or maybe there wasn't one in set up at the door. Could be a silent alarm, too.

Inside there were places the plaster had been redone recently. They stood out amongst the neater walls as the places most likely to conceal explosives. I entered into a fine atrium, nowhere near as large as that of Haven's. There were five guards there. I brought my sword to bear and Neapolitan silenced them with her semblance.

We were on them. I brought the longsword around and neatly divided one's shoulders. I side-flipped through the air, low to the ground, both hands on Crocea Mors with the shield still on my back and cut into another with two rapid horizontal swings.

One of them was trying to speak into a microphone at his collar. Barking out commands for reinforcements or similar but it came out hushed. I cut him down with a piercing movement that ran him through near the heart.

The mansion's quarters were tight. I thought it would be best to just use the longsword for now.

Neo killed one by stabbing down through the collar bone down into the chest cavity. A spray of bullets chased her and silently shattered a large chandelier. It fell to the ground and scattered across the ground. She backflipped and cartwheeled back away from the arms fire, her eyes drawn in focus.

Her gaze fluttered. Her eyes rolling back in her head and her eyelids moving fast as she tried to concentrate. I got between her and the shooter. Blocking her with my body and shielding her from the damage.

I was on to the last man by then. I picked him up with one hand and drove my sword through his chest with the other. My shield was slightly folded in sheath form on my back and my breastplate shone in the darkness.

Things were going well. The current objective was to get at least Neo into the Don's office. That was our win condition. Our lose condition was getting caught too soon and being forced to fight all the guards and wading through the minefield. In that case we wouldn't even get the Don. He'd be sealed away inside his little vault and not even Limit would let me get access to him.

The chandelier had scattered glass all across the floor and it crunched under my boots as Neo let sound return to the room. Her semblance was fucking crazy. Though mine was a little like that too. Mine was about damage and raw skill. Her's, on the other hand, had utility in spades.

She could put up both visual and auditory illusions and had at the very least some kind of short range teleportation feature. Maybe longer than I thought, but she could do about fifty feet in my estimation. That's the biggest cap I'd seen on her doing it.

She was how I was going to win this thing.

Soft blue light preambled through the atrium and windows. The moon was high tonight and light trickled into the now dark mansion from outside.

"You ready?" I whispered.

She just gave me an eager grin and we proceeded through the house. There was a choke point ahead with more guards. Neo hushed them and I started cutting them down.

This room still had the lights on unlike the atrium and the blood was plainly visible in the soft yellow lights as it splashed across a fine painting.

I tried to cut through flesh and met aura. I sent the man stumbling even if I didn't kill him. He fell down to his knees and tried to rise. A wordless shout at his lips.

I thrust up under the ribs of another and charged a little. My semblance activated. I used the speed and strength to slice another nearly in half. He fell down in a silent scream.

I came back to the one with aura and I spent my semblance on a whirlwind of attacks. The same one I'd done to Cinder. His head hit the ceiling hard enough to crack it and he died from the trauma I put his torso through before I flung him. His red aura shattered under my assault. I'd perfectly timed the arrival of my semblance to deal with this more difficult foe.

Machine gun fire peppered my back and I lanced out with a leap and reached out, grabbed the man and tossed him behind me into Neapolitan's waiting arms. She put the small blade into his throat and beamed as he died in her loving arms.

I looked around and spotted a security camera. I pointed it out to Neo as I sliced the last guard down and she destroyed it.

We had to be fast. This whole operation was speed dependent. Otherwise the Don might start setting off his explosives and calling his men enforce. Neo drew back from where she put her blade through the camera.

Anything could give us away. Missing camera feeds or guards which didn't check in when they were supposed to. Plus someone could come across the bodies we were leaving behind in our wake. I figured that might give us away, too.

There was a plan B. I had an explosive that might be able to crack the vault open but without knowing what kind of locks were on it I'd had to make a guess with the fire dust crystal.

Neo had watched me rig the thing up with rapt attention back in the motel room with the dead man still on the chair.

"Just in case."

I'd said.

"Might be able to blow our way into the thing. You think you can teleport through a crack in the wall?"

She'd just nodded. It was good to have back up plans. If nothing else we'd make the Don uncomfortable and he'd probably be loath to call the police and have them go through his house. The last thing he wanted was cops around.

We might be able to wait him out. He'd have to come out eventually. Of course if his men overwhelmed and killed us it would be over.

Killed me, rather. Neo could just escape.

For now she was sticking things out with me because I was fun and I might get her that shot at Cinder. If that changed I'd be willing to bet she'd be gone.

We battled our way through a hushed corridor next. Neo's parasol was bullet proof, probably with webbed Titania. And she led the charge with her legs. A flurry of kicks broke the lead sentry's neck. I leapt over her and brought my sword down on the next. I went right through the gun he tried to raise to shield himself and bit deep at the collar. He went down.

If our map was accurate, that just left the Don's office ahead.

He was the first to notice us in the next well lit room.

I rolled into the room and thrust forward into a guard's stomach only to meet aura. I stood and slashed at him once, twice, thrice at the neck until I got through. Neo handled a guard with an electric stick by using his own charging momentum to fling him into the ceiling.

The electric door to the vault started to slowly close.

It was big with these metal knobs which would undoubtedly be hard to blast through or force open.

The Don was on the other side in a disheveled office with a mahogany table hammering away at a button.

Limit activated as I sliced into the stomach of another aura ridden sentry. I'd get through the last two of them eventually but not soon enough.

I used my great strength and an arcing wide swung to clock one in the head. He dropped like a sack of rocks from the trauma to his head. Then I stepped forward and smashed the pommel of my sword into the nose of the last hard enough to drive it back into his head.

I flicked my weapon into the door to wedge it open. The Titania in my sword groaned but held. The metal really was incredible. Maybe a bit of edge warping but nothing I couldn't get repaired if the rest of this op went well.

I gestured to Neo and she flickered inside through the tiny gap in the door. She pulled the Don's hand off the button and hit a different one and the door started to open.

I strode inside and Neo unhushed us.

"So," I said with heavy footfalls. "Should I tell you how this plays out or let you guess?" He leaned away from us with fear in his eyes.

I pressed a button with an arrow to the left on his desk, the same way the door was going and the mechanical vault closed behind me, reversing a second time on electric hinges.

Wide eyed, he was locked in with us.

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I examined the edge warp on Crocea Mors with a scowl. There were some things that were sacred, some things that should remain as they were. For gods' sake if my mind and body weren't one of them then my sword should be.

The warp wasn't severe enough that the blade wouldn't sheath or anything. And it wasn't in a bad location per se, about midway between the hilt and tip. It could be worse, I decided.

I looked from the blade's edge down at Don Corneo.

From the corner of my eye, a shadow jumped out at me and I turned swiftly, prepared for more of a fight.

There was a secondary security deposit box at the edge of the room. At a guess that was where all the Lien was. Maybe the adrenaline just had me jumpy, was all. I hoped I wasn't going to start seizing. That would be pretty bad right here and now.

I put my sword in the shield and put my face down in Don Corneo's. I said nothing.

"Please…" he begged from his comfy looking chair.

"Listen, my friend here likes to torture people. She likes it a lot. She even gets off on it a little. A bit like you do with honey bee costumes."

He looked over at Neo and she nodded, eyes full of mirth as she loomed over him in those heels. A wicked smile etched in her face.

He shuddered. Maybe he didn't get off on those costumes anymore. "Wait… You haven't even told me what you want…"

I was maybe letting him stew in it.

"You're going to give us all your money. All of it. Every last Lien."

"You don't understand," he pleaded. "Cash is pretty much all I have right now. I'll be destitute."

"You hear that?" I asked Neo. "Cash rich and asset poor."

She smirked up at me. I bent back down over Corneo.

"You have your body. You have your life. You want to keep them?" I pulled out my explosive and stuck it to the smaller vault. Then I slammed his head right next to it.

"Oh please. Oh please. Gods please don't."

"See I don't really need your cooperation. I don't really need you to open this little vault. I can open it and your head at the same time. I can hand you over to my friend here and she'll cut your balls off and she'll like it too. There's only one way you get clear of this mess alive."

I wasn't really going to set it off while we were locked in this airtight compartment. But I could always open the door a little and give it some space. I could maybe survive an explosion like that. Maybe. But I would be none too fresh afterward and we still needed to fight our way out of here.

"Please I'll be nothing. I'll be no one."

"Cut his fingers off."

She held his hand out against the vault wall and drew her blade from her parasol.

"Fine! Fine! I'll open it, I'll do it. Just don't hurt me. Please!"

She cut him anyways and he screamed. His thumb dropped to the floor at my feet. I held his head against the little vault while Neo worked at his hand.

I looked at his desk. It seems the Don got a fancy looking new scroll, too, after Weiss made off with his last one.

"And I want your scroll, too."

He whimpered quietly.

"I'll do it. I'll do it please no more. Please."

Suffice to say we got the safety deposit box open and made off like criminals. I let Neo kill him too, couldn't let him start blowing things up on us or calling his guards.

There were millions of Lien in the little vault. We even had to leave some behind just because we couldn't carry it all.

"A thousand Lien for you." I counted out. "And one thousand for me."

She grinned down at me while I worked. Something nostalgic in her smile. Maybe a little wistful.

I let her think what she wanted. It'd be only cruel to crush her dreams and memories.

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-WG

#war of the roses #ff7 #ffvii #cloud!jaune arc #sephiroth!Jaune arc #rwby #white rose #whiterose #white knight #whiteknight #jaune arc #neapolitan #motion sickness #lancaster #altpower #altsemblance

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raywritesthings · 3 years

Text

Hung Where You Can See

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance, Thea Queen Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Oliver and Laurel find themselves caught in a holiday-themed trap, and Thea certainly isn’t helping. *Can also be read on AO3, link is in bio*

Oliver loved his sister dearly, but there were moments he wished she’d never had to become a vigilante. Usually those moments had to do with the trauma she had over killing — even if temporarily — Sara Lance, the turmoil that came from working with and then having to face her own father on the battlefield and the general loss of innocence.

But sometimes? Sometimes she was just as much of a pain as when they were kids.

Oliver leveled his best stern look. “Just cut the rope.”

“Starting to lose feeling in my toes here,” Laurel muttered at the same time, clearly taking a similar attitude of irritation with their current predicament.

“Are you kidding?” His sister asked. “This is hilarious!”

“Speedy!” He and Laurel scolded together, heads turned in her direction. He could feel her breath wash across his cheek all the same and had a feeling she could in reverse by the way her eyes flicked towards his for a brief moment, glare freezing.

“Not until you follow tradition,” Thea maintained. “It’s nearly Christmas, come on.”

Not for the first time, he looked up at the little sprig of mistletoe dangling from the line that had wrapped itself around the top of the lamppost he and Laurel hung from, feet swinging a few inches off the ground. The rest of this ridiculous contraption consisted of a bola arrow that had the two of them stuck wrapped up chest to chest. Nobody but Cupid would design something so ludicrous and so frustratingly effective.

The love-obsessed archer had finally caught onto the fact that the Arrow looked a little less like Roy Harper and a little more like the Green Arrow, and she’d renewed her quest for his affections with a vengeance. She was knocked out on the ground with her wrists in cuffs courtesy of Thea, but not before she’d managed to fire off one last arrow Laurel had tried to push him out of the way of, believing it to be lethal only for it to spring apart and catch them both in its trap.

Oliver could only guess he had been meant to be the solitary target, a nice ‘present’ for Cutter to saunter up to and unwrap at her leisure. His stomach turned at the thought. Though as he looked back down at Laurel, a different sort of feeling settled in his gut. A feeling a lot like nerves.

He tried, not for the first time, to try and wriggle his arm free to reach for the arrows still strapped to his quiver, close but just too far. It didn’t help that each little shift of their bodies made him increasingly aware that certain parts of Laurel’s anatomy that he had once been on very familiar terms with were pressed right up against parts of his anatomy. The struggling also seemed to do little more than tighten the ropes.

Laurel huffed out a breath. “Look, let’s just do it.”

“What?” He asked dumbly, pausing mid-useless reach.

“Kiss, Ollie. It’s that or spend another who knows how low hanging like a couple of stockings from the mantle.”

“Oh. Right.” He licked his lips, then wondered if that made this worse. Would it be weird for his lips to be wet? He pressed them together to see if that would take some of the moisture away.

Laurel’s own lips were painted red the way she tended to when out on patrol. They stood out from the black of her mask and the paleness of her cheeks in a way that was eye-catching. He’d done his best the last several months to avoid staring at them but it was unavoidable now.

“I’m not gonna bite you,” she said, again drawing him out of his thoughts.

Oliver snorted in disbelief. He knew better than most people Laurel had a thing for catching a lip with her teeth. At least she had whenever they’d been together.

She seemed to realize what he was thinking, too, for her face colored a little pink. “You know what I meant.”

“You know the cops are probably gonna get here eventually,” Thea called out.

“Yeah, thanks, Speedy. We’re not the ones keeping us here.” Or killing the mood. Not that he’d been trying to set a mood. Unless Laurel wanted a mood? It was tricky keeping in mind that she had no feelings for him when she was gazing up at him with those large, green eyes and their bodies seemed to fit so perfectly together in this captive embrace.

“Just lean in, okay?” She helpfully advised him even now, her own lips starting to pucker as he tilted his head down. Oliver closed his eyes the split second before they met, not sure if he could handle seeing the aftermath of this trip to their past.

Laurel’s lips were as warm and soft as he remembered them being, maybe more so. He felt his mouth start to open of its own accord before remembering himself. Laurel gave the barest ghost of a sigh as she seemed to do the same. The tip of his nose brushed hers, and the cold caused his eyes to flutter open to gaze back at her. There was confusion, longing and regret in her eyes, the same things he was sure were mirrored in his own.

He couldn’t stand feeling like this anymore.

Oliver strained his neck to reach her again, a slight sway forward and then back where they hung as he kissed her again, this time with everything he’d held back from saying or doing all this time as they’d grown closer again in friendship and as partners. The nerves in his stomach turned to sparks of excitement as she responded to his mouth on hers in equal measure, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth the way she once had, the way she still did because it was Laurel always—

“Ummm,” said Thea in a small voice that was no less startling, and he jolted back to awareness. Laurel blinked in shock back at him. “Not that I don’t love this development — cause I do. I really do — but I can definitely hear sirens coming, so I’m gonna get you guys down real quick.”

She darted towards them and used her sword to make quick work of the bindings, then danced out of reach. It didn’t matter; both their feet had fallen asleep, and they staggered into each other like newborn foals.

“I- thanks,” Laurel said, tucking a bit of her hair back behind her ear as they held each other’s arms to keep steady.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice rough. Oliver cleared his throat.

The sirens were getting louder, so as quickly as they could with two of them regaining feeling in their legs, they took off for their bikes.

“So I can drive myself if you two want some alone time,” Thea remarked.

“I think you’ve done enough for one night,” Oliver told his sister. He chanced a glance at Laurel, whose lips twitched before she looked away to start the one bike’s engine. Oliver found himself smiling as well as he started his own, following the two of them back to the base. He’d see if he and Laurel could arrange for some alone time there.

So maybe his sister sometimes lacked subtlety. He couldn’t deny that following her advice often led him to just what he desired most.

#lauriver #lauriverholidays2020 #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing

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fizzypunks · 4 years

Text

Bad Timing

fandom: My Hero Academia/ Boku No Hero Academia word count: 5k rating: T (cannon description of violence) summary: Shouta has to handle the aftermath of the Nomu attack, and Hizashi has very bad (or good) timing

ship: earsermic

AO3

note: best viewed on Archive bc it keeps the formatting like itallics!

___

The day was finally at its end – the sun set in slats across the teachers lounge, and it was 3:55, when most people were leaving or gathering their lives up in a rush to get home. They’d all already left, urgently trying to beat traffic and make their way to whatever Friday plans they had in store.

Aizawa didn’t have Friday plans – instead of unceremoniously rushing to get home for the weekend, or go drinking to relieve stress, he was instead sitting on the couch. He didn’t have lessons or binders around him, having freed one hand to take out his phone and flip through his lessons that Hizashi kindly spent the time uploading for him.

The screen was bright and blaring and bled color into color into color – it was hard to look at for too long, but it was the only compromise he could make with his body when it came to improvised lesson plans. He’d type it up, with his one hand, a letter at a time, while his body healed enough for him to do better.

This is what it is, no use complaining. Just get it done.

The ache in his eyes he could deal with – he’d be disappointed in himself if he wasn’t used to it at his age, and he’d made peace with the eye strain and pain and dryness and anything else that was unpleasant about his quirk. His body, however, was a new story. It ached in a way he never experienced in his life, deep to the bone and then, maybe, even deeper – not a movement existed that didn’t somehow remind him of his body, his mortality, and it’s still a wonder he even survived.

He stopped asking questions like how a long time ago, though, and he didn’t dare start now. All it did was drive him into crazy circles of what ifs , dead ending in worse case scenarios that were a half inch away from coming to be…

This new burn, this new hurt – it conjured with it the same image – or maybe it was muscle memory – of painful blood splatter in his eyesight. With it came a reel of other horrifics images and feelings and sensations that might have been if…

It doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant...

When he told his class that it didn’t matter that he was teaching, he meant it. It wasn’t what he wanted, but since when did he ever get what he wanted? It’s hero work, and educational duties don’t take a break just because he broke ; they never permitted a break because he wanted and wished.

He broke. Plain, simple – no explanation necessary. That’s a world he’s unfortunate enough to live in, so he grits his teeth and bears it.

It’s all Shouta can do. Bear it, heal as best he can, move on – think about it less and less until it’s just another frame on the wall of memories that like to bug him at night, those few rare ones that let him rest and dream.

Bear it. It didn’t kill you, so bear it.

Still, in the middle of the day, after teaching and improvising and making himself stand upright like he didn’t want to bury himself in sheets, it was a weird sensation. Living through something that almost took his life in the most violent, frightening way possible, all for his kids. He didn’t think this time around, with the mending and the processing and the eventual moving on, would feel so…

Off? Like a buzz on his skin, like time was shifted just a second ahead and he was playing catch up. He didn’t know the right words, couldn’t even explain to himself the things that he was feeling. He finally settled calling it weird. Whatever that meant.

He’d dealt with trauma before, too – but this breed of unease was new, even to him and his seasoned career.

The room was silent, but it felt louder than ever, and his screen had timed out when he realized he’d been staring dryly into it without doing anything.

He refreshed the screen with his thumb, lights bright and vivid again like a train at the end of a tunnel.

He’s stopped regretting his choices, he’s stopped wallowing because after two or three close calls with death, it gets a bit old – but god does he want to wallow now . Now that his body was broken and every movement felt like shattered glass in a windshield, disturbed with every movement but, at least, mercilessly, held together by…

What?

Sheer force of will – he was certain that’s what it was. It wasn’t desire or hope, it wasn’t any positive or cheerful motto – he had time for those later, for now…

He groaned, the weight of his eyes and body finally coaxing a response from him that wasn’t dead. Responses that were complete opposites from that which he always told his peers when they stopped him in the halls or at the end of lectures.

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“It doesn’t matter, now if you wouldn’t mind, I have a class to teach.”

It’s placating, it’s time-buying – other heroes know the drill, so they don’t argue with him too much – they just insist, and hope, that he listens enough to at least rest . He always wanted to sleep, right? He had that stupid sleep disorder that always begs for him to rest his head for just a moment, so why not indulge it now?

He blinked against it – he really did need to sleep, but the screen in his shaking fingers showed that he had plans to finalize, and a fresh round of essay to grade that needed to be graded by the next day.

So much was behind as is – the last essay, the last score for ethics lecture to be dealt out, a new plan for the upcoming week that adjusts for his kids and the stress they just underwent – no, hero work doesn’t forgive very much, and Aizawa would never tell them that he was giving them a break, but he was going to do exactly that and take off a few quizzes to lighten the load…

Shouta leaned back against the sofa, and it wasn’t too soft and without structure, that it actually did do some good for him. He tilted his head back, too, and felt brief relief in the way his head didn’t feel like lobbing off like a hammer to the side of a statue’s temple.

He sighed, and leaned into it, the slightest bit of relief he was able to find.

The one think he was grateful for was that today was better than the beginning of the week. He had a long way to go, but thankfully some of the bandages could be taken off yesterday and today was his first day of being able to fully see – his face was freed, his shoulders lightened and only wrapped with a few white wraps – but it was still a struggle with his arms, his hands – the most damaged parts of his body that were trudging along…

This is unbearable .

But he will bear it.

But, right now, he will not bear it well. Like he broke under the hand of the Nomu, he was breaking again now and nothing was capable of stopping that.

He took in a deep breath, and held it just because it felt good to feel so full. He held it and waited.

This is going to be interesting.

His breath was waning, it’s time slowly slipping by, expiring.

This is going to hurt.

His lungs were wrapped around empty air.

Bad .

He still didn’t let go, even when it ached. He didn’t know if he wanted to, but the red-blackness of his eyelids and the sting in him was a comfortable pain he knew he could release, if he wanted.

Then, finally, he did want, and he let go, shoulders slumping with a harsh exhale.

He opened his eyes to a slit, and saw the sun spots on the ceiling had grown longer. Golden, mingling, patient – he’d stared at them so many times before, grown bored of them between grading and impatience, but now they were a comfort.

Familiar monotony and boredom. It seems that being bored was not always a bad thing, after all.

Early in his career, this might have killed his spirit. His spirit, however, was put back together so many times, and damaged so cruelly and spitefully, that he at least felt some sort of partial happiness knowing it wasn’t possible to batter his spirit any more. It was impossible.

It’s reached its limit years ago, what’s a new bruise on top of the rest?

A sound like shuffling, quiet but distinct, came from behind him – clothes rustling, a distinct stiff sound, all quietly entering from behind; and it was intentional movement, Shouta knew.

His instincts never dulled, even under mountains of bandages. “Hizashi. What are you still doing here?”

His laugh – the one he would never admit to loving so deeply– was soft behind him, closer this time. “Gee, how’d ya know it was me ?”

Shouta wished he could shrug, and instead returned his eyes back to their resting state and closed them lightly. “ Gee , how’d you learn to be quiet? Or, at least, try to be.”

Soft brushing, padding of feet, the ridiculous squeak of leather – Hizashi walked around the couch and when Shouta felt the dip in the seat beside him, a little too close to him, he chuckled. “It’s hard to be, man – you know I’m stuck with my costume! On the clock, I’m Present Mic!”

“I was talking about your mouth, but sure – that too.”

Another laugh came, and it was just as warm and full and bright. Shouta guarded his expression at the sound, because it was too pleasant and he hurt too much to not indulge the pleasant things whenever they did come.

But Mic isn’t Hizashi, and he’s more quiet now, between the two of them. Like he was in hours after sparring through out their friendships and careers, like lazy drawls in the morning when they passed each other, one waking up and one going to bed after a patrol. Quiet and in tune, in a way so few really understood.

That was the part of Hizashi that no one really gets to see – the way he knew silence and patience that would put his hero and radio personality at odds if the public really got to see it. He was calm and reserved and knew which silences and calms to lean into, which ones to sit with, which ones were the important ones...

He knew it right now, which was why he wasn’t on the limits of his own energy, like a battery fed into itself – a never ending feed that could go forever, Shouta thought time and time again. And his comfort in his quirk made it all too easy to emote and exaggerate and be too much for Shouta at times.

Fragile times, like when his mind was barely glued to the body that was just as fractured and splintering around the edges as his spirit.

“My, you think so lowly of me, Shouta.”

“Just being logical. You’re louder more often than not, after all,” he said, and they both knew it was a joking lie. It’s the closest Shouta gets to a joke, anyways.

The silence returned, and Shouta felt the burning questions in the warm body beside him – too close and yet, not really close enough – within arms length, but not within arms...

But Hizashi is never one for mincing words or running from questions. “How you doing, Shou?”

Shouta grunted. “Fine.”

“No, no, no, no – I’ve heard you say that all week and, well, it’s crazy to think you’d be okay! I want to know how you’re doing. ”

“Hizashi, do me a favor. Be polite and just take the answer.”

“No,” and the response was so fast, and sounded so bratty, Shouta was tempted to open his eyes and tilt his head to the right – to see if he was as close as he thought he was, if his hair was falling, if he’d taken off his orange tints and was looking at him with those stupid pup eyes.

He didn’t, though.

“What do you want me to say?” He finally said, quietly – maybe Hizashi wouldn’t hear him if he spoke quietly enough. “Obviously, I’m not fine.”

“I know that, and –”

“And it doesn’t matter. So, with that in mind,” and he did open his eyes this time – they stung fresh again, and he blinked, and he turned his head just slightly enough to change his eyes' direction. They stayed fixed in the ceiling, on the honey the sun was spilling, and he said, “I’m fine.”

“Come on, Shou... “

“It’s just…”

Hizashi sighed. “Could you… at least try to take time off or stop studies or something ? I can’t stand – “ and here he goes, he was too emotional –

So annoying.

His voice always shook when he was sad, when he was pretending like he wasn’t going to cry.

So sweet.

“ – I can’t stand this. ”

You and me both.

It never really did any good to cut off Hizashi, and Shouta hates doing it any way. So he didn’t even attempt it. He knew he needed to say what he was saying, to be heard and unburden himself of the fears living in him. He didn’t really have the chance before, and it wasn’t fair to take it from him now. Shouta didn’t have the energy to deny him any of that, anyway, so his eyes shifted to the crease in the ceiling, the border between it and the wall, and just listened.

“Shouta, you were almost killed – it’s… it’s so bad, this time – I’ve patched you up so many times and there wasn’t anything I could have ever done about this , and I want you to stop trying to ignore it. You don’t have to be a hero all the time.”

Shouta couldn’t help the scoff, and it stopped Hizashi for just a moment. “Of course I do.”

He was so bitter, he could taste it like the lingering flavor of cold coffee.

“You literally don’t –”

“Hizashi… I don’t have the energy for this.”

“That’s my point , Shouta! You can’t –”

“Can’t do my job? Give me a better argument next time, Hizashi.”

For whatever reason, that was enough to shut him up. Shouta didn’t want to, but his headache was too strong and his friend’s concern was too soft and he was just a broken vase – hairline cracks that got too big too fast and now shattered at the foundation – unable to hold onto any of it let any of it fill him, so why even try to touch it?

Hizashi does a lot of things loudly, even when he tries not to – it’s a side effect of being the Voice Hero, a natural course of events that would, rationally, lead him to be a vocal and expressive person. He’s sniffling and trying to stop it, trying to reel himself in, and Shouta sighs again, because the Voice Hero shouldn’t be trying to reel himself in at all.

This isn’t what he wanted.

He truthfully didn’t want to be in this position at all, but he’d remembered that he never wanted to spend his time wishing , so he didn’t wish – he couldn’t fix that, or the way Hizashi was hurting for him. But, he could fix…

Whatever this was.

“Hizashi.”

The sniffling stopped for a second, enough for it to be masked in a, “... what, Shouta?”

“Thank you.”

“Hmmph.”

Pouting?

“Don’t do that.”

“Hmmph!”

Pure annoyance drove him to open his eyes, and tilt his head, and level his eyes against his best friend because pouting was so fucking stupid. His eyes widened, though, when he finally met Hizashi’s gaze for the first time that day.

The first thing was that he wasn’t fully in his costume. His speakers were missing, and his hair was fallen to his shoulders in gell-stiff half-mast, finally succumbing to gravity in a way Shouta was certain was due to a hair brush and messily tucked into a hair tie. His tinted glasses were gone, leaving nothing between their eyes as they locked.

He’d hung up his hero costume for the day, and maybe it made sense that he wasn’t talking like Present Mic any more – not as loud, not as joking, just intentions and and heart.

He was half way between the two – between persona and him, and he looked so soft…

But his eyes, his eyes that stare so deeply and knew Shouta so intimately over the years their lives had been intertwined – they were wet and silently overflowing, and Shouta was certain the embarrassment of crying was what was so freely tinting his cheeks. It was a brush of pink over pale, high cheekbones, under crescent eyes that leaked streaks down to his jaw, his chin.

He, however, still had the mind to pout – not that Shouta had anything to say, not with the sudden, brand new pain of his heart aching at seeing his friend like this.

Shouta’s eyes softened, his annoyance gone like dye down a river.

Hizashi, however, wasn’t a coward, and held his gaze because he wanted Shouta to know what he was doing to him.

And all in the glowing sunlight…

Stop...

“Hizashi…”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t try to stop me or tell me I’m wrong or that I’m crying too much or whatever .”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, because he had the mind to say something and that was the brilliant thing he thought of. His shame was hot and fast and his eyes shifted to the side, just off from Hizashi in the best possible way he could manage to face the other. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“Well, congrats, because I feel bad.”

Shouta knitted his brow in anger. “You’re an idiot.”

Don’t make me feel worse.

“What th–”

You always make me feel worse.

“If you’re spending all your tears on me, then yeah. You are.”

Because you’re so good.

Hizashi was crying and clearly upset – anyone could see that – and yet he still decided to furrow his eyebrows and look confused and stupefied all at once. “ Wind it back a few seconds for me, Shou.”

Shouta raised an eyebrow.

“Say that again,” he prompted, shifting to face Shouta even more completely. He leaned forward on his knees, on his elbows as he wiped away the tears.

“I said you’re an idiot.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Friend .

“And?”

“Not even you believe yourself, do you? I’ve seen you cry for me, too.”

Shouta turned his eyes down. That’s different . That’s more than he can ever really explain, and what’s even more, it’s more than he wants to explain. Those words turn into sentences that turn into feelings that can’t be taken back, and he’ll never make the mistake of falling down that slope. So he looked away, anything to feel less guilty and like shit, and shook his head.

Maybe some honesty wouldn’t hurt. “What would you have me do, then? I don’t have options.”

Hizashi saw him dodge the question, the scenario he’d painted – he scooted closer and Shouta felt too alive with envy, wishing there were no barriers, be them white casts and mental blocks, that kept him from bridging the last of that tiny gap.

“I’d have you sleep. I’d have you stay home. I’d have you trust that the faculty, your peers, your friends , could handle you being out for a bit.”

The logic is there…

Still… “No, I need to stay here. My students are back, and I owe them –”

“It would be a week. You’d have your casts off in a week –”

“Who told you that? If Recovery Girl –”

“It’s common knowledge, Shou, I just guessed . But that’s not the point – the point is that I’m right .”

Where does this conversation end? He doesn’t want to say it, he doesn’t want to open himself up again, and he doesn’t want Hizashi to be crying like this. Crying, because of him.

He sighs again. “It’s…”

He clears his throat again. “It’s easier this way. For me.”

Hizashi had already been close, but now he was right beside him, the knee he was folded over now just against his leg. Personal space had never really been a thing for him, and now proved to be no different. His big watery eyes stayed trained on his calculated, intentionally flat ones.

He’s also always been good at picking apart his words to find the realities beneath them. “Distractions, right?”

Shouta didn’t want to admit to it, but he nodded anyway, eyes falling until they settled on Hizashi’s clavicle. His exposed, open clavicle, and he yearns even more to be able to be closer than this. Take comfort in closeness that was 16 years in the making, but never really actualized. Never, really, fully realized , either...

“Yeah… distractions.”

“Say, if I wanted to come over and make dinner and show you baby animal photos, would you let me?”

Shouta blinked, and Hizashi smiled – he looked too pretty, glowing from his tears, and Shouta hates thinking that.

“Don–”

“They’re baby foxes .”

Shouta looked down, and grew pink – it’s pathetic how easily he could be bought, and he wasn’t ever really going to say no to time with his best friend. Even now, he’s always finding himself saying yes to the colorful, often too-loud man.

Hizashi seemed to realize that he’d won, the way his eyebrows stopped dipping, stopped taking such a sad shape. “At least let me do this, Shou – if you’re gonna bring your mummy self into school and yell at kids and threaten expulsion, then let me make stir fry and udon for you.”

Shouta smiled, small, hesitant, but not quite of his own intention; finally breaking – in a different way than he’s used to. “Fine. Just to be clear, it’s only because I want food.”

“ Suuure , that’s the reason.”

And before he could say anything back, Hizashi did that thing that makes his heart weak – the thing he always does when he’s leaning in like this, and it’s too emotional for his own comfort zone, and things are charged with a restless, aching energy. He reached out his left hand and rested it over Shouta’s open one. His phone was already falling from his bruised fingers, so he pushed it down to his lap and held onto the half of his hand that was exposed.

He wants to ask why he does it sometimes, but doesn’t think that now is the time to ask it. Time, place, his broken body, everything was wrong – so he just let himself enjoy the affection, while he can bask in it with legitimate cause.

Then Hizashi had to ruin it. He grinned, a little too proud. “Nervous?”

Shouta tensed, and his body yelled at the pressure in his arms, in his torso. “Excuse me?”

Hizashi laughed a bit, and he was a little flush – from the crying. “You’re a biiiiiit pink. Like, blushing. Like, actually, you’re very –”

“Shut up.”

“You act like any teensy-tiny bit of affection is like poison, Shou – it’s okay if you–”

“I take it back, actually, you can’t come over.”

“Awwww, come on, I just –”

“I mean it, I’ll order from the corner market.”

“Now that you told me how you’ve been feeding yourself, I’m definitely coming over. God, I swear, you should know how to take care of yourself by now, it’s like you hate trying to –”

“Hizashi –”

He stood, really fast, smiling dumb and bright as he stood infront of Shouta. “Now come on! Up! Let’s go to your apartment!”

He offered a hand, but Shouta shook his head. “I can get up fine –”

Hizashi leaned forward, and it was an awkward placement, the way he was balanced, but he took the phone from his lap and tucked it into his pocket before his hand rested just on the side of Shouta’s shoulder. He urged with his eyes as much as with the slight tug at his waist. “Come on!”

Shouta looked down and nodded, a feeling of warmth overcoming him yet again. He heard moreso than saw Hizashi smile, felt him beaming at him at letting him help him up, and then the hand on his shoulder shifted, to the spot of his ribs just above the bandaging.

“Can I pull here?”

“Yeah…”

And he did and it really fucking hurt, little splinters under his skin all over again. He pulled air sharply between his teeth, and let Hizashi hook his elbow around him to stop the recoil.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“It’s –” Deep breath, relax eyes – bear it . “It’s fine.”

It’s not fine, but it’s bearable, so he releases some of the tension he know is sewn into his arms. He opens his eyes, and Hizashi is so close it’s almost startling. His arm still was around him, under his arm, like a brace. Warm, pleasant pressure, pleasant heat...

“I’m fine,” he breathes again, because for once, Hizashi doesn’t have anything to say. He just stares.

“Hey… um…”

“Hizashi…?”

When Hizashi spoke it was quiet, in a way that betrayed his confident words. “Shou… this is not good timing, but…”

This time it was Shouta’s turn for his voice to stop working, and he didn’t have anything to say – all too aware of the soft sound of breathing between them, the way his eyes were overwhelming like never before.

He had nothing to counter him or force him back or make him leave. He just waited, eyes at half mast because that was the only way he could handle Hizashi looking at him like that . Like he always did, with care and adoration, and it just made him sick.

“I almost lost you, and I don’t want to regret not kissing you any more… for years, Shouta, years .”

Shouta deserved a medal for surviving the whiplash of their conversation, from the joking to the serious to the trivial to the important… he couldn’t move much, but he wasn’t sure if that was his body or his anxious nerves speaking, so he just looked down at his lips.

“Tell me it’s okay,” Hizashi said, close but far enough for comfort. Far enough for respect , for hurting and aching Shouta to say yes or no and only then either bridge the gap or depart. His hand was delicate on his side and his finger tips were light, brushing, too much. “Tell me if you want…”

The timing was so awful – Shouta just wanted to move, to take him in right there, to stop him from talking and pull him into himself so harshly and violently that they might become one. Close was never close enough…

“I…”

Hizashi’s free hand came up to his cheek, holding him there gently. His thumb brushed under his scar, over the hot skin that he was certain was an embarrassing shade of pink…

Don’t fuck with me.

“Tell me, Shou…”

He was wiping away a tear, and Shou crumbled at the touch. “Y– yes.”

A sharp breath, then again, louder, stronger, “ Yes. Yes, Hizashi–”

Hizashi wasted no time, and pressed himself closer, and Shouta wasn’t surprised to taste salt on his lips because he’d spent too much time crying, too.

“I’m – not going to change –” Shouta said between breath and kiss, shaking from the anger of just wanting to hold Hizashi and being un able to. “I’m – still a hero – I’m still –”

– Kiss –

“ – still going to work, and – get hurt – and –”

Hizashi retreated, lips hovering for just a moment. “I know, I know –”

Shouta’s breath is heavy, laden with desires and 15 year old feelings and guilt, and doesn’t know where this is supposed to go. He’ll hurt Hizashi like this, he just knows he will – is it wise to let him do this, knowing what, inevitably, is going to happen. He huffs out his nose, trying to find a way to be delicate.

He’s never known how to be delicate, and he just wishes that right now, he could somehow discover the secrets to not breaking his friend’s hearts. “I’m – is this a good idea?”

“Of course –”

“No, I mean it – is it rational , when I’m just – just –”

Hizashi’s hands are at work again, one holding him up, one wiping away tears from a scar.

“I’ll hurt you – I’ll hurt you and it’s inevitable and I can’t –”

“ Shouta ,” and his voice was loud, and commanding, and energized – his quirk at its lowest state.

It worked though – Shouta had no idea how worked up he’d become, how his weaknesses were seeping through like never before; he was broken in so many ways right now and they were all on display, so humiliatingly on display, that he couldn’t even keep himself calm.

Hizashi kissed him again, slower this time because he, shockingly, knew how to slow down. How to be rational when others weren’t.

His lips moved to the side of his mouth, then to his cheek, to his ear – “How long, Shouta?”

“What – do you mean?”

“It’s been fifteen years for me… fifteen years. I was in school looking at you. I was at graduation, looking at you. I shared our first apartment, and was looking at you. I’ve been teaching – and I’ve been looking at you…”

How romantic…

“How long has it been?” He said.

It was too good to be true. It was too sad to be true. They’d put this off for so long, and it took a violent, bloody incident to bring Hizashi to him like this. He’d had his chances too, but he’d always shied away from them because it wasn’t fair.

He’d die a hero one day, and Hizashi didn’t deserve that .

Shouta leaned into the feeling of Hizashi’s lips against his cheek, his ear, and told him what he’d never spoken out loud before. “I… fifteen years. Fifteen years, Hizashi…”

“ God,” and he’s crying now.

Shouta doesn’t want to admit to the few stray tears decorating his eyelashes like spiders on webs, so he doesn’t – he just leans into the soft, awkward embrace from his best friend, and lets him cry because they’ve both been idiots.

The sunlight was long against the walls, and the halls of U.A were quiet, and Shouta, for all the breaking he’s done, has finally found a way to put some of the pieces back together.

#my fic #bnha fic #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #aizawa #hizashi #erasermic #long post #fic length: medium #oneshot

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bigbadwolf-16 · 3 years

Text

anyway heres the thing for wolf and i am SO sorry if the readmore doesnt work oof this bitch long

slightly modified it

Name:

Wolf-16

Age:

Mentally twelve, but roughly Dark Age old.

Race:

Exo

Call signs/alias:

Wolf. One syllable, easy.

Pronouns:

He / Him

Class:

Hunter

Preferred subclass(es):

Gunslinger, but he’s handy with Void and Stasis. Never got the hang of Arc.

Ghost's name:

Serenity, but she reluctantly answers to Red sometimes.

Their Vanguard:

He came late to the party and properly joined the Guardian ranks sometime after Tallulah died, but he was closest to Cayde-6, rip.

Fireteam name:

Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo (former) Maelstrom (former) Exodus (current)

Fireteam teammates:

In Foxtrot: Liz Cabrera, King-3, Armani-7 In Maelstrom: Amelia-9, Atticus Maav In Exodus: Puck-13, Aera-9, Emmanuel-7

Favorite legendary weapon:

Dire Promise IKELOS SMG Seventh Seraph SAW

Favorite exotic weapon:

Ace of Spades Riskrunner The Lament

Favorite exotic armor:

Sealed Ahamkara Grasps The Sixth Coyote St0mp-335

Are they offense, defense, or support:

Generally offense, he’s blindingly fast and is a crackshot with any weapon you put in his hands.

Do they prefer being close, mid, or long range:

He prefers mid to long, but ends up getting in close more often than he’d like. The agility kind of nerfs his ability to take a lot of damage all at once, so he goes airborne the second he gets surrounded.

Do they lean more "Element of Surprise" or "Upfront and Aggressive":

A bit of both! He’ll pull a surprise attack and jump in to get his hands dirty if he has to, which makes him a pretty good distraction if there’s a lot of enemies looking for a bullet sponge, but he prefers a little bit of distance if he can get it.

Strikes, Gambit, or Crucible:

Getting him into strikes takes a lot of perseverance, honestly. He’ll do them if Zavala can actually hold him down long enough. Hunters are elusive as hell anymore, and the amount of times he’s been back to the Tower or even within the City’s walls since the Red War can be counted on one hand.

Crucible is also kind of a gamble. Serenity doesn’t like him doing it because he gets ruthlessly competitive and tends to favor Stasis which gets... ahhh, intense...

He fucks super hard with Gambit, tho. If he’s anywhere near the City, he’s probably playing Gambit because the Drifter won’t give him the good stuff until he does.

Who was their mentor:

If anyone was, it was probably Serenity and only insofar as teaching him how to be fucking normal. It hasn’t worked very well.

Who are they mentoring:

He went through a brief stint where he mentored Atticus. He couldn’t teach him any Warlock things, of course, but other stuff like no-scoping an Acolyte or picking locks? Absolutely.

What ship do they have:

After Forsaken, all of Cayde’s stuff was pretty much left alone, but Wolf asked the Vanguard if he could take the Queen of Hearts and they let him.

What is their Sparrow:

Blood in the Water

Favorite Ghost shell:

Serenity picks her own shells. When they met, she pretty much had the Rust Punk shell after the one she was created with got messed up pretty badly. The new one didn’t stand up very well against the elements.

Wolf keeps a handful of them in the ship so that she can go between them and her favorites are Wisteria Orbit and In Fine Omnium, but she goes back to her old one occasionally if she doesn’t want to get the others dirty.

Favorite color:

Red, but sometimes purple.

Favorite food:

Any kind of spicy ramen and shawarma.

Least favorite food:

He doesn’t like anything with a bitter taste and there are a lot of veggie-based things he just genuinely cannot stand the thought of.

Favorite Pre-Collapse music:

He discovered classic rock and hasn’t looked back once.

Favorite place in The Last City:

Before the Red War when he spent more time in the city itself, his apartment. It was small and pretty cozy and also loaded with his hauls from various jobs. He’d sit in the window and play video games on his off days and just chill with Serenity for hours.

There was also a bar he’d frequent with his old fireteam (and sneakretly sometimes with Cayde) where they pretty much knew everyone who worked there by name. It’s the one place he never got kicked out of for causing a ruckus.

Favorite NPC(s):

Cayde and Wolf hung out a lot when either one of them had the time. These days, if he’s anywhere near the Tower, it’s only to see Amanda or Banshee.

He also likes to kick it with Devrim, Variks, and Failsafe. Osiris finds him frustrating at best, but he and Crow are kind of a package deal at this point.

Least favorite NPC(s):

He finds Rahool kind of dry and nerdy and has nothing but bad things to say about Hideo.

Favorite patrol location:

The EDZ. It’s more or less his home now and he knows every square inch of it by heart.

Least favorite patrol location:

Anywhere on Europa or the Moon. Europa he’ll at least go to without being dragged, if only just to say hi to Variks or Elsie and check up on how things are going, but after the Lunar Incident he won’t step foot on the Moon unless Eris requests him specifically.

5 things your Guardian likes:

Glimmer, babeyyyy!! Also food, bad jokes, going real fast, and springtime.

5 things your Guardian dislikes(this can be anything):

Handling trauma in a healthy way like normal person, having to be responsible for people, being told what to do, big open spaces, and waiting.

Your Guardian has to rest. What is their living space like:

Wolf can and will sleep just about anywhere and in pretty much any position. His old apartment in the City was destroyed during the war, and he just never went back, so now he knocks out in whatever place has enough cover or is out of the way enough he won’t be found.

Does your Guardian have any casual wear?:

Lots. He usually goes for a more urban style, so lots of huge hoodies, joggers, chunky sneakers, snapbacks, that kind of thing. He generally only wears armor when he’s actively working.

What hobbies and/or skills does you Guardian have:

Outside of Guardian stuff, he’s picked up a handful of skills over the years. He can rap and sing and figured out how to autotune his voice/mimic others, he’s pretty good at woodcarving and making little things out of scrap metal, and even if his designs are intentionally tacky he’s good at custom paint jobs for jumpships and Sparrows.

As for hobbies, that mostly consists of exploring. He’s got a lot of patrol areas memorized, and does a lot of urbex in places that aren’t very thoroughly mapped because he likes finding pre-Collapse artifacts and seeing places not very many others have. Mostly for selling.

He also does a lot of gambling, but whether or not he’s any good at it is arguable.

What would your Guardian's lore book be called:

Sixteen Wolves

Where was your Guardian reborn?:

Somewhere in the humid and shitty swamp that used to be Houston, Texas. It was tough going for a while, but they eventually traveled all the way to what would eventually be the City.

What were they wearing when they were reborn:

Rapidly disintegrating work gear from, presumably, some kind of security job.

What was their reaction to being reborn:

Confusion and alarm, but he warmed up to Serenity pretty quickly, so it wasn’t too bad after the initial shock.

What was their reaction to their first rez:

Very surprised until Serenity explained what had just happened. After that, all bets were off.

After being reborn, did they meet friendlies first or hostiles:

Like many, the first sentient form of life he met was hostile, but it wasn’t aliens. His first run-in with other people was a group of survivors who had a lot of mistrust regarding the Risen and he didn’t want to fight them, so he took off.

Who was the first other Guardian they met?:

He definitely doesn’t remember, but it probably wasn’t a pleasant encounter.

Did your Guardian get reborn with, or find, any indication of their past life? If so what do they have/found:

Exos get the luxury of at least knowing their name, but Wolf found his etched into a corner of his chest plate in cool letters. He didn’t remember anything from his past life beyond random glimpses if he dug hard enough, and nowadays those glimpses are pretty rare and extremely vague. There’s never any memory fragment that’s enough to really grab onto, so he tends not to bother with it.

How did your Guardian get their name(if they didn't rez with past life mementos):

Exo thing! He doesn’t remember if it was just some kind of moniker or part of his actual original human name, but Wolf sounds cool so he’s not worried about it.

Going back to your Guardian's lore book, what would be some quotes or passages from their book:

The Hunter dove for the ball and caught it, whipped it back across to his companion with a well-practiced flick of his wrist and tumbled. The Warlock caught it a bit more gracefully and without getting dirt on his clothes.

“Do you ever think about home?”

“What do you mean?”

The Warlock shrugged, tossing the ball back and forth between his palms. “Home. You know. Where you’re from. Your people, I mean. I think about the Dreaming City a lot. I don’t remember how it used to be, but... I like to think maybe I had family there once. Someone to miss me when I was gone. Dreadful to think of how it’s been destroyed...”

“Hm.” Wolf considered the question, then it was his turn to shrug. “Dunno. Guess we don’t really have one.”

“You must have something, Wolf. Exos had to come from somewhere. Everyone has a home.”

“Y’all might have a home. All we got’s a graveyard.”

Does your Guardian have a significant other:

He’s had a handful over the years. He’s still friends with Liz, not that anyone can tell because all they do is fuck with each other and cause trouble when they’re together. He and Amelia were a thing briefly but that one had to be called off to preserve their friendship because, even though they’ve known each other for decades and get along surprisingly well, they are very, very different people.

The last one was Cayde, and that didn’t end well for anyone. Cringe culture is dead, don’t @ me.

Did your Guardian go explore first before going to The Last City? If so, where to:

That was kinda the name of the game back then. The City was just a dinky little encampment and Wolf was on a completely different continent, so by the time he actually got there it was a dinky little town with not much to explore. He ended up breezing through a few times before anyone even really realized he was a Risen. The section of the wall he helped build is actually still there.

What was their reaction to first seeing The Last City:

A little bit surprised, honestly. He already knew there were a lot of little camps and small towns scattered around, but he hadn’t expected to find any that were that organized and so full of lightbearers and mortals, just working side by side.

Is your Guardian a part of a clan:

Yes! He’s part of the Exodus Family.

Does your Guardian's clan have a back story? If so, what is it?(if you want to or able to share):

Not much that I’m personally aware of, just cus my friends and I haven’t talked about it at length, but basically everyone is an Exo and having a fairytale/biblical theme is pretty common. Like. Puck is an obvious one. Wolf and Serenity are a little bit Little Red Riding Hood themed, only insomuch as Serenity having an affinity for red shells and Wolf thinking he’s all big and bad and tough.

(He’s not, he’s a baby.)

If your Guardian would have a quote as a flavor text for a weapon and/or piece of armor, what would they be:

I have a couple of these actually, all inspired by some really good quotes I’ve seen.

Wolf Moon’s Chase (Exotic) “Don’t look back. You’re not going that way.” A hand cannon with a wolf head grip and the Howlin’ Wolves perk; Successive precision kills gradually reload the clip and boost Super energy regen even if stowed. Missed shots have a chance to track enemies and explode.

Last Man Standing (Exotic) ”I was always taught that if you shoot for the Moon and miss, the vacuum of space will suck out your eyeballs. Failure is not an option. Go kill ‘em.” Chest armor with the Knock ‘Em Dead perk: Low health massively boosts damage, resilience, and mobility for a short amount of time.

Bad Blood (Legendary) ”The strength of the pack is the Wolf. The strength of the Wolf is the pack.” A Hunter’s cloak with the Vermilion Stripe down one side and a moon shattered into three pieces on the back.

If your Guardian has had any interactions with any civilians, Eliksni, Cabal, Vex, Hive, Taken, Scorn, Rogue Lightbearers, or Iron Lords/War Lords tell us about it!:

Wolf’s been around a while and he’s seen a lot of things, so let’s dig into this one.

He’s not as well known in the City except by name unless he’s wearing his wolf mask, but he drops in at the Farm pretty often and he’s on good terms with everyone there. He does a lot of supply runs for them and will stick around if they’re shorthanded to help with upkeep or defense if there’s a lot of hostile activity in the area. In general, he doesn’t interact a whole lot with mortals unless they’ve been out on the front lines like Devrim or Suraya. There’s way too much cultural and social disconnect there and he doesn’t have the patience or really even the language to try and explain to them that he, even as a Guardian and Old Light, is just as human as they are and while he may be immortal and have crazy cosmic superpowers given to him by a mysterious and sentient white spheroid, dying hurts and the trauma every Guardian walks around with just is not worth it.

Where Eliksni are concerned, he tends not to initiate fights with them. If they shoot first, all bets are off, but for the most part he has a lot of respect for what they’ve been through and can relate to feeling lost and completely adrift with no identity. He helps rebels on Europa either fight back against Salvation or escape to Earth to join the House of Light. He’s made a lot of friends that way.

Cabal he has a lot of respect for as well, for similar reasons. They lost their home to the Hive and are trying to survive in the best way they know how, even if he doesn’t agree with their politics. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen with Caiatl, but he’s trying to maintain hope that her empire and humanity will eventually reach an understanding. They’d be unstoppable as allies.

He doesn’t fuck with the Vex. Even before things came to light on Europa, even being near them made his brain itch and one of his biggest fears is being infected with some kind of Vex virus that’ll turn him into one of them and spread to other Exos or Ghosts, almost to the point he’d prefer to avoid them altogether.

He is terrified of the Hive. I’ve mentioned the Lunar Incident before, and the trauma of it caused such an intense meltdown that it forced a reset. Unless Eris Morn specifically asks him personally to go to the Moon for any reason, he doesn’t go anywhere near it. He can deal with them in other places like the Reef or on Earth, but the combination of Moon + Hive just scares him to death.

Taken and Scorn both are kind of a wobbly thing for him. He feels bad for what happened to them, but knowing that it can’t be reversed and that just killing them is a mercy makes it easier to deal with them. With Taken and anything relating to them, the spatial distortion they cause kind of overwhelms his processes if he’s dealing with it for too long and can make him feel a little sick, but that usually subsides once he’s gotten some distance. (Scorn are just... Oof. On the one hand, he kind of feels like they’re not too dissimilar to lightbearers just in that they were brought back from the dead and now won’t stay dead, but he always wonders if they’re suffering or if they even know where they are or what they’re doing. It’s just incredibly sad to see them like that, and the same goes for the Wrathborn.)

Rogue lightbearers? He kind of is one. He didn’t join the Vanguard until long after the City was established and before that he was just kind of doing his own thing being a thieving little shithead. It was Amelia who encouraged him to do it, and he’s shaped up a lot since then and become a lot more sympathetic toward other people. He still has that wild edge and always plays it fast and loose with the rules, more so than even most other Hunters, so he’s always butting heads with Zavala about that. In general, he doesn’t think much of them unless they’ve genuinely gone bad and are actively out there hunting and hurting other people.

Warlords/Iron Lords, uhhh. He was friends with a Warlord back in their day, but he didn’t pay them much mind outside of that. As far as he was concerned, if they stayed out of his way and he stayed out of theirs, everything was fine because other people’s problems weren’t his problem and he had no intention of getting tangled up with all that shit when he had a free pass to do all the petty crimes he wanted. He’s always thought the Iron Lords were stuffy and holier-than-thou, but he does kind of respect what they did back then and he might rip on Lord Saladin, but he understands his perspective on things. That kind of survival instinct and total victory or death philosophy, like... ya know. Wolf grew up in different times, too, and back then it was genuinely kill or be killed and you couldn’t trust anyone not to stab you in the back over scraps. He gets it. He may not always agree, but he gets it.

Does your Guardian have any unconventional allies or connections(By Vanguard standards):

Definitely. It didn’t start with Crow and Spider of course, but they’re a pretty good example. As a Hunter, he is connected. He knows a guy for everything you can think of and most of that knowledge is very under the table kind of shit. If the gains are good, he’ll partner up with just about anyone and his only hard limit is probably wholesale murder and not necessarily even because he isn’t comfortable with it. It’s a lot of mess, and a lot of potential to get his ass into really deep trouble he’d rather avoid.

He’s got a lot of Eliksni and Cabal buddies out in the system, most of whom he met in some makeshift prison or while trapped somewhere. More than once it’s been a situation of kidnapping where he just accidentally became friends with his captors.

One of his best friends for years was an Eliksni vandal out on the Tangled Shore, so he has absolutely no issue with having unconventional allies.

(Plus, like. With the system in total fucking chaos, you’re gonna need all the friends you can get. He’s dumb but he’s not stupid.)

How does your Guardian feel about themselves or others using Stasis:

Wolf has mixed feelings about Stasis. With Exos being pretty much literally born of Darkness, he has a natural affinity for it but being such a sensitive dude makes it very easy for the Darkness to manipulate him through. Any time he uses Stasis, he gets weird and a little bloodthirsty, so he tries to only use it when nothing else is working. He’s got a lot of willpower, but you can only hold out for so long when someone’s promising you salvation, peace, and power after the sort of life an Old Light has to deal with. Fear and trauma are very easy to appeal to when everything is looking increasingly more bleak all around you.

As far as other people using it, he’s still very “not my circus, not my clowns” about it. The only time he’d take issue is if someone was using it like legitimately trying to RTL someone he cares about.

Did they run The Last Wish raid? How did they react to seeing a live Ahamkara a.k.a Riven:

I’ve only done parts of it myself, but if he has met Riven he definitely almost short-circuited. I think anyone would if they met a supposedly extinct magic space dragon for the first time.

Did they run The Deep Stone Crypt raid? How did they react to the Crypt and seeing Exo Eliskni:

It was harrowing to say the least. Everything on Europa has been a nightmare, just from his own standpoint as an Exo. He goes through phases where he thinks that being one is the greatest thing ever because you’re faster, stronger, and tougher than anyone else, but at the same time, like. Look at what they have to deal with.

And all the secrets that came out as we learned more about Exoscience and Clovis Bray? Yikes, dude. Any time he’s not feeling cheeky or neutral about it, he just feels this weird sense of shame and guilt. Why would anyone want to be an Exo? Why would anyone willingly hand over their peace of mind and their security in their own identity like that? Most Exos don’t know who they were before, some don’t even know who they are now, and all because they got too close to the truth or their fundamentally unsustainable existence backfired again and they had to completely erase everything and start over.

Seeing Atraks was like watching a car crash knowing you wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it. All these people seeking that out, wanting to make themselves or their allies into Exos just to be top notch unstoppable war machines when they don’t even slightly understand what it’s really like to live inside a completely foreign body is something he just can’t wrap his head around. He tries not to think about it too hard.

Is your Guardian from D1? How did they react to seeing Taniks alive once again:

He has his own beef with Taniks, but like. If he kept being killed and revived in shittier and shittier conditions, he’d probably be really pissed off too.

Where did they go and what did they do during The Red War:

The Red War kind of spelled the end of him transiently living in the City proper. His apartment was in one of the residential areas that got leveled, and he just never went back once the dust settled.

He did what he could to help, but his main concern was just keeping Serenity safe. He’d never admit it out loud in mixed company but if it came to having to choose between her and a handful of mortals, he’d choose her every time. She’s been the one constant in his life since he was revived and he couldn’t imagine having to try and carry on without her.

It really brought home just how much abuse he could take before his body would quit on him, and he almost didn’t make it through the whole thing. He’s way too reckless now to survive long without his Ghost, but it brought them a whole lot closer together.

For the most part, he teamed up with other Hunters to scout for safe exits and round up survivors, and when the Vanguard left to take care of business he stayed to help keep his lil classmates on task. After that he stayed at the Farm for a while dealing with the whole self-repair and maintenance deal, and he spent a whole lot more time out in the field when it was over.

Here are some characters that are either polarizing or have created a strong enough mass emotion within the community. What opinion does your Guardian hold on each of them >>>

Osiris, First Warlock Vanguard, originally exiled:

Wolf likes Osiris. Anyone who’s reckless, stubborn, uncouth, and a little bit feral is always going to be someone that Wolf likes and wants to be friends with. They get along for the most part, but because focusing doesn’t even make the list of Wolf’s strong points, Osiris can get exasperated with him pretty quickly when they’re going over some kind of batshit strategy and Wolf is over there in his corner texting. Osiris has no idea how he’s survived this long and has definitely said as much to his face. Wolf isn’t so sure either.

Eris Morn, Bane of the Swarm:

He’s a bit intimidated by her. She was kind of the catalyst for one of the most traumatizing events of his life, so being around her now still makes him feel a little bit weird and very nervous. Despite that, he still respects and trusts her immensely and will always come if she needs him.

They’ve taken time since All That Mess to talk to each other and she’s incredibly remorseful over what happened, but Wolf doesn’t blame her for any of it.

She has a very unique perspective on the Darkness and the Hive what all of this shit means, and he generally will trust her word over someone else’s when the topic comes up. She’s got a lot of wisdom in that crazy head of hers and they have a bit of a shared experience when it comes to being trapped in a Hive nest.

Cayde-6, Sixth Hunter Vanguard:

Lemme roll out the simp wagon for this one, ahem.

Wolf adored Cayde. Before The Dare, he joined in on Cayde’s little crew every so often for jobs and over time they got to know each other about as well as anyone can know Cayde or Wolf, and Wolf ended up falling for him pretty hard between all the snarky banter and watching him in action. They did some casual messing around and I’m sure anyone with eyes could see how bad he had it, but he never got the gumption to really confess and never tried to actually pursue anything beyond casual fun.

Cayde’s death absolutely destroyed his entire world. He’s seen plenty of death and his fair share of RTLs, but none have hit him as hard as that one. He spent a little while just immobilized by grief until it morphed into anger because, honestly, I don’t think any Guardian handles loss very well, and he decided after the memorial service to hunt down Uldren regardless of the cost.

The whole thing caused a bit of a rift between himself and his old fireteam and the Spider got a few good laughs out of calling him ‘Killer’. He doesn’t remember a lot of it now due to his reset around Shadowkeep, but he still gets flashes, and he definitely still blames himself. If he could have gotten there just a few minutes sooner, he knows Cayde and Sundance could have survived.

Ikora Rey, Second Warlock Vanguard:

Mad respect for Ikora Rey, especially when she low key high key supported his revenge mission. She has a unique way of being shady about things that Wolf really likes, and they don’t have much in common but he’s enjoyed working with her any time he’s gotten the chance.

When he has things to report on that he knows Zavala won’t like, Wolf goes to her first since she knows best how to soften the blow, and when he has the forethought to even bother, he runs strategies by her to get input. She’s the best Crucible player in history and he kind of sees her as a Warlock that thinks like a Hunter in a lot of ways. In the absence of Cayde, she’s the Vanguard he answers to the quickest.

Commander Zavala, Second Titan Vanguard:

Wolf and Zavala have a tense relationship. They don’t agree on most things and any time you put them in the same room together it inevitably devolves into some kind of argument about the best course of action to take on anything. Wolf’s story has him kind of lined up to be promoted to Vanguard because of experience and technicalities on the Dare, and while it’s not entirely up to Zavala, he does have a lot of sway as the Vanguard Commander. Wolf could not be less interested in the seat if someone was holding a gun to his Ghost.

He’s intentionally unprofessional as hell any time he has to work with Zavala directly and tends to go out of his way to use very unconventional methods that he know Big Blue won’t approve of, because he’s a child. Being petty is the spice of life, and Wolf is still mad that Zavala forbid him from going after Uldren. That he does remember.

With all of that said though! He does respect Zavala. You wouldn’t know it, but he truly does. The guy has the weight of the entire Sol System on his shoulders and never once has he complained.

Saint-14, legendary Titan, First Titan Vanguard:

Wolf is very fond of Saint and Saint is probably one of the few people left who has a way of getting Wolf to slow down and just take it easy for a while. Before Wolf dipped out for good, he’d sometimes just track the guy down to spend time with him and listen to his various wisdoms.

These days, he still calls him up sometimes to shoot the shit and check in on things and he always asks Saint to tell the pigeons and the Colonel that he said hi.

Lord Saladin, Iron Banner handler, One of the last remaining Iron Lords:

Wolf clowns on Saladin a lot but he does understand his point of view when it comes to survival. I’ve mentioned it before, but Wolf “grew up” in the same time period and gets where the intensity and giving no quarter comes from, because back then it really was a life or death decision with way more immediate consequences. Table politics are kind of lost to him and the turning tide between humanity versus the Eliksni or the Cabal is calling for a more open and foreward-thinking willingness to take that risk in allying with them against a common enemy. Wolf’s a quicker learner though, and spending as much time as he has with both has taught him that, in a lot of ways, they’re just like us. They had their homes taken and destroyed, they’ve lost loved ones in droves, and they’re struggling to hang onto a thread in the only way they know how.

Wolf hopes that Lord Saladin will come around and let go of his dated worldviews, because the old ways aren’t what’s going to win wars anymore. Things are far, far bigger than us versus them now and Wolf has a feeling that humanity is gonna need more resolute leaders like Saladin to survive what’s coming.

Lord Shaxx, Crucible handler, Hero of Twilight Gap, living megaphone:

Don’t leave Shaxx and Wolf alone together unless you want complete and utter chaos to unfold. Any time they get together, they get rowdy, and no piece of furniture is safe from having one of them suplexed or dropkicked into it. Shaxx is kind of like a cool uncle to Wolf and they have been known to test new weapons on each other.

The Crow, New Light, Ex-Enforcer to The Spider:

Whoof. When Wolf first met Crow, he was absolutely gobsmacked. Of all the things running through his head, the biggest question he had was why. He almost shot Crow on sight, but he hesitated for some reason. It took a long time for Wolf to warm up to him and in that time he was uncharacteristically quiet and a little cold. Serenity managed to get him to keep his stupid mouth shut, and he’s glad he listened for once.

I think just spending all that time with him hunting Wrathborn, just being a team and really going through it together, was what brought Wolf closer to him. Learning about what Crow was dealing with in his personal life, everything he was going through just as a consequence of existing. Wolf opened up over time himself and once he worked through that big C6 obstacle, he found himself really endeared to both Crow and Glint.

These days, Wolf would probably consider Crow one of his best friends. He’s taught the kid a lot of old Hunter tricks and they hang out a lot, to Glint and Serenity’s immense relief. Crow is like the little brother he never had.

The Spider, The Shore's Only Law, founder of "House" Spider:

He may or may not have low key threatened Spider before he left the Tangled Shore with Crow. From day one, even as someone who is by default insufferably cheeky, the amount of disrespect. Ooh, bitch.

Spider calling him Killer (especially around Crow) got under his skin so fast, you would not even believe, and it was all Wolf could do not to leap across the room and strangle him to death any time they had to do deals.

As far as Wolf is concerned, if he never sees the Spider again, it’ll be too soon.

Uldren Sov, Prince of the Reef, Master of Crows:

Khhhh, hoo boy. The hate. The Frothing Hatred he had for this little man. Wolf had never in his life wanted someone dead as badly as he wanted Uldren Sov dead.

Being friends with Crow and his 16th reset has softened that a lot, and he’s learned a few things about Uldren that have made other things make a lot more since sense then, but. Yeesh.

Mara Sov, Queen of the Reef, Queen of the Awoken, Ex-Kell of Wolves:

Very mixed. He never dealt with her directly, but Wolf has a natural aversion to any form of leadership just by nature. That she cornered the House of Wolves into subservience doesn’t help, but on the other hand, if she hadn’t been at war with them, things would have turned out a lot different for humanity at Twilight Gap.

Variks, the Loyal, founder of House Judgement:

Speaking of shifty motherfuckers.

Wolf definitely likes Variks and his reset between Shadowkeep and now has conveniently erased the memory of knowing Variks had a hand in Cayde’s death.

He does what he can on Europa to help Variks get Salvation rebels to safety if they just want to get the fuck up out of there and is happy to do knife tricks for him when he asks. Variks has made a lot of questionable decisions, but it’s all been done for what he believes is the good of his people, and Wolf can respect that.

Mithrax, the Forsaken, Kell of Light, founder of House Light:

Hasn’t met him, but he’s heard... a lot. With Mithrax being the Kell of the House of Light, Wolf is hopeful it’ll be a good step in the right direction toward uniting humanity and Eliksni. He’s pretty sure they’re both doomed if they can’t at least fight alongside each other temporarily.

The Exo Stranger/Elizabeth "Elsie" Bray, Granddaughter of Clovis I and Sister to Ana Bray:

Wolf is incurably nosy, so he finds Elsie pretty frustrating. She’s full of secrets and never hangs around long enough to explain what the hell she’s talking about or what her end goal is, but she’s been invaluable on Europa. Once she finally opened up a little bit and started actually telling him important things, he found her a whole lot easier to get along with and it helped to have her around when he was discovering a lot of things on his own about where Exos came from.

Eramis, of House Salvation, Kell of Darkness:

He... gets where she was coming from, in a way. She was angry and desperate and that kind of thing is easy for the Darkness to take advantage of. He can’t rightly blame her for grabbing onto anything she thought might save her people, even though it’s ended in yet more trauma for them.

Eramis isn’t someone he’d go out of his way to try to be friends with if she was ever freed from Stasis, but he would hope she’d more or less see the Light and realize that her methods needed some serious rethinking.

Empress Caiatl of the Cabal Imperial Empire:

Wolf has a lot of respect for Caiatl. She watched her home burn down around her and has used that pain to fuel a cause he thinks is pretty noble. Humanity has been at war with the Cabal for a long time now, and both sides have suffered incredible losses because of it. He thinks that trying to mend that and join forces is a good idea, but for once he’s kind of with Zavala on something: They shouldn’t have to swear fealty or subservience to a foreign empire to have their support against a threat that’s coming for both.

He’s holding out hope that if they show their strength against her greatest warriors, she’ll understand that Guardians and humanity as a whole are more beneficial as equals, not cannon fodder. It only takes one Guardian to decimate an entire Cabal squad, after all.

The Darkness is fast approaching. How is your Guardian handling it:

He’s... handling it. It’s been getting harder in recent years to just not think about things which has been his entire motto since he was first revived. More and more he’s having to confront head-on the things that scare him the most, and there’s only so much running away you can do before you run straight into a corner and have to choose between extinction and fighting until you draw your last breath.

Wolf isn’t a pacifist by any means, but it’s just one of those things where he’s starting to realize his way of living just isn’t sustainable with the system in such chaos. The Hive used to be just another threat he had to deal with every so often, but now they’ve become the Big Bad that are outpacing even the Vex in terms of imminent destruction of several species all at once. His biggest hope right now is that humanity, Eliksni, and Cabal can all set their differences aside, at least long enough to try and put up a defense against the Hive and the Darkness. If they can’t, then... well, they won’t have to worry about it for very long, at least.

And finally, does your Guardian have any advice for any New Lights:

Be good. Be understanding. Tell the people you love that you love them every single chance you get, because you never know what could happen out there. Don’t treat everyone as your enemy, because you may find friends in strange places, and how you treat someone may be the difference between waking up dead and surviving to see morning, but most importantly; Don’t look back. You’re not going that way.

#w16 #i need a meta tag for all this stuff oogh #meta

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xtolovers · 3 years

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The Best Of Us

The Last of Us Joel/OC Rating:M

AO3

Joel and Ellie nearly die on their way back to Jackson, Wyoming. Traumatized, tired and with a tentative new bond between them, they move forward into a new, very different life. Luckily there are new friends to be found that are not easily deterred by their wounds and flaws. And there is a woman who likes to laugh, to get into other people's business and help and heal were she can. Maybe she can help heal their bond. Maybe she can move more. It has been long since either of them had a home.

Chapter 2: Nursing Suspicions

Something wet splashed in his face and washed the darkness away with it. Slowly he blinked his eyes open. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” The woman was kneeling above him, with a soft smile and a canteen in her hand, the pale purple sky above her. Passed out again, goddamnit. With a grunt he took her outstretched hand and together, they heaved him up to his feet. Relieved, Joel found that the world had stopped spinning. “Also kinda the land of the dead.” The woman— Liv, it came back to him— rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue up at the teen peeking over the edge down at him. “Very helpful Jesse. Maybe he’s got amnesia— is this how you wanna break it to him?” “He fell into mud Liv. ” “Men have forgotten more over less.” “ Or so they’ve told you.” She laughed, but quickly concealed it as an outraged gasp. “You just wait till I get up there and we’ll see how big you’re talking then.” “Well, come on up then.”

She turned to him then, but Joel looked around, half expecting Ellie ’s stretcher to lie on the ground, only to find it nowhere to be seen. A tap on his shoulder drew his attention to a branch and the tip of a sneaker, barely visible over the ridge. Apparently they’d managed to grab on before he blacked out. Liv nodded towards the spruce-ladder. “You ready? I’ll go behind you.” She looked confident in her assessment, but he was a good head taller, and a lot heavier than her. “Doubt you can catch me.” “No, but I’m soft. I’ll cushion the fall,” she said with a grin, and to his mortification, he could feel his cheeks warm. “Ah, there. A little color. Well, if you fall, I’ll have to climb down again anyhow, so I’ll just spare myself the trip. Now. Up you go.”

Happy to look at nothing for a minute, Joel followed her instruction and set about climbing out of the ditch. It was both easier and more difficult than he’d have thought; easier to traverse, but exhausting physically. Every muscle in his body was straining, his whole body felt heavy as lead. After the first three feet he nearly lost consciousness again, his left foot slipping from its hold, and he sliced his leg open on the cut-off branch. A round of curses erupted — not just from him — and he held on for a second, gathering himself. He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded his quiet acknowledgment that he was okay, before he slowly continued his way upward. Above him, both men had lain down at the edge of the ditch, reaching towards him, ready to help, and as soon as he got close enough, they grabbed onto him and nearly lifted him up just by themselves. With a mumbled thanks he hobbled over to Ellie and collapsed next to her, relieved to find her safe. He tried to untie her binds, and the kid next to him bent down to help as he saw Joel struggle — his fingers were weak and his skin chaffed raw from his efforts to climb the ditch throughout the last days. While they were working, Eugene bent down again and lifted Liv over the edge, clapping her shoulder good-naturedly afterwards, sending her staggering. The man was tall, broad-shouldered and clearly strong, his wild mane of greying curls the only thing making him look less threatening. “All right. Let me see your ankle real quick.” Liv wiped her hands on her jeans and knelt down at his feet. She made quick work of it, cleaning the wound with a rag and some water Jesse handed her, before she tied the rag around his leg to stem the bleeding. “Not too deep, but I’ll probably have to stitch it up later.” She stood and exhaled heavily before studying the sky. “Let’s take them up to the lodge, then we can make some food and clean up. See how we go from there.” Eugene nodded. “Sounds like a plan. You’re better riding with me, buddy. Can’t have you fall of the horse if you black out again.” He wanted to argue, but Liv declared that she’d take Ellie so she could keep an eye on her, and as much as Joel didn’t want anybody to split them up, he knew that they were right. He’d have to trust them— no help if he keeled over with both of them on the horse. “All right.” He accepted Eugene's hand and climbed up in front of him.

Liv carefully lead the way, trying to keep Apollo steady beneath her so the girl wouldn’t get shaken up too badly. She was burning up in her arms, the fever doing it’s best to burn off the infection, but without a proper exam, Liv was worried about her state. The last patrol that came through had been a week ago, and the rains had started after, but by the looks of them, they’d been down there for days. “ What ’s her name?” She glanced over her shoulder to Joel, who was watching her like a hawk. “Ellie.” His voice was still raspy from disuse. There was no doubt he was Tommy’s brother; they shared the same eyes and jaw, and while Liv hadn’t met him, Tommy had told her his brother had been at the plant back in autumn. What troubled her more was the haunted look the familiar eyes held— she was used to seeing traumatized people, their world made sure of that enough, but Joel looked like trauma on legs. His whole focus was on the girl in her arms, she could feel his eyes boring into her back, or rather, through her, always careful, always calculating, making sure they weren ’t harming her, although she could see him fighting it, trying to push down the impulses of survival. Maybe she should be more careful— there was something almost… feral about him, and she had seen the look that crossed his eyes when she suggested lifting the girl out of the pit, a look that calculated what leverage Liv could give him if he attacked her, should any harm come to the girl — but he was also barely standing, and she had Eugene and Jesse with her. She figured that as soon as they were safe and she could patch them up, he ’d relax, too. He was in survival mode, something she knew all too well. So she made sure to stay in sight, to keep him calm and move slowly. Jesse kept bickering with her, apparently picking up on her carefully kept ease and trying to help her, bless his heart. Eugene was silent for once, but didn’t look bothered at all. Then again, little ever bothered Eugene. About half an hour later, the roof of the ski lodge came into view over the tree tops. They hadn’t seen stragglers in weeks, but she’d rather be too careful than be surprised with two injured people under her care. On her sign, they dismounted, and she handed the girl to Joel, who looked almost ghostly pale. She tried to catch a look at his ankle, but as far as she could tell, there was at least no fresh blood. After she dismounted, she took her bow and arrows over and nodded to Jesse, who dutifully shouldered his rifle. “Well go and see if it’s clear, just to be safe. You stay here with them.” “Is this some kind of comment about my sneaking skills?” Eugene scoffed, but Liv saw the glint in his eyes. She patted his cheek as they moved past them. “So glad we understand each other, Eugene.” At her nod, Jesse and she left the path and sunk into the woods, deciding to approach from the side, where they wouldn’t be spotted as easily. Jesse stayed next to her, and she felt fondness well up for him. He was a good guy: responsible, level-headed, loyal to a fault. This was the fourth patrol she was doing with him— he’d just turned sixteen and had started his training with her out in the field.

For the last months, he’d been stationed to help her out at the Med Bay, and had impressed her thoroughly by never flinching or hesitating to wash, shave or massage body parts that weren’t his own, something most struggled with. All Jackson inhabitants landed as her apprentices now and then, so they’d learn something and Jackson wouldn’t be left without medical help should something happen to her, but most that came were either squeamish in general, or expected only to treat the most gruesome wounds, cut some flesh and set some bones, easily forgetting that most of her work still was nursing . Jesse however, despite clearly having goals to fulfill a different role in the community later, had taken on his duty with a grace that was uncommon for his age, and had been an immense help. That ’s why she was out here in the first place— everyone had patrol duty now and then, but Liv had made up some excuses about checking up on the first-aid stashes they kept at the outposts, opting to take Jesse with her as her current apprentice. This had the benefit of also counting as patrol training, effectively qualifying him to apply for group patrols after his service with her was over. Liv had the feeling he knew what she was doing, but neither had breached the subject. For her, it wasn’t necessary, Jesse, she was sure, didn’t want to say something, afraid that might make him look insecure. His carefully crafted grave maturity was important to him, in the hopes of securing the bigger responsibilities he craved. Liv, unable to try and be helpful, had almost pulled him aside when he first came under her tutelage, and told him to loosen up a bit, but she soon found that Jesse wasn’t uptight at all— unless there was responsibility to be carried, so she let him be. No, he was alright. As always, she didn’t have to tell him much. He was new to this, but not new to reading her body language and understanding what she wanted without many words, and he was a natural. Jesse wasn’t the first teen she’d taken along, but he was the best, and she was proud of how far he’d go. They stalked the perimeter of the building, just behind the tree line, but found no movement anywhere. On her sign, they rushed to the doors, and as he slid the doors slightly open, she peered in, bow drawn taunt. “Clear.” They slipped inside, and Liv exchanged her bow for the revolver that she’d stuck into the back of her jeans. They split up, methodically screening the side- and backrooms, before meeting up to check the hallway that went back out to the utility sheds and the old abandoned parking lot, but found nothing. Relieved, they dropped their cautious stance and made their way back through and down to the others. “You really think that’s Tommy’s brother?” She threw a glance at Jesse, but he seemed more curious than bothered. “Yeah. Tommy told me he already passed through a couple of months ago. Besides, they got the same eyes.” “If they were already here, why didn’t they stay?” “I don’t know.” Liv had asked Tommy the same, and he’d closed off and said they had something else to do. She knew Tommy well, and the way he’d evaded her had made her neck tingle. Still, if Tommy didn’t feel like disclosing it to her , Jesse didn ’t need to know more, even if it were only her guesses. “He said they still had some business to wrap up somewhere, but that they might come back after.” Which wasn’t entirely true. Tommy had said that Joel might return, and from the way he said it it sounded like it ’d be a couple of weeks at most. When winter came around, Liv felt like Tommy deflated a bit, and she’d theorized it had to do with his brother not returning. When she asked, he’d brushed her off again. At least Jesse seemed satisfied with the answer. “Seems like they’ve been through some stuff. You think his daughter will live?” She hesitated. “I can give a more confident answer about that in an hour.” The rest, she left unsaid. Liv knew that Joel’s daughter was dead; Tommy and she had often talked about Outbreak Day on their patrols, and she knew the story of how he saw his niece die that day, killed by a FEDRA soldier, and what it did to his brother. This girl was also too old to be another daughter; she had to be thirteen or fourteen, and Liv knew that Tommy and his brother had stuck together for a couple of years after the outbreak. If she were Joel’s, Tommy would’ve been there when she’d been born. She had no clue what was going on, but she was sure that she wouldn’t get any answers out of Tommy, or Joel for that matter. Especially not if I can ’t keep them alive. “Clear?” Eugene called up to them when they came into sight, and Liv simply waved her arm. Eugene helped Joel up on Apollo and set Ellie in his arms, before he mounted himself and led them up the hill. Liv and Jesse turned around and walked back towards the lodge. “Can you get a fire going and boil some water for me?” With a nod, Jesse jogged ahead to the far side of the cabin where they stored some firewood, while Liv went over to the bar and grabbed the key they’d hidden on a small ledge beneath it. With it, she went to open the back room they kept locked, were they had stashed medicine, bandages, drinkable water and some non-perishable food rations. Usually the patrols carried their own rations with them, and they always kept something “free” to grab that they left outside their locked stashes, so stragglers would have something to eat and grab, but each watch post had a hidden stash for the Jackson patrols in case anything happened. While she grabbed what she needed, she heard Eugene talk outside, and as she stepped out of the room, Joel was stumbling inside, carrying the girl. “Put her down over here.” Liv gestured to one of the two sprawling couches surrounding the two luxurious fireplaces that hung free from the ceiling, in one of which Jesse was just piling up firewood. She dumped all she’d taken on a table that she pulled over, sat her backpack down and pulled out the sandwiches she’d taken with her. Then she shoved both her canteen with the slim rest of water that was still in it and the food in Joel’s hands. “Drink this, slowly, and then eat a couple of small bites. Just one or two, slowly . I know you ’re hungry— “ he interrupted her with a nod. “I know, otherwise I’ll just throw up.” He gave a small sardonic smile and a light bow of his head. “Not my first time starving, I’m afraid.” Liv sighed. “ Didn’t think so, but you’d be surprised by how many people will still make themselves sick despite knowing better.” “Hunger will do that to you.” “Well, be smarter.” Satisfied by his dutiful unscrewing of the bottle, Liv turned her attention to her work. Jesse had successfully started a fire and she sent him to fill up three pots of water and set them to boil, when Eugene came over to them. He was carrying the blanket from his bedroll— they’d planned on staying the night— and spread it over Ellie, who was now laid out comfortably on the sofa, before he settled against the armrest near her head. “Signed us in.” “Thanks.” “Anything I can help?” “ We’ve got that basin in the back. Could you fill that up with some water from the brook? Just to clean up.” He nodded and lumbered out, and for a couple of minutes, they all worked silently. Liv prepared some bandages and the small bottle of iodine she kept for emergencies, to treat the girls arm. For the smaller and less dangerous wounds, she got out some cloves of fresh garlic that she kept in her pack and had Jesse peel, crush and boil them. “ Garlic is the best natural disinfectant we have, vinegar helps too. Witch hazel helps with healing, and cherry bark acts as a painkiller if you boil it,” she explained to Jesse, and after showing him each, added them to the garlic water, then set some of the bandages in to soak. Eugene had prepared the small tub, poured the boiling water in and chased down a relatively soft cloth. Under Joel’s watchful eye, she first cut open Ellie’s sleeve, then the improvised bandage. The cut was deep, that was easy to see, even though it had scabbed over completely. The angry, red, swollen skin surrounding it was a bad sign, but it could be worse.

“Could be better, could be worse. I can treat her here, for now, but I’ll be much more relaxed the sooner we get her to Jackson. If you two leave now and ride fast, you’ll be back by sundown. I’ll give you a list for Ellen of things to prepare for me, and some I need for the way. Get Tommy, get a truck, get someone to relieve us for patrol, and come here at first light.” As expected, both complained. “That’s too dangerous.” “You’re alone with two injured people, it’s too risky.” “I know what I’m doing. We haven’t seen anyone in months. We’ll barricade the doors, and Joel is exhausted, not incapacitated. I’m pretty sure he can still hold a gun if necessary.” Eugene looked at her, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. That’s what’s worrying me. “It’ll be fine. It’s a risk we’ll have to take.” Before they could complain again, Liv mustered her best Maria impression. “No discussion. You can disagree all you want, I’m afraid I’ll have to pull rank here. Now, go. You’re losing light.” Jesse was displeased, that was easy to see, but Eugene knew her long enough. He clapped him on the back and they both went to their horses. Jesse gave her his bedroll and both of them tried to give her their food. She took half of it and insisted they eat the rest. “We’ve got rations here, and they shouldn’t eat that much anyways right away. If the kid wakes up at all tonight.” She rubbed her face wearily and shooed them off. “Hurry, but don’t risk anything, okay?” “Barricade the doors and keep the lights low. Keep out the generator at night.” “I will, but we need a fire.”

“We can see the lodge from the east gate, right?” Jesse asked. “I’ll stay up and take watch there with someone through the night. If you’re in trouble, flash the lights or give us a visual, and we’ll come and get you.”

“Someone like Dina, maybe?” Eugene asked as they mounted their horses, making Jesse blush quite a sensational shade of red and sending him mumbling. Trying his best to keep his dignity, he kicked his horse into a trot and started away from them. Eugene chuckled before he sobered up and pointed at her. “Be careful.” She gave him a mock-salute and he rolled his eyes before he turned to catch up with Jesse. When he caught up, both kicked their horses into a gallop, quickly vanishing around the corner. With an uneasy sigh, she grabbed Apollo by the reigns and led him inside the entry hallway. Let ’s do this.

#the last of us #JoelxOC #joel miller #tlou #tlou2 #the best of us #tlou fic #writing

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lieraburaaisuh · 4 years

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Truth and Valor [Star Wars Fanfic]

Synopsis:

While on a backwater planet for a job Drogan Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri finds himself in a bizarre situation. After saving a kid from a group of humanoids who'd ganged up on him, he comes to find that the boy has no recollection of anything; even his own name. With no way to know who he is or where he comes from the only thing he can do is keep the boy close until he can remember who he is

The strange things that happen around the boy and his odd insights are only a coincidence. At least that's what Drogan tells himself. Otherwise he'd have to acknowledge that he may have bitten off more than he can chew when he decided to take the boy in.

Warnings: Assassination and death, cursing, trauma/brain injury, and memory loss.

Note: This is the First Story, Part 1 of The Ties That Bind series. All 8 chapters, 20.7k words, plus artwork!

Chapter 1

Laying on his front with a Verpine sniper rifle tucked against his shoulder he followed the first target, finger against the trigger. Taking a slow and easy breath he let it out slowly. Between one heart beat and the next the first body was falling. With the efficiency of long practice he switched targets and dropped the second target before the first even hit the ground. Shuffling away from the edge of the cliff he stood and slung the rifle across his back. Pulling out a small probe droid he tossed it into the air and sent it to take holopics of the deceased as proof of their termination.

Heading back to his ship he dropped into the pilot’s seat and pulled out the datapad connected to the droid. Checking that the targets were easy to identify by their holopics he crossed them off his list and recalled the droid. So far the job hadn’t been too difficult. Normally a couple of politicians and nobles dropping dead would have had someone up his aft by now. Lucky for him there was already a civil war brewing on this dirtball of a planet.

Once the droid was back on board he took off and headed for the last, and most difficult, target. Rumour placed the male Twi’lek out in some old bunker hidden in the rocky canyons outside the largest city. If the intel was right he could be off the planet and heading back to pick up his credits within a day.

Setting the ship down just inside the edge of the treeline he locked down the controls, a handy trick he’d picked up from his sister’s husband, and did a quick once over of his rifle. After a quick meal he walked out into the windy crevices made of crumbling dirt and stone. His cloak threatened to strangle him as the wind whipped it about but he refused to leave it behind. It was far too useful.

Coming closer to the location of the bunker his plan was immediately derailed by the sounds of fighting. Taking a knee he brought up the rifle and peered through the scope. The entire area looked like an insect colony that had been kicked. Keeping low he crept closer to the ledge of the canyon to get a better look. Movement off to his left had him dropping to his stomach and crawling the rest of the way forward. “Shab.” ‘Fuck.’ He cursed under his breath.

Below him a group of six humanoids surrounded a child. Kid couldn’t have been older than ten. Blood covered one side of their face and soaked into the left side of their simple shirt. The kid had no weapons and yet they fought tooth and nail. Standing defiant in the face of greater numbers, their attackers all older and much larger. He watched them stagger and knew their strength was fading.

Glancing toward the bunker then back to the kid he growled. Memories of his three nephews and one niece’s smiling faces flashed through his mind and he knew he couldn’t just leave the kid. Mind made up he reached back and grabbed a stun grenade from his belt. Priming it he chucked it behind the group and turned away to brace himself. Screams of confusion and pain were his cue to move.

Hauling himself up he pulled up his rifle and shot two of them in the chest. Slinging it over his back he jumped down. Sliding along the rocks he switched to his pistol and shot the remaining four. Standing with gun in hand he made sure they were all dead before he holstered his weapon. Anyone that ganged up on a wounded kid didn’t deserve his mercy.

Turning to the kid in question he showed his weapon free hands and spoke gently. “Hey there, kid. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” The child, a boy by the looks of it, stared at the bodies around him. His left eye was closed, either due to injury or because of the blood, while his right eye was a deep green. He looked back at the bounty hunter and took a couple steps forward before he started to fall. Moving fast he caught the kid before he hit the dirt. “Talyc haran!” ‘Bloody hell!’

With a sigh he laid the kid out on the ground nearby and searched the bodies for anything useful. There was nothing that would lead him to the target and he wasn’t enough of a sha’buir to steal from the dead. Picking the kid back up he slung him over his shoulder and started back toward the ship. With an unconscious kid and the area full of enemies his plans were effectively screwed. He’d have to lay low and wait for things to calm down before taking out his target.

He had to dodge a patrol or two on the way back and shot one of the searchers when they practically landed on him from above, but the journey back was otherwise uneventful. Once he was up the ramp and the door sealed behind him he heaved a sigh.

Laying the kid out on one of the bunks he fetched the med kit. The gash on his head wasn’t too bad but it looked like he’d lost quite a bit of blood. For the next standard hour or so he checked over the kid for any other less obvious injuries, cleaning and tending to any he found. Now that he had a better chance to look him over he thought the kid might be a little older than ten. He looked pretty small either way. Beneath the dirt and blood his hair was a surprisingly bright blonde, almost silvery in color. His skin was milky white, at least the places that weren’t burnt by the harsh sun. When he was finished he tucked the kid in and headed to the cockpit to relocate the ship. Even if no one had come knocking he didn’t want to push his luck.

Kicking back at the small table in the back of the ship he pulled apart his rifle and gave it a thorough cleaning. With the kid still unconscious he decided a shower and some caf was in order.

After four hours he decided he might as well rest. If the kid woke up while he was sleeping he trusted that he could overpower him in the event the kid ended up being hostile. Though he highly doubted it.

When the kid didn’t wake up after ten hours he began to grow concerned. The boy was still alive, he had a pulse and didn’t seem to be having any trouble breathing, but he just wouldn’t wake up. He was loathe to give the kid any stimulants in case he was allergic to something. After fifteen hours he wondered if he should find a local doctor. By twenty hours he grabbed his kit and was preparing to go find a doctor, even if it left his ship undefended. Checking on him one last time he noticed the boy stirring and let out a relieved sigh. ‘Thank the stars.’ He thought to himself as he helped the boy sit up and drink some water.

Seeing his eyes properly for the first time he sucked in a breath. The right eye, the one he’d seen earlier, was a vibrant green. While the left was a deep, icy, blue. He’d never seen someone with two different eye colors before. It was unsettling. Like two people staring back at him. The boy lifted his hand and probed the wound on his head, hissing and cringing in pain. “Woah, careful. I found you in a pretty bad way earlier.” The boy frowned at him slightly, looking confused. “What were you doing out here?”

He tried to keep his voice as gentle as he could, speaking to the boy as if he were family. The boy slowly shook his head. “I don’t… know.”

“Alright then. How about a name? I’m Drogan, what about you?” The child sat there for a moment before he grimaced in confusion.

“I… I don’t…” Eyes wide the kid looked up at him in confusion and fear. “My name… what is it? Why don’t I… who am I?” Panic set in and his breathing grew frantic as he clenched the blankets with one hand and reached up to his head with the other.

“Udesii ad’ika, udesii.” ‘Calm down, kiddo, take it easy.’ Sitting on the edge of the bunk he reached over and rubbed a hand on the kid’s back. “Calm down, kid. Deep breaths. You’re okay.” The boy seemed to respond to the firm commands well, taking a long, slow, breath. It took nearly ten minutes for the boy to finally calm down. They both devolved into an awkward silence. Neither sure what to say or do.

“Alright, here’s what I’m going to do. I need to go into town to grab a few things. I want you to stay here. The fresher is over there if you need it but I want you to stay in bed as much as possible. I won’t be long.” He stood and picked up his helmet from the table nearby, slipping it over his head. “Are you hungry at all?” The boy shook his head slowly and lay back down, watching him with those bright eyes. It was a far cry from his sister’s boisterous children.

“I’ll be back soon. Maybe by then you’ll remember your name and can tell it to me.” The boy frowned, looking away. Drogan sighed and headed to the nearby hatch. This situation was a little more complicated than he had planned for. Looks like he’d be finding a doctor after all.

‘Well, it could be worse.’ He flinched the moment he thought it. “Shabla di’kut!” ‘Fucking idiot!’ He cursed himself. He wasn’t the most superstitious man but he just knew something was going to go horribly wrong. It was only a matter of time now.

Chapter 2

Standing behind the doctor as the woman looked over the boy’s injuries Drogan tried his best not to hover. Behind his helmet his eyes followed her carefully as she worked, one of his hands placed idly near his blaster just in case. The planet was experiencing civil unrest and was in the midst of war. Anyone and everyone was his enemy here. Especially after the string of assassinations he’d performed.

Stepping away from the boy the doctor gave him a look and he motioned for her to precede him down the ladder, away from the child. Once they were alone she eyed him carefully for a moment before speaking. “What kind of dangerous situation did you put that child in?” Her voice was low but her tone was clearly agitated.

“I didn’t.” Was his firm reply. “I found the kid being ganged up on. He was already bleeding and staggering on his feet when I saved him.” The doctor looked skeptical for a moment before she decided to accept his words as truth.

“The blow to his head has caused some damage. His motor skills, speech center, and ability to gain new memories is unaffected. But anything he knew before is gone. It could be temporary or permanent. It would be best to take him back to where he came from. Familiar surroundings might prompt his memories to return.” Drogan scowled. If he knew where the kid had come from he’d have taken him home already.

“Thanks for your help.” He tossed her the credits he owed and walked her off his ship. Once she’d taken off back toward town he closed the hatch and slipped his helmet off. To a scared kid who hadn’t been raised Mandalorian he was sure the helmet would be intimidating. Clipping it to his belt he went back to the kid and saw him picking at the threads of the blanket, looking dejected. He grimaced, unsure what to do. He had a job to finish but he didn’t want to bring the kid into a dangerous situation. If he somehow ended up dying then the kid would be truly alone.

Deciding to let the kid have a moment to himself Drogan went to the cockpit, sat in the pilot’s chair, and rubbed at his forehead. He was starting to get a headache.

Going over all the information he had he decided it would be best to get the job out of the way as quickly as possible and leave the planet. He could decide what to do from there.

“Sir?” Jumping he grabbed his blaster and turned toward the wide eyed stare of the boy. Relaxing he released his weapon and ran a hand through his short brown hair.

“Careful, kid. I could have shot you.” It was a bad idea to startle a Mandalorian when he was in enemy territory. The boy was lucky he was trained to look before pulling the trigger.

“I’m sorry, sir...” The boy looked sheepish and apologetic as he shuffled on his feet. Drogan studied him for a moment. There was no way he could have missed the boy coming into the room. Even with the door open the plating on the floor would have made some noise. The ship was pretty old.

“What is it?” He finally asked. The child looked back up at him.

“I’m hungry.” He spoke as if he was embarrassed, as if he didn’t want to bother the man who’d saved him with something as inconvenient as hunger. It was endearing as hell.

“Alright kid, I’ll grab you something.” According to the doctor the kid was human so he could eat pretty much anything Drogan had on hand. He’d have to watch out for any allergies. The kid wouldn’t be able to warn him if he had any.

“Thank you sir!” Was the cheerful reply. Standing he reached toward the boy and ruffled his hair. It was a habit from home, when he interacted with his nephews. He never did it to his niece, she would kick him where it hurt if he did. The boy’s reaction was a bit odd in his opinion. From the corner of his eye he saw the kid reach up and touch his head, radiating confusion. As if he wasn’t used to being touched.

Pulling out some haashun he let it soak while he grabbed some of the fruit he’d bought from the locals. They’d assured him it was edible for humans and seeing as they were human themselves he’d taken them at their word. Once the bread was at the right consistency he called out to the child. “Ad’ika! Come on down here.” The table was large enough for two so he set out the food and waited for the kid.

The boy entered the large open space and looked around curiously before noticing him in the corner and scampering over to sit down. Drogan served the boy first and then himself. The boy thanked him politely before he started nibbling on the bread, looking unconcerned with eating food he may not have ever eaten before.

Taking a bite of the fruit he grimaced. The boy must have noticed because he looked between the fruit and his face. “It’s not bad. Just very sweet.” The boy nodded and took a bite, a look of delight on his face at the soft texture and sweet juice.

For a time the only sounds were the two of them eating. But as time wore on the child kept looking like he wanted to say something. Drogan almost rolled his eyes. “Ask.” He finally said, to the boy’s apparent surprise.

“You called me… ad’ika. Is that… a name?” Oh. Well he hadn’t been expecting that. He didn’t even realize he’d slipped back into Mando’a.

“It’s my native language. It means child or boy.” The look of disappointment on his face made Drogan feel terrible. The kid looked so lost.

“Tell you what. Why don’t I come up with a name for you? Until you remember your own.” He received a bright smile in response. The kid sure was pleased by simple things. Then again if he didn’t remember anything he probably didn’t have any preferences at the moment. He didn’t even know what skills the boy had.

Well there was a thought. He had been so worried about leaving the kid on his own while he went off to do his job but he didn’t even know if the kid was actually defenseless or not. It looked like he had been able to keep those adults at bay, or at the very least outrun them until he’d been cornered. For all he knew the kid could already be half trained and not know it.

Once he’d cleared the table of their meal he motioned for the kid to follow him into the port side cargo hold. It was set up as a training area. “I want to see if your body remembers how to fight.” The kid looked both nervous and excited. At least it was a reaction he was used to. His nephews reacted much the same.

Showing him how to throw a punch he watched the boy copy him. His form was fluid and stance solid. He nodded in approval. “Now a kick.” The child obliged, seeming surprised at how easy it was for him to do. The doctor had been right. His memories might be gone but his body remembered the years of training he’d received. From who or where, Drogan wasn’t sure yet.

Getting the kid into the rhythm of the fight he sped up, using only simple punches, blocks, and kicks. With all of his concentration on Drogan the boy didn’t even seem to notice what his body was doing. It was entirely reactionary and defensive. Good enough.

“Alright, stop.” The kid stepped back and bowed suddenly before he froze. They shared a confused look as the boy straightened.

“I… uh…” He waved the boy’s concern away, the strange behavior didn’t matter at the moment.

“How are you feeling?” The child blinked at him before a thoughtful look came over him.

“A little sore, my head still hurts a little, and I feel dirty.” Drogan realized the kid hadn’t had a real shower yet and felt a bit sheepish himself, though his expression didn’t change.

“Alright, you go wash up. I have some clothes for you to change into when you’re done.” The boy smiled at him and followed him when he headed back toward the cockpit. Drogan heard the sound of the fresher door opening and closing. Sitting in his favourite chair he started going over what he knew of the boy.

‘He’s human, well trained, obeys orders with no fuss, is very polite, and walks lightly on his feet.’ Someone spent a lot of time and effort in raising the boy, that was for sure. Whoever they were, they were probably dead. He doubted someone who cared about the boy would have let him wander around a dangerous area like that without them. The clothes he’d been wearing were very basic and made of a cheaper material. At the most the boy was the son of a wealthy farmer or poor merchant. But that didn’t really explain his training. What farmer or merchant knew that much hand to hand combat? Maybe the kid was from off world…

In any case the kid was under his protection for the moment. He could always search for information later.

He heard the door to the fresher open and turned around to look down the passageway. The boy looked much better than he had earlier. With his hair clean he could now tell that it was an almost perfect white. It came to just below his ears except for a long piece behind his left ear that fell past the shoulder. Looking at the loose strands Drogan got a strange feeling in his gut but he quickly pushed it away.

“The clothes are on the bunk.” The boy nodded and disappeared inside the other room, taking his time.

Drogan stretched, cracking his neck as he did so. What he needed was a good sleep and to plan his next move. He still had one more target to assassinate before he could leave, otherwise he wouldn’t be getting any of the credits. That had been the deal. It was all or nothing.

Getting up he walked down the passageway and stopped at the door to the single bunk. He leaned in and spied the kid immediately. “Hey, why don’t you come back down with me and we’ll find you your own room.” The ship itself was a highly customized PB-950 Patrol Boat. The space that had once been used for conferences was split into two rooms. Drogan’s personal bunk and his fresher. The only reason the kid had been allowed up on the control deck was because he had been unconscious and then because he had no idea if letting him move around too much was a good idea. Now that he knew the kid was mostly okay he’d be moving to the main deck.

The boy followed him back downstairs and stood with him in the lounge area. “There’s six rooms down here and you can pick any of them you like.” He pointed toward the doors that lead to each. The boy looked back up the ladder, a slight pout crossing his lips.

“Why can’t I stay up there?” Stars, was he at the mulish and questioning age already?

“Because that is my room. You aren’t allowed on the control deck without me present or my express permission.” The boy grudgingly nodded and turned toward the closest room. Opening the door he peered into the large cabin before stepping inside. Drogan waited by the ladder, leaning against it as he watched the kid explore.

In the end he chose the larger cabin on the port side, the one closest to the galley. As he settled in Drogan looked at the practically empty room and frowned. The kid had nothing on him when he found him. Not even a weapon. It made him feel bad for the boy. Heading to one of the storage rooms he rummaged around for the box he knew was in there. It wasn’t often his sister’s kids came on board but he still had toys for them just in case. Finding the container he hauled it into the bedroom and set it down on the floor.

“Here. Take whatever you like. When I have more time we can go looking for more things for you.” The boy hesitated before coming over and opening the lid. Inside was a set of old Mandalorian action figures, they had been passed down from his grandfather. Each had a different dangerous beast from various planets to hunt. There were a few three-dimensional puzzle games and toy blasters as well. The boy looked at the toys and settled on one of the more complex puzzles and a few of the Mando’ade figurines. By coincidence he picked the exact three figures that Drogan had always loved when he was a kid. The boy looked at them, then at him, then set them on the desk beside his new bed.

“Thank you.” He said, looking a little more at ease in the large room.

“You’re welcome.” They stood there awkwardly in the silence until Drogan cleared his throat.

“I have to go plan out what’s going to happen next. Are you alright in here? I have some holobooks you can read if you like.” When the kid agreed he fetched the few books he had and set them down on the desk for the boy to read.

“I’ll let you know if I have to leave for work.” The boy’s hand paused as he reached for one of the faintly glowing crystalline boards, face turned upward in a silent question.

“I’m a bounty hunter.” The words didn’t seem to mean anything to the boy as he shrugged his shoulders in response. Drogan grumbled under his breath. “Someone pays me money to find other sentients that don’t want to be found, for one reason or another.” Apparently it made sense to the kid as his eyes lit up and he nodded in understanding. Drogan gave him a slightly forced smile as he headed back up to the control deck.

Falling into his chair he put his feet up and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the monitors. Why didn’t he just tell the kid the whole truth? He was a gun for hire, an assassin. He had far more kills under his belt than live captures. It felt almost wrong to keep it from the boy but at the same time he didn’t know if being in the presence of someone who killed for a living would scare the kid or not. He’d have to learn the truth eventually…

‘Stars, what have I gotten myself into?’

Chapter 3

Waking with a start as something touched his shoulder Drogan shifted his body further back on his bunk and grabbed the knife from his waist in the same movement. As the light snapped on and his eyes adjusted he saw white hair and two bright eyes watching him. With a curse he shoved the knife back into its sheath and let his body relax. The kid needed a damn bell, he was far too quiet. “What is it?” He croaked, still not quite awake.

“He’s dead.” The words that came out of the child’s mouth made him freeze.

“Who?” The boy shook his head, looking distressed and close to tears.

“I d-don’t know. Th-there was a man… in my dream. His hair was black? He wore clothes like mine. I think… he was yelling? There was a flash of light and then he was just… dead.” Looking the boy over carefully he could see the poor kid was trembling from head to toe. Sliding forward he motioned for the kid to sit next to him. Instantly he had a child plastered to his side, gripping onto his shirt and sobbing. At first he was unsure what to do but after a moment of hesitation he placed a hand on the kid’s head and gently stroked his hair. It was something he’d seen his sister do whenever her kids were frightened or hurt.

It took a while to calm the boy down but no matter what question Drogan asked the answer was always “I don’t know.” It could have just been a nightmare but something told him it wasn’t as simple as that. It was vague but had enough detail that it painted a pretty bleak picture. The kid was absolutely certain that the man he’d seen was dead. Drogan could only assume it was a relative, and that the kid now had one less family member in the world.

“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.” He said gently. The boy looked up at him with red rimmed eyes and Drogan realized the boy would have no idea what that meant.

“It’s Mando’a. It means; they are not gone, merely marching far away.” He thought for a moment about how to explain a concept he’d grown up with to someone who had never heard of it before. “Mando’ade, the people of Mandalore, believe that the dead never truly leave us. As long as we remember them, they are always with us in spirit. It doesn’t make it hurt any less that they are dead, but it helps to know they are never truly gone as so as we keep a piece of them with us.”

The boy was silent while he spoke and scrunched up his face as if he was in pain when he finished. “B-but I don’t remember him.” Well… he wasn’t really wrong. He sighed.

“But you did. You still have your memories, ad’ika. They are just locked away. Whether you remember everything or not you still know that there was someone. As long as you know there was a someone you can hold on to them.” He couldn’t promise the child that he’d regain his memories, the doctor said that he may never get them back. He didn’t want to give the boy false hope.

“That’s true. I guess I know a little more now than I did yesterday.” That was… surprisingly mature for a kid in his situation. The boy was like an open book. Everything he said was just so straight forward and true.

“Haati.” The word escaped him before he could really think about it. But once it was said aloud he felt it was right. The boy looked up at him, disgruntled with the amount of words he didn’t know. Drogan chuckled. “Haat is the Mando’a word for truth. I think Haati would suit you as a name.”

Once the words finally registered the boy beamed at him. “Thank you!” The boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “My name is Haati.” He said, as if to reassure himself.

He huffed and ruffled the boy’s- Haati’s hair. He was glad the kid had calmed down and the nightmare didn’t seem to be bothering him anymore. A yawn tore through him and he heard the boy snicker. Glancing over at the chrono he groaned.

“Can we go back to sleep now?” The boy blushed and nodded, but seemed to hesitate to get up from the bed. With a long suffering sigh Drogan got up and grabbed another blanket from storage. “Go to sleep, ad’ika. I’ll hit the lights.” Haati climbed into the bed and under the blanket. When the kid was well situated he turned off the light and stretched out on the floor. Luckily he’d had the room carpeted a while back when he’d converted the space, so he wasn’t laying on cold hard metal.

“Jate ca, Haati.” ‘Goodnight, Haati.’ He mumbled as he started to drift off.

“Jate ca… buir.” ‘Goodnight... father.’ Drogan could have sworn the child said something as he wavered on the edge of sleep, but in the end he let it go.

[***]

Waking up to a stiff back he sat up and stretched. Popping sounds filled the room as his spine settled back into place. Getting up off the floor he looked toward the bed and found it empty. The blanket was tucked in and the pillow placed just so, as if someone had taken the time to fix it. At least the kid was tidy and cleaned up after himself.

After a quick trip to the fresher he slid down the ladder and headed toward the galley, yawning along the way. What he really needed was a cup of caf.

“Oh, good morning! I was going to wake you, but you still looked tired.” Waving at the kid he shuffled over to a cupboard and pulled out some instant caf. He turned to find that the boy had already boiled some water and raised an eyebrow at him. Haati smiled shyly. “I wanted some tea.” Drogan just shrugged and filled his cup. He wasn’t really a talker when he first woke up.

Sitting at the table he was surprised when the boy set a plate down in front of him. Looking at it he could tell it was well cooked and looked perfectly edible, if a bit bland. Taking a bite of what he assumed were eggs he found it pleasant enough. “Tastes good, vor’e.” The boy stood there staring at him for a moment until Drogan’s sleep addled brain caught up with him. “Vor’e, means thanks.” The kid didn’t seem bothered by his curt answer as he nodded before turning to grab his own breakfast. Without another word he sat at the table across from him and began to eat.

They ate in companionable silence. Every once in a while, when the boy seemed distracted, Drogan would study the child across from him. He was a bit of a contradiction. Truthful, skilled, and mature, but also emotionally stilted and unsure. He acted like he had no confidence one moment, as if lost, then did something unexpectedly well the next. He’d probably be confused by the kid for a while until he either got his memories back or made enough new ones that his personality stabilized. It was going to be interesting to watch him grow and change, to say the least.

When he was finished eating he put the dishes in the sink and gave them a quick wash before putting them away. It was an old habit, something he did without thinking.

Turning around he looked at the kid and crossed his arms, uncertain of what to say. It had been almost three days since he’d aborted his first attempt at assassinating his last target. He needed to do some reconnaissance and find out if his target was still hiding in that bunker or if he’d moved shop. But what to do with the boy? He knew the kid could defend himself but he didn’t have a weapon. Could he even shoot a blaster?

“When you’re done meet me in the training room. It’s in the port side cargo bay. You’ll find it easily enough.” He left once the boy acknowledged the order.

Grabbing some of the smaller blasters he owned, ones that could easily be slipped into a belt or boot, he checked to make sure they were in working order and set up a couple of targets. It didn’t take long for the boy to join him.

“Sir?” Turning he held out one of the blasters to the boy.

“I’m going to teach you how to shoot, or remind you if you’ve forgotten that you knew.” He grimaced at how odd that sounded but the boy didn’t seem to notice. He picked up the blaster as if it might bite him, eyeing it like he might a dangerous animal. Drogan chuckled.

“It’s not going to hurt you, ad’ika.” Standing slightly behind him and off to the left he changed the position of the boy’s hands on the weapon and tightened his hold, making the child grip the weapon firmly. “You want to make sure you hold it properly. This is not a toy. It is a weapon. Make sure you show it proper respect. It is a tool that can kill as easily as it saves. Understand?” Two differently colored eyes went slightly unfocused for a moment and the boy remained silent.

“Haati?” He asked quietly, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He gasped and shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “You okay ad’ika?”

“I just… that sounded so… like I’ve heard it before.” He glanced up at Drogan and the man squeezed his shoulder gently in reassurance.

“Then whoever told it to you was a good teacher.” So he may have been trained in firearms after all. For a moment he wondered if the boy might have been raised by a Mandalorian. But he discarded the thought as quickly as it appeared. If the boy had been raised by a Mando’ad then he wouldn’t be so confused by Mando’a. After all he spoke perfect Basic with no issues.

“See the targets I’ve set up? I want to see if you can hit them. Go ahead and fire whenever you’re ready. But if I say stop, you stop immediately.” He left no room for argument. He meant what he said. While he didn’t want to scare the boy he had to ensure he would be obeyed.

Standing back he watched the boy as he aimed the blaster at the closest target. Shifting one foot back slightly he turned his body. ‘He’s making himself less of a target and stabilizing his aim.’ With a couple of slow breaths Haati seemed to relax into the stance and fired a shot. Even with the more sophisticated blasters there was a slight recoil. The kid didn’t seem surprised or phased by this. Just took aim at a farther target and took a shot.

When he’d hit each target, except the farthest one, the boy lowered the blaster, taking his finger from the trigger and aiming it at the deck. “Kandosii! Very well done. It looks like you have some training after all.” The boy stared at the gun in his hand, a conflicted look on his face.

“It doesn’t feel right.” He muttered.

“What doesn’t feel right?”

“The blaster. The weight feels all wrong.” That gave him pause. Maybe the kid was used to larger guns with a longer range. He’d have to experiment with that later.

“I don’t care if it feels strange. From now on I want you to keep that on or near you at all times. I won’t always be here to save you if someone attacks. You need to be able to protect yourself.” It was harsh, he knew. But if it kept the boy safe and alive he’d take off the kid gloves in an instant.

“…yes sir.” Haati looked disgruntled but he didn’t disagree with him. It was a start.

Once he’d grabbed the kid a holster for the blaster and shown him how to put it on and take it off he let the kid go back to his room to play for a bit while he tried to call some of his contacts. He needed more information on the bunker his target was hiding out in. Or if the guy was scheduled to be somewhere in the near future.

By the time he was finished checking his contacts and cross checking information it was getting late in the evening. He’d completely forgot about eating a mid-day meal. Oh well. Hopefully the kid grabbed himself something.

Down on the bottom deck he wandered into the kitchen and looked over the supplies. He wondered if he should ask Haati to help him pick out something to eat, since the kid could clearly cook. Walking to the kid’s room he saw that the door was left open and could hear the boy talking out loud. He slowed and leaned against the wall, listening in.

“…I want to be, but I’m scared. What if he doesn’t come back?” That didn’t sound like someone talking to themselves. Who was the kid talking to? “Okay, it’s his ship so he has to come back. But what if he… dies? I don’t want to be alone!” The boy paused then sighed. “Okay, Dral.”

‘Dral? Who the hell is Dral?’ Coming around the door he saw Haati sitting on the floor, cross legged with his back to the bed. In his hands was one of the action figures, the other two were on the floor in front of him. “Haati.” He called softly, trying not to startle the kid. He failed. The boy jumped slightly and looked up at him with big eyes.

“Y-yes sir?” He sighed.

“My name is Drogan. I don’t mind if you use it.” The child flushed slightly. “Who were you talking to?” The child was pretty honest so he suspected he’d blurt out the truth when asked.

“Dral.” He held up the dark blue action figure, looking embarrassed.

“Dral? You named him?” The boy was puzzled and shook his head. Written on the sole of the boot was the name Dral. It was then that Drogan remembered the action figure had once belonged to his father. Now it made sense. One of them should have his own name on the sole of the boot. Each action figure had been bought by the father and given to the son when they were a young child. Starting with his great, great, grandfather. His sister’s boys had their own at home but Drogan had inherited the toys for his own children, whenever he got around to having them.

“Dral is my father’s name. Dral’cabur. That was his when he was a boy.” Haati looked at the action figure and smiled.

“What about this one?” He held up the dark brown action figure with white stripes down the left side of the helmet and continuing down the chest plates.

“Dha’kal, my grandfather.” He said as he crouched down. Picking up the green action figure he grinned. “And this one was mine.” Haati smiled.

‘I’ll need to get him his own. I wonder what color its armor will be…’ He blinked and looked away from the boy, frowning to himself. Haati was not his child. He felt responsible for him because he’d saved him but the child probably still had a home somewhere.

Getting up he motioned behind him. “I was thinking about dinner. Want to help me pick something out?” The boy put the action figures back on the table and happily followed him into the galley.

Chapter 4

Drogan woke feeling surprisingly well rested. But then it was probably the first full nights rest he’d had in the last week. The new morning routine he and his guest had fallen into was pretty simple. Get up, get cleaned and dressed, then head to the galley for breakfast. Afterward he’d drill Haati in hand to hand combat and target practice with his blaster. The boy was quite studious and absorbed everything like a sponge, even if he still looked uncomfortable every time a blaster was placed into his hands.

At mid-day they’d take a break to have a meal together before Haati went back to his room to read and play with the action figures. Drogan would use that time to check his contacts for any new information until dinner. When Haati would come into the galley and help him cook their evening meal. They’d sit and chat about simple things, like the earlier training or anything that the boy was reading. He had a lot of questions and each day became asked more of them as he became more settled and confidant. The lad was even picking up some Mando’a through osmosis alone it seemed.

Today, though, would be different. For the first time since he’d stumbled upon the boy his last target would be outside the bunker. Apparently the male was supposed to be making a speech to rouse his supporters, and wouldn’t let a ‘threat to his person’ deter him. Drogan wasn’t sure what this ‘threat’ might have been, it certainly wasn’t him, but he was glad the male wasn’t going to let it stop him. It would be much easier to kill him if he was in the middle of a speech than it would be to bust into the bunker on his own.

In full armor he sat at the table checking over his rifle. It was much earlier than their usual start time so he was a bit surprised to see Haati come into the galley. The lad was rubbing at his eyes and looking at him curiously. “Jate vaar’tur, Haati.” ‘Good morning, Haati.’ He said with a nod, his hands still working even as his attention was diverted. His father had taught him from a young age how to check and clean his weapons blindfolded and under fire. There was no way he was going to make a mistake just because he was a little distracted.

“Jate vaar’tur… Drogan.” He hid his smile as he turned back to his favored weapon. It had taken the better part of a week for him to convince the lad to call him by name, rather than ‘sir.’ There was a little hesitation there and he couldn’t help feeling like the lad wanted to call him something else, but he ignored it for the moment.

“What are you doing?” Haati asked as he slid onto the chair next to him, rubbing his sleep filled eyes.

“Checking over my kit to make sure it all works before I head out.” The lad froze so completely that it was almost disconcerting. Before he could ask he seemed to sink into the seat suddenly.

“Where are you going?” Drogan looked at the lad and swore Haati was almost pouting in concern.

“To do my job, ad’ika. No need to worry, I won’t be gone more than half the day.” He reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair with a small smile. “Less if everything goes well.” The boy blushed faintly at the affection he was being shown, glancing away as if embarrassed. Drogan supposed he was at that age. The age where boys still craved affection and attention from male relatives but wished not to be treated as children any longer. He chuckled.

“Feel free to go back to bed. I’ve already eaten breakfast in preparation for my departure.” Even as he said that he knew the lad wouldn’t go. There was a stubborn look around his eyes and the way he sat that told Drogan the boy would not go back to sleep. No. He would probably spend his time anxiously waiting for him to return. He wished there was a way to reassure him that he wouldn’t just disappear, that he would be coming back. But he knew nothing he said would be enough.

Though the boy didn’t know it Drogan had already made arrangements if he didn’t return to the ship. In three days if he did not return the ship was programmed to send out a pre-recorded message to his sister back home. There would also be a message for Haati, letting him know that he had a home waiting for him for the time being. Until the boy decided what he wanted to do with his life. If he wanted to find his own family or not. It was a grim thought, but Mando’ad were always prepared for death.

“Walk me out?” The boy hopped off the chair as Drogan stood and slipped his rifle onto his back. They walked together in silence, Haati’s lips quirked down slightly and eyebrows knit in worry. Stopping by the hatch he knelt and put his hand on the lad’s shoulder.

“Listen to me, Haat’ika.” The new term of address seemed to snap the boy out of whatever poor thoughts he was currently having as he looked up, curious. “I can’t promise you that I won’t get hurt because I know I can’t keep it. But… I will return to you. So long as I am able I will return to you. Do you understand?” Haati’s eyes searched his own, as if trying to read his mind, or perhaps the depth of his sincerity. Eventually he gave a stern nod in response, eyes alight with hope and understanding. “Good lad.”

Standing he slipped on his helmet and hit the door release. Once he was outside he waved at Haati and motioned for the boy to close the hatch before he turned and started the long walk to his target.

The streets of the town were full to bursting. If anyone was looking for a spectacle held by the leaders of the rebel faction in this civil war- they need look no further. Different species of all types and people of all walks of life mingled together, excitedly talking about the speech about to be given. Drogan didn’t care. His only thoughts were on completing the job and going home to his… guest.

He wondered if he’d find the boy on the command deck in his room, sitting there with his action figures. Back when he was a child Drogan would do the same thing when he thought his father would be returning soon. He would sit on his parent’s bed with his toys and play until his mother needed him for something or his sister pulled him away. That lasted until he was old enough to start going on jobs with his old man.

Finding a tall building at the edge of town that was easy to access, if one had the means, he waited until there was a suitable distraction and slipped inside. The town was small and seemed to be the kind of community that trusted each other. He didn’t find it difficult at all to get to the top floor and out onto the roof. Although he’d had to go through a window and climb the rest of the way up. Settling down on his stomach he found a comfortable position and pressed the gun into his shoulder gently.

It was maybe a standard hour later that the male he had been looking for finally came out onto the wide stage, waving to his audience like some sort of celebrity. Looking through his scope he followed the man carefully, waiting for the perfect shot. From the probe droid he’d left near the stage earlier he could hear the Twi’lek’s speech. Drogan didn’t care about the political landscape of this backwater planet. At one point he almost rolled his eyes but strict training helped him resist the urge.

About a third way into his speech the guards, who were probably getting bored, finally began to relax. It was the perfect time to focus and finish the job. Reaching for the trigger he took a slow breath and let it out just as slowly. Falling into that calm place that gave him the most clarity he felt his heartbeat slow and time seemed to stand still. Until the Twi’lek pulled something out of his shirt and raised it above his head. “…even a Jedi could not stop us!” Drogan pulled his finger away from the trigger as he jerked in surprise.

“Tal bal range!” ‘Blood and ashes!’ It was a common curse in his family, and used only in the most shocking of circumstances. His mouth went dry and he had to forcibly calm himself. The Jedi might have been at odds with the Mado’ade but he had no desire to be on the planet when they inevitably appeared. It was a warning his father had given him a long time ago, and it had always stuck with him.

"Never take a contract for a Jedi. They like to pretend they don't want revenge, but then they send out a squad to hunt you down. If a jedi attacks you first, that's self defense. But never, never, hunt them first." Killing a jedi, while considered a feat to be proud of, still carried a lot of risk behind it. He had a kid to look after and if the Jedi spotted him they sure as shit would assume he had something to do with the death of their cohort.

Focusing back on the brainless idiot who had brought all this trouble down on his own head, Drogan fell back into his almost meditative focus. Finally, with no other distractions, he pulled the trigger. The man fell to the sound of panicked screaming. The probe droid hastily took the picture as he recalled it.

It was time to leave.

Drogan wasn’t even sure how he’d returned to the ship. Only that he had fled the town as if a devil was on his heels.

The moment he was inside the ship he locked the hatch and ripped his helmet off. Clipping it to his belt he hurried to the command deck and strode purposefully into the cockpit. On the way he passed Haati, who was where he had guessed the lad would be. Sitting cross legged on Drogan’s bed with a holobook and one of the action figures.

The boy had obviously noticed his return and scrambled to follow him into the cockpit, looking worried.

“Sit down and buckle up, ad’ika.” He motioned to the co-pilot seat as he spoke, fingers dancing across the controls as he made the proper pre-flight checks. Without a word Haati did as he was told, looking anxious and confused.

“Wh-what happened?” Drogan’s face pinched and his hands paused. He turned to look at the boy and let out a sigh.

“I finished my job but we’re in danger here.” He shook his head and his hands started to move again. “So we can’t stay on this planet anymore…” A lump in his throat made him pause. ‘We? What am I saying?’

“What danger?” He thought he heard something rattling and glanced behind him toward the ladder, wary of anything abnormal.

There was only one word to describe the kind of danger they were in. “Jedi.” The boy looked puzzled. Of course he wouldn’t know what Jedi were. Even if he’d heard of them before his memories were gone. “They don’t like Mando’ad like me. But…” He felt a heavy weight in his chest. The boy was so earnest, he didn’t want to lie.

“But they’d be able to find your family much easier than I can. If anyone could do it, the Jedi from Coruscant could.” Hazel eyes met and held two differently colored ones. If the boy wanted, Drogan would leave him there to seek help from the Jedi. People who may be able to do far more good for him. The moment seemed to drag onward in silence.

Leaning over Haati reached out hesitantly before grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt, shaking his head. “I want to stay with you. Please.” It was a half whispered plea and it tore at his heart. The boy looked scared, as if Drogan would try to get rid of him somehow. As if he would be abandoned.

“Then you stay, ad’ika. I promise you I will never leave you behind. You have a home here with me. Haat, ijaa, haa’it.” ‘Truth, honor, vision.’ His words were spoken with such strength and conviction that for once the boy didn’t need to ask what the words meant. He could feel the weight of them in the air. Letting him go Haati gave him a bright smile and settled into the seat, content.

“Alright.” He said, clearing his throat. “We’re taking off now. Ready for your first trip to the stars?” A roguish grin spread across his face as he looked to the lad. An excited mischievous smile matched his grin for intensity and he chuckled.

Feeling more lighthearted than he had in a long while Drogan took the ship into the air and set off toward home.

Chapter 5

Coming out of hyperspace above Rorak 4 he looked down at the planet below with a grimace. He knew that if he wanted his credits he had to report to his employer in person. All part of the contract. But from his experience he didn’t trust a single sentient on the entire planet. Slavers, smugglers, crime lords. If he hadn’t needed the credits he would have bypassed the planet entirely and ignored the contract.

Glancing over at Haati he wasn’t surprised to see the boy’s face light up with awe and delight. Whether the boy had seen a planet from this high up or not was a moot point, because he certainly wouldn’t have remembered it. For a moment Drogan wondered what it would be like to see everything again with fresh eyes like that. Then he thought about the trade off and decided he never wanted to experience amnesia. Forgetting about his family, Mandalore, and the Resol’nare which he had wholeheartedly sworn to? It would be a fate worse than death.

“It’s so beautiful.” He heard the boy whisper and sighed.

“Yeah, from up here.” He grumbled. “Haati…” The slight hesitance in his voice must have tipped the kid off to his mood as the look of delight fled his face instantly. They had spent a lot of time together the past week and a half, and Drogan was beginning to notice some interesting personality traits that were slowly becoming more apparent the more time that passed. Like the boy’s almost solemn calm whenever faced with something challenging.

“I know you have a hard time remembering anything from your past. But this planet isn’t like most other worlds.” The slightly concerned yet curious look aimed his way wasn’t helping his conscience any. “There are a lot of… terrible people down there.” He hated to simplify something like this. He knew Haati was intelligent but he was so… naive and trusting. At least around him. He wasn’t sure how the kid would react to other people honestly. He’d been okay with the female doctor that had checked over his wounds but that was one person in a closed environment with a protective presence nearby. This would be so much worse.

“This isn’t… where you live?” The boy asked, biting his lip and fidgeting in his seat.

“No, this planet is where my current employer lives. I need to stop by and see him before I can get paid for my work. Once that’s done I’ll be taking us straight to Mandalore.”

The boy gave him a small smile, going from concerned to almost shy. “I can’t wait to see Mandalore.” The excitement and nervousness was there and it made Drogan smile. Reaching over he ruffled the boy’s hair, which earned him a small giggle.

“Alright. Back on topic.” He sent a request to the planet for permission to land. “Because I don’t trust anyone on this planet I want you to come with me when I meet my employer.” There was a look of excitement in those two colored eyes and he wanted to groan. “It will be dangerous. Very dangerous.” Turning completely to look down at the boy he put on as stern a face as he could, which would have terrified most sentients. Haati just fell quiet, listening intently. “If I give you an order I expect it to be obeyed. You will stick close to me at all times and not speak to anyone without my say so. Do you understand?” Two different eyes looked down for a moment, as if truly thinking about his words, before they flicked up once again in understanding.

“Yes Drogan. I won’t leave your side, I won’t talk to anyone you don’t say it’s okay to, and I will obey any and all orders.” A proud smile crossed his face unbidden.

“Good lad. Now get ready because we’ll be landing soon.”

The planet was exactly how he remembered it. Full of the worst kinds of sentients imaginable. All scurrying around pretending to mind their own business while greedily coveting what others had. With his helmet on, fully armored, and weapons on display there weren’t many who openly watched him. One quick glance and the majority of the crowd moved out of his way. Mandalorians had a reputation for a reason. Back on the ship he was a protective and kind guardian, not wanting to scare the boy now in his care. But the moment he stepped foot onto the planet he fell into the role of heartless mercenary as easily as breathing. Just like his father had taught him and his father’s father before him.

Walking just off his left and a little behind, Haati gaped openly at all the tall buildings with their flashing signs and strange architecture. This was one of the most affluent districts on the planet, where the wealthy crime lords came to relax and do business at their leisure. Of course, that didn’t mean it was any more safe than the rest of the festering pit of a planet. To his credit the boy never strayed from his side, sticking as close as he could without tripping up his protector.

Stopping at an intersection to check the information he’d been given, making sure they were going in the right direction, Drogan noticed a couple of thugs nearby staring at him intently. No. Not him… They were staring at Haati. Watching the boy with a look that left Drogan feeling sickened and enraged. Glancing down at the boy he tried to see what it was they were so interested in and cursed when it finally hit him. The boy only had the one outfit, simple backwater merchant’s clothes, since they’d had to leave the planet quickly. Unlike Drogan the boy had no armor to wear and thus nothing to hide his features. A human child with milky skin, hair like fresh fallen snow, and heterochromatic eyes. To a slaver he was a rare and exotic find, a slave that could be sold for an exorbitant amount. Even if he was male Drogan knew there was a market for that sort of thing.

The very thought made a tight knot of his stomach and a burning anger build in his chest. For a moment he had to seriously fight down the urge to kill the thugs for even looking in their direction. It would certainly put everyone on notice that the boy was under his protection and that he was not to be messed with. But when he thought of how it would effect the boy he stayed his hand.

“Haati.” He snapped, making the boy jump slightly and tense at his tone, focus solely on Drogan. “Don’t stray.” He ground out between clenched teeth.

“Yes, Drogan.” He muttered, looking chastised and a little confused. It was obvious the boy hadn’t noticed just how much attention he was attracting. It was the main reason he wished he could have left the boy back at the ship. Haati just didn’t know enough about the galaxy yet to watch out for himself. But if someone found their way onto the ship Drogan wasn’t sure if the kid could handle himself alone. It was a choice between two unpredictable situations, and he’d chosen the one where he could keep an eye on the kid. Just in case.

Shifting subtly he turned his head so his visor was pointed in the direction of the thugs and placed a hand on his blaster. It was the only warning they would get. If they tried anything their lives would be forfeit. He had no mercy to spare for stupid outsiders.

Turning down the right street he kept his eyes peeled for any followers. You could never be too careful. Paranoia had saved his ass more times than he could count. Beside him Haati kept pace, even as he looked around in naive awe. He would have worried about the boy keeping up if he hadn't been sparring with him the past week. The kid had excellent stamina and endurance for his age. Now all he needed was to get him some proper armor and- he sighed to himself, putting an end to that line of thought.

Thoughts like those had been coming more frequently the longer the boy stayed with him. If he kept thinking of the child as his own then he would never be able to give him back to his real family. Some part of him wondered, would that be so bad? If he took he boy in and raised him from this point onward. He could just claim him right now and it would be a done deal. Adoption was a simple ritual in his culture, though the responsibility he would be taking on would be immense. ‘But it wouldn’t be fair to the kid.’ He concluded.

Bringing all of his focus back to the task at hand he stopped in front of the high class nightclub and checked his information one final time. “This is the place. Stick close, speak to no one unless I say you can, and if anything happens don’t hesitate to blast your way out.” Haati shuffled, hand touching the handle of the blaster at his hip as he grimaced. Honestly Drogan still had no idea why the boy had such an aversion to blasters. Then again, he had mentioned flashes of light and someone dying as his earliest memory, hadn’t he?

“Let’s go.” Taking a deep breath and letting it out again he stepped up to the doors and shoved them forcefully open. A bit dramatic, but he had an image to project.

Striding inside with purpose he immediately realized he should have kept Haati back on the Chaab’kalar. Everywhere he looked there was some depraved activity or another going on. The air was thick with the scent of acrid smoke and sickly sweet alcohol. Females of different species danced sensually on stages to hypnotic music, wearing nearly nothing at all. Nearby patrons of all kinds lost themselves to the oblivion of expensive designer drugs, calling out raunchy suggestions to the dancers.

To his credit the boy barely glanced around, splitting his attention between the floor in front of him and Drogan beside him. He wondered if the kid had really good situational awareness or if he’d have to teach him how to ignore anything that wasn’t an immediate threat so he could look around without being distracted.

Without faltering he walked past the host like it was the most normal thing in the galaxy, head high and shoulders back. He only stopped when the man called for security, after Drogan ignored his initial attempts to stop them. Turning he spoke to the man in an even voice, purposefully letting a little annoyance color his words. “I’m here on business. Tell Lurdoon that the Mandalorian he hired is here to see him.” The host stuttered and eyed him warily, looking up at his expressionless helmet. Visibly swallowing whatever it was he wanted to say the man seemed to rethink calling security on him, probably worried about losing them. Finally he waved over a female Twi’lek.

“I’ll have someone alert Mr. Lurdoon of your arrival. Sitara will show you the way to the vip lounge.” Without another word he turned to the Twi’lek, who was doing a good job of not looking intimidated by his presence. The fake smile on her face was the only indication of her discomfort as she politely invited them to follow her to the back of the club.

Haati stuck even closer to his side and for that he was grateful. Out in the street he had a far better chance of protecting the boy than he did in a scummy nightclub owned by a Hutt crime lord.

Entering the back room he had to push aside his disgust at the sight of his employer. Lurdoon wasn’t much different from any other Hutt he’d seen before. Revolting, greedy, depraved, with no morals or honor. The giant slug lay across a dais covered in luxurious pillows, surrounded by female slaves that fed him and spritzed his body with something Drogan didn’t care to know about. Fortunately there weren’t any dancing girls in this room, although he was certain that the fat creature enjoyed that sort of thing.

The Twi’lek that led them into the room sashayed forward and delicately prostrated herself before the Hutt, waiting until she was called on to speak. Standing she motioned toward the two of them, but only introduced Drogan as a visitor. She didn’t spare Haati even a glance and after a second or two of agitation he realized that everyone assumed the boy was his slave. For a moment his mouth went dry and he felt almost dizzy with disgust. His right hand clenched, glove creaking from the strain, and he felt the urge to hit something. If they thought he was the same kind of scum as Lurdoon they had another thing coming!

A small hand sliding into his own and gently squeezing it stilled him immediately. Glancing down at Haati he could tell the child was frightened. Of course he was. Even if he’d ever been in a place like this, which Drogan doubted, this experience would be new to him without his memories. Thinking back to the first time he’d seen a Hutt in person Drogan could understand how intimidating they could be. Letting the tension leave him he took a few breaths and let them out as calmly as he could. He needed to keep his temper in check, if only for the boy. Giving Haati’s hand a reassuring squeeze he released it. He would need both free if he had to draw weapons.

“Ah, Mandalorian! You return. With good news, I presume?” Stepping forward he gave the Hutt a curt nod, a basic courtesy. Unlike his slaves Drogan would not bow in deference to the fat slug. This sentient might be his current employer but he was owed nothing, especially respect. Only his professionalism and his concern for the boy behind him kept Drogan level headed.

“I have the proof you wanted.” Handing the datapad over to one of the Twi’lek slaves he stood back and waited as Lurdoon was shown the pictures of the now deceased targets. It didn’t take long for him to be handed back the datapad, the Hutt finding the proof sufficient enough.

“The credits are being sent to your account now. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mandalorian. I know who to call the next time I need a reliable… employee.” The Hutt let out a rumbling chuckle that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The very thought of working for the crime lord again made his skin crawl. But he had an image to keep.

“If you have another job for me in the future, you know how to contact me.” Turning on his heel he started back towards the door, glad this was almost over and that they would be off the planet in a matter of hours. He was almost out the door when the Hutt called out to him, making him freeze in his tracks.

“Mandalorian. I see you have a guest with you who was not present the last time.”

Grinding his teeth he turned back toward the slimy crime lord. “What of it?” He asked tersely.

“Only an observation. I have never seen such a unique human before.” Biting the inside of his cheek for a moment he counted to five to keep himself calm.

Switching to Huttese, he didn’t want Haati figuring out what they were talking about after all, he let some of his anger fill his words. “He is not for sale! He’s- he’s my son.” He closed his eyes for a moment, cursing himself. When he opened his eyes again he could see the surprise on the Hutt’s face, his pupils blown wide. For a moment Drogan wondered if he’d only increased the creature’s interest in the boy. But after a moment of silence the Hutt waved him off.

“I see. That is… unfortunate. I hope I have not offended.” Drogan’s eyes narrowed at the blatant disrespect but he refused to speak to the Hutt again.

“Ad’ika, shekemir’ni!” ‘Boy, follow me!’ He winced inwardly when Haati stiffened and looked up at him in surprise. Honestly he hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, or fall back into Mando’a. He only hoped the boy would follow his lead. If he tried to take back the words in front of the Hutt it could ruin the credibility of his previous statement.

“Elek, buir.” ‘Yes, father.’ Haati replied. The words that came out of the boy’s mouth almost made him falter as he stalked out into the main hall. While he had taught the boy the words for yes and no in Mando’a he had never mentioned the word buir, the word for parent, not wanting to color the way the boy perceived him.

‘Where did he learn the word for father?’ He was absolutely certain he’d never mentioned that word even once. Going over every interaction he’d had with the boy as they left the nightclub he wondered if the holobooks he’d given him had anything on them that might explain it. He’d have to check when they returned to the ship.

Back out onto the street he tried to let himself relax but couldn’t help he feeling that they were being watched. If it was one of Lurdoon’s goons he was going to send them back to the slimy outsider in pieces. Mandalorians were well known for many reasons, chief among them being their legendary tempers.

“Is… is everything okay?” Letting those thoughts sit in the back of his mind he looked down at the platinum blonde beside him and smiled. The boy’s concerned look deepened and Drogan remembered that he was wearing his helmet. Haati couldn’t see his expression.

“Everything’s fine, Haat’ika. We’re done here. Once we get back to the ship we can get off this planet and head home.” Relieved the boy smiled brightly at him with excitement. Drogan chuckled. The kid was certainly eager to see his home planet and meet his family… shit. What was he going to tell his family?

Leading the way back to the ship he checked his accounts and was relieved to see the credits had already gone through. The amount was nothing to sneeze at and would keep them going for quite a while. If he budgeted it correctly he could buy Haati some new clothes. Maybe even a blaster of his choice. Though that could probably wait. Neither of them could figure out why nothing felt properly weighted to him. It was like he was used to a weapon that weighed practically nothing at all. He’d think the kid wasn’t used to any weapon whatsoever but it was clear he knew how to handle them and how to shoot straight.

Coming into a busy intersection they were nearly swarmed by the crowd before everyone seemed to recognize the armor he was wearing and got the hell out of his way. Turning to Haati he was about to offer his hand to the boy so he wouldn’t get lost when something slammed into him; hard. It was only his years of training and experience that saved him from landing on his face as he tucked and rolled with the force of the blow. Crouched he glared up at the male Rodian as he reached for his blaster.

“Drogan!” Head snapping to the side he saw a brawny human male haul Haati over his shoulder and start running. Snarling he jumped to his feet to give chase but the Rodian started shooting at him. Dodging to the right he closed the distance between them. Using his blaster in this crowd would do him no favors. Instead he pulled the knife from his belt and slammed it into the Rodian’s neck before twisting it viciously. Ignoring the body he sheathed the knife and ran in the direction he’d seen the kidnapper go.

With Haati struggling and making a racket the crowd that had been between him and his boy scattered. Running full tilt he raised his left arm, planted his feet, and launched the whipcord from his vambrace the moment he was in range. The fibercord whip wrapped around the man’s neck and Drogan took vicious pleasure in hauling back as hard as he could. The man’s feet went out from under him and he made an aborted choking sound as he dropped Haati, desperately trying to untangle the cord around his neck.

Now that Haati was relatively safe Drogan stalked forward, like an enraged predator. Pulling out his blaster he shot the man twice in the chest before he untangled the cord and hit the retract button on his vambrace. Turning to Haati he crouched and reached out to examine him. “You okay?” There must have been something about his voice that pulled the kid out of his shock. His shoulders relaxed and he winced as he got up. Drogan would have stood as well but Haati threw himself against his chest, wrapping his arms around his neck with a frightened sob.

“Shh, ad’ika. Udesii. You’re okay now.” Rather than let him go and force him to walk back to the ship while he was openly crying, Drogan picked the boy up and held him. No one said anything to him as he left the bodies of the kidnappers cooling in the middle of the street.

He was on high alert the entire walk back to the ship but nothing came of it. The moment they were inside he locked the door and went straight to Haati’s room. He set the boy down on his bed and took off his helmet. “Hey, Haat’ika. You stay here for now. I’m going to get the ship moving.” Reaching out with his hand he finally noticed the Rodian’s blood on his gauntlet. With a grimace he pulled his hand away, much to the boy’s confusion.

“When I get back I’ll make you something hot to drink and we’ll just relax for a bit. Alright?” The boy stared at him for a moment then nodded obediently. “Okay… okay. If you want to take a nap it’s fine I’ll wake you up in a bit.” It was harder than it should have been to leave the boy there in his room, face still splotchy from crying. But Drogan wanted them far away from this place as soon as physically possible.

Once they were back in hyperspace Drogan finally let himself relax and took off most of his armor. It needed to be cleaned anyway. Heading downstairs he went into the galley and made the boy a spiced tea that he always kept a stock of. It was nice after being out in the rain, snow, or if he just wanted to relax. He was fairly certain there were some medicinal herbs in it but he’d never thought to ask before.

Going into Haati’s room he knocked lightly on the wall, since the boy had never closed the door. The overhead light was off but the small light built into the bed was on. He found the kid curled up, eyes closed. “Haat’ika, I have your tea.” He set it down on the side table as the boy slowly sat up. There was a searching look in his eyes that made Drogan wince. He was only thankful it was currently curious and not accusatory.

“I think… we need to talk.” Sitting on the edge of the bed he waited for Haati to grab his drink and get comfortable before he started speaking. “I told you that it was my job to find people who don’t want to be found. That I was a bounty hunter.” The boy nodded. “While I didn’t lie, I wasn’t telling the whole truth either. I also do work as a mercenary.” Haati gave him a slightly unamused look and he snorted, smiling before his expression dimmed. “A mercenary will do anything for money, or almost anything. I have my own set of rules I follow when it comes to taking a job.” No kidnapping or killing kids was high on that list. Along with helping slavers hunt down more innocent people to exploit.

“On the planet where I found you it was my job to kill some of the leaders on either side of the civil war.” He looked down at his calloused hands. “You don’t get to be as skilled as I am by training on your own. It takes real world experience. Mandalorians are a culture of warriors. We’re well known throughout the galaxy as being cold-blooded murderers.” It was why so many people feared him the moment they saw him.

A small hand reached out and grabbed his hand. Looking over at Haati he could see the boy’s eyes, bright even in the dim light. “I think I… already knew that…” He frowned. “I remembered a couple days ago what happened before I fainted. How you saved me by killing the people trying to hurt me.” Drogan sucked in a breath, not daring to speak or even breathe. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. You wouldn’t have saved me if you were bad. You wouldn’t give me toys and books and teach me to defend myself.” Haati gave him a bright smile. “I have amnesia, I’m not stupid.” That unexpected comment pulled a laugh from him.

“I see your point, ad’ika.” He continued to chuckle.

“Besides, why would I be scared of you?” Maybe he should give the boy some more credit, he was smarter than he thought. “You said I was your son. I really don’t think you’d hurt your own son.” All the air left his lungs and he openly gaped at the boy.

“I… what?!” Haati blinked at him then frowned.

“When you were talking to the big… sentient… thing. You told it I wasn’t for sale and that I was your son. Didn’t you?” Drogan wanted to curse.

“You know Huttese?” His brows came together in a frown. There were so many implications to Haati knowing Huttese, including the fact that he may have possibly been a former slave.

“Is that what it’s called? I don’t know… I just… It all made sense to me.” Moving away he pulled his legs closer to his body, looking lost. Drogan wasn’t sure what to tell him. How many things were locked up in that uncooperative brain of his?

“But you said I was your son.” The smile he received lit up the boy’s face. “Um… unless you were just saying that.” He felt his stomach twist at the dejected look on the boy’s face.

“You can be.” He blurted. “If- if you want to be.”

“Yes!” The fierce way Haati spoke, and the determined look on his face, was all he needed.

Reaching out he pulled the boy to him. “Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Haati Kurshi’cin be te Cin’ciri. I know your name as my child. You are now Haati Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri.” And it was done. The boy snuggling into his side was no longer a waif he’d rescued on some backwater planet. He was Drogan’s son.

Chapter 6

A knock at the door in the late afternoon and the call of her eldest child had her smiling to herself as she wiped her hands on the hanging towel in the kitchen. She shushed her eldest boy and went to open the door, hand on her blaster just in case. A little while ago, no more than twenty minutes, she’d heard a ship fly overhead. Since her husband was a ship mechanic it wasn’t too unusual. But a knock at the door was.

Opening the door she was met with a familiar sight. Primarily dark green beskar’gam with a line of white stylized triangles in the center of the helmet, in what could roughly be called a tree shape, stood staring down at her silently. A bright smile crossed her face as she threw herself at the man returned home.

“Ori-vod!” ‘Big brother!’ With a chuckle her elder brother caught her up in a hug. When she finally let go she swatted his arm with a scowl.

“You were supposed to be home a week ago! You didn’t tell me you were coming or even if you were safe, you big idiot!” He gave her an exaggerated shrug that he must knew annoyed her.

“Just get in here and park your behind.” She turned to let him inside. “And take off your helmet! You know the house rules.” When he didn’t move she gave him an annoyed look. He took a breath to say something but she cut him off. “Oh, and apologize to the kids. You promised them you’d tell them some stories last time and you didn’t.”

“Stars, Jetta! Can I get a word in here?” He groused as he yanked off his bucket, giving her a disgruntled look. The switch from Mando’a to Basic had her placing her hands on her hips and glowering at him.

“Well? You’ve done something, or you wouldn’t be standing out here giving me that look.” Shuffling nervously on his feet for a moment the man took a step aside. Without the large form of her brother in the way she was finally able to see the boy standing behind him, looking wide eyed and nervous. He was about twelve years old with white hair and strange eyes. Once she’d finished looking him over she looked to her brother for an explanation.

“Who is this?” She tried to keep her voice even, the poor thing looked scared. Clipping his helmet to his belt Drogan stepped back and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Jetta, this is Haati.” Clearing his throat he gently urged the boy forward. “My son.”

For the second time in her entire life she was absolutely speechless. Her brother, the man who was far too awkward to even realize when a woman was hitting on him, had come home with a child in tow.

“Son?” She asked for clarification when her voice finally returned. He nodded.

“I adopted him. He is now Haati Kurshi’cin.” After the moment of shock was finally over her entire face lit with happiness.

“Well, come in.” The boy looked up at Drogan and received an encouraging smile. It eased something in the boy and he seemed to relax finally.

“I have to call our buire and let them know. Since I assume you didn’t.” ‘Parents.’ Drogan winced and shook his head, earning him an admonishing look.

“Do you really want to deny our buire the knowledge that you have finally given them a bu’ad?” ‘Grandchild.’ It didn’t take long for her brother to crack under her glare. No one in their right mind got in the way of Dral’cabur and his grandchildren. The man was a mountain. “That’s what I thought. Now come inside and I’ll fix you something to eat. You can introduce Haat’ika to his cousins.��

They came inside to sit down and the kids practically exploded with excitement. They all adored their uncle and were glad to see he was home. Jetta laughed to herself as he tried to keep the kids at bay while they asked a million and two questions. Her only concern was that they were going to overrun her new nephew. But seeing the small smile on his face she figured everything would be just fine.

Chapter 7

It was a little strange. Normally sitting in his sister’s home surrounded by the kids was the only time he felt he could relax outside of hyperspace. But the last couple weeks with Haati had given him the same feeling of being home. Whenever his boy was around he didn’t feel the need to be so guarded, to act like a ruthless killer constantly. And wasn’t that a wonderful thought? His boy. For the longest time he’d thought about getting married and having children but there had never been anyone he really thought he’d like to spend the rest of his life with. Start a family with. Now here he was, almost thirty, and although he wasn’t married he now had the son he’d always wanted.

“Cuyir gar ner ba’vod’ad?” ‘Are you my uncle’s child?’ Aran, his sister’s eldest boy at seven years, was practically bouncing in place as he asked question after question in rapid fire Mando’a. Haati looked at the younger boy, his brows drawn together in a concerned frown. He knew the boy would have answered the questions if he could but he just didn’t know enough of the language yet.

“Aran’ika, Haati only speaks Basic. He still has to learn Mando’a.” The boy stopped bouncing and looked up at him with wide eyes. Drogan huffed in good natured exasperation. “Like ba’buir Tianna had to.” Understanding crossed the child’s face as he finally caught on. Haati, on the other hand, looked even more confused.

“Your grandmother, Tianna, married into the Kurshi’cin clan. Before that she was aruetii. Your grandparents, the words are ba’buir and ba’buire, don’t talk about it much for some reason.” ‘Outsider, not Mandalorian.’ He suspected that they’d met during one of his father’s jobs and their introduction to each other hadn’t been the best. Yet somehow they’d ended up together anyway. He and Jetta had only brought it up once or twice but their parents reactions made it clear that it was something personal, something they were not meant to know. So they dropped it. It didn’t matter what his mother had been before becoming Mando’ad.

“Cin vhetin is an important concept in our culture. It means white field, or virgin snow. A blank slate to start your life as one of the Mando’ad. Your past is erased, forgotten, and only what you do after becoming Mando’ad matters.” He didn’t really think Haati needed it, to be honest. What with the boy not even remembering who he had been before waking up on Drogan’s ship. But it was something he had to learn anyway.

“As for you, Aran’ika. I adopted him, so yes, he is your cousin.” The little boy’s smile grew wide and his excitement returned.

“Why is one of your eyes funny colored?” Drogan couldn’t help the snort of amusement as Haati tried, and failed, to not look offended. His face scrunched up before his expression smoothed out again and he became thoughtful.

“I don’t know. I was born like this, I guess.” Seeing as he had his cousin well in hand, now that they were both speaking Basic, Drogan turned back to his niece and twin nephews.

“Hello Ruusan, did you miss me?” The five year old girl gave him a bright smile while the two year old twins crawled into his lap and started tugging at his armor, curious as always. Kebiin and Vorpan were like miniatures of their father, Taylin. The man was very quiet, intelligent, and observant. There were very few times Drogan had heard the man raise his voice and it had only ever been in warning. Anyone who thought Taylin was less of a Mando because he was a mechanic, and tried to take advantage, quickly found out it was the quiet ones you should fear most.

Glancing over to his sister he set the twins down on the carpet with Ruusan to play and joined Jetta in the kitchen. She’d already commed their parents and was in the middle of making a much larger meal than she had been intending to earlier. Taking off his gauntlets he motioned to the cutting board and she waved him toward it dismissively, accepting his help without fuss.

“He’s a quiet boy, good with the children.” There were questions in her tone of voice, ones that demanded an answer. She could tell that there was something off about Haati already. Raising four children probably gave her some sort of sixth sense. Drogan sighed.

“Echoy'la tome'tayle, he has Amnesia.” Her hands stopped moving and she turned to him, brows nearly in her hairline.

“You want me to believe that he has no recollection of anything at all?” He shook his head.

“He has muscle memory and can recognize languages he’s learned but doesn’t remember speaking. He already knows how to fight and shoot, decently too. Whoever he was before he was well trained.” Reaching over she put her hand on his arm, looking concerned.

“Are you sure he has no family?” Hanging his head slightly he wondered how to explain the connection he had with the boy, and his decision to take him in. As a mother she probably sympathized with the idea of having a child taken away.

He quickly switched to Mando'a so they could speak privately. “I rescued him from a group of militia on the planet from my last job. He’d already lost his memories when I found him. I thought I could help him find his family, give him back. But…” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to be embarrassed or feel guilty.

“From what he vaguely remembers, he had some nightmares that are very telling, the only family member he had was killed. Probably by the same people chasing him down.” His sister stirred the pot on the stove, one eye on the children and one eye on the food. But he had no doubt that she was listening to him intently.

“On my last job one of the targets had a stolen lightsaber. He claimed he’d killed a jetti and stolen it.” There was tension in her frame now, her mouth a grim line.

“I wasn’t going to stick around to find out if I’d be blamed or not. I gave him a choice. Stay there and wait to ask the jetii for assistance or come with me. He chose me.” There was emotion in his voice. It was the first moment where he’d really felt like he might want to keep the boy.

“I went back to my employer, on Rorak-4. I couldn’t leave him in the ship, just in case, so I took him with me.” Now she was glaring at him and he may or may not have deserved it. “He’s twelve, Jetta. Or near enough.” That didn’t make her feel any better and he knew it.

“My employer thought Haati was a slave.” The rage on her face pretty much matched his feelings at the time. “I know.” He said quietly.

“The fat bastard hinted that he was interesting in buying the boy and I just… I told him he was my son to get him to back off.” His cheeks flooded with warmth and his sister gave him a small smile and shake of her head. “I didn’t realize Haati spoke Huttese until later, when he asked me if I meant it when I called him my son.” She looked just as surprised as he’d been when he found out.

“Do you think he was a slave?” He shook his head. It just didn’t fit.

“He was too well taken care of and knew too much about how to defend himself. If he was a slave he would have been sold somewhere that would capitalize on his,” he scowled at having to think like a slaver, “exotic appearance.” The fiercely protective look in his eyes was met with an approving nod.

“When he asked if I’d just said it to make the slimy Hutt back off there was this look on his face. Like… like he thought I was going to reject him, abandon him.” Jetta’s expression softened and she smiled.

“So you offered, and he accepted.” He shrugged in response. She was right after all. Now there was no one who could take Haati away from him. Not without a vicious bloody fight to the death.

When he finished helping his sister in the kitchen he returned to the main living area to find Haati sitting on the floor with the kids, listening to them as they told him stories. With a small smile his son took out the two action figures he’d claimed as his favourites. Aran and Ruusan recognized them and went to grab their own, showing them to Haati excitedly.

“That one is Dral ba’buir, and that one is Drogan ba’vodu, where’s yours?” Aran asked when he recognized the two of them. Haati blinked and looked down at the figures, shrugging.

“I don’t have one.” He said honestly.

“Don’t worry, Haat’ika. You will.” He said with a chuckle. Just then the front door opened. Drogan’s hand went to his blaster for a moment before he recognized the ‘intruder.’

“Ba’buir!” The kids all cheered, jumping up and swarming the man. The giant let out a deep chuckle, picking them up all at once in a hug before setting them down again and usher them away from the door. His wife came in next, smiling in that gentle way she always had.

“Drogan, we’re glad you’re home.” Giving her a hug he leant down so she could kiss his cheek. “I see your sister reminded you about the house rules. Good. I made two beautiful children and I like to see their faces.” Drogan chuckled.

“Drogan, vaii cuyir ner evaar'la bu'ad?” ‘Drogan, where’s my new grandchild?’ Looking over at Haati he motioned his son over. The boy was quiet as he got up, hugging the action figures to his chest, and quickly came to stand beside him. He looked up at the six foot seven inch tall man with curious awe before looking down at the action figure in his hand.

“Haati, this is Dral’cabur, your grandfather, and Tianna, your grandmother. Dral’buir, Tian’buir, this is my son Haati.” He could tell the boy was a little nervous, the way he kept looking back at him was proof of it. Settling his hands on his son’s shoulders he felt the boy lean back into him, taking comfort from him as he met his new family for the first time.

“Basic?” Dral’buir asked him, his voice even in temper.

“Yes. He has a small issue that we’re trying to deal with. But it will take time.” His father frowned and his mother looked concerned.

“Mir’shupur. Echoy'la tome'tayle.” Brain damage and amnesia, not things to be taken lightly. Haati looked up at him, frowning in concentration. Trying to figure out what he’d said no doubt. Dral’buir was giving him a stern look and Tian’buir looked like she wanted to wrap the boy up in a hug.

“I’ve already discussed things with Jetta, she can tell you more. I’m not changing my mind.” In his life Drogan had only ever stared his father down once. He had a lot of respect for the man and they had very similar views on the world. But at this moment he was willing to do it again. Regardless of what the man thought Haati was his son and he would fight for his right to be a part of the Kurshi’cin clan.

Dral’cabur returned his stare for a long moment before nodding his head in acceptance. Drogan didn’t realize how tense he’d been until the man’s blue eyes drifted down to the child and he smiled.

“Haati, then. Did your buir name you?” The boy returned the smile with a bright one of his own.

“Lek, ba’buir.” ‘Yes, grandfather.’ Dral’buir’s face split into an even wider grin.

“Ori’jate! You’re learning fast.” ‘Excellent!’ There was clear approval in his voice and Drogan had to smile.

“Alright everyone, the food’s ready!” Lifting one hand off his son’s shoulder he ruffled the boy’s hair before steering him toward the table.

“Come on Haat’ika, it’s a special occasion. The first meal with your new family.” Haati looked up at him with a warm smile and Drogan knew he’d made the right decision.

[***]

After dinner the kids had decided to play hide and seek tag. At first Haati didn’t really understand the idea of the game but he got it pretty quickly and was soon laughing along with his cousins. Whenever he’d find one of the younger boys he’d pick them up and spin them around or tickle them to get a laugh instead of a pout.

Sitting with his parents he watched the kids play with no small amount of relief. Sometimes his boy could be so quiet and serious that he wondered if he’d ever actually had a childhood. Even if he didn’t remember his past there should have been the usual acting up for attention and emotional outbursts. But Haati was so obedient, like a little soldier. The thought made something twist painfully in his gut. Mando’ad might train their children from a young age but they didn’t start the harsher training until about twelve to fourteen. To be as good as he already was meant he had to have been trained in discipline since he was a toddler. Drogan didn’t like the implications of that.

“He’s a sweet boy.” Looking over at his mother he smiled.

“He is. A little fragile right now but he’s been well trained. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was one of us already. But he doesn’t understand our language like he does others.” No Mando’ad would go without teaching their child the language of their people. It went against the Resol'nare, the very tenets of their culture.

“Do you think he will swear to the Resol’nare” ‘Six Actions.’ Looking up at his father when he returned from the kitchen, Drogan shrugged.

“I’m not sure. I want him to understand more of our culture before I tell him about the Resol’nare. I don’t want him to swear when he doesn’t understand.” There was an approving look in his father’s eyes that made him feel a little embarrassed. Like he was a boy again and had given the man the right answer to a difficult question.

“I always knew you would be a good father. You just never found the right partner.” He groaned and put his face in his hands, ignoring his sister’s laughter and his mother’s playful smile. Every damn time he returned home it was the same thing.

“Yeah, yeah.” Thankfully he was rescued from having to hear more about his non-existent love life as the front door opened and closed. Standing in front of the door, helmet already clipped to his belt, was Taylin. He stood there looking at them all curiously for a moment before giving a small wave. The kids noticed their father was home and swarmed him, tugging on his arms and encouraging him to meet ‘Ba’vod’ad Haati!’

Taylin’s eyebrows rose as he was dragged over to the newest addition to the family. He looked at the boy for a moment then gave him a kind smile.

“Welcome to the family.” Haati seemed surprised that the man spoke to him in basic, since most of the family defaulted to Mando’a first.

“Vor’e.” ‘Thank you.’ Taylin gave him a polite nod before picking up the twins, who had latched onto his legs, and handing them over to his wife.

“I need to get clean, dinui’ike.” He said when they complained. Drogan couldn’t help but smile. Little gift was a good nickname for the kids collectively.

Now that their father was home the kids could finally be settled down for the night. Drogan’s parents decided to head home before it was too late and wished them a good night, promising to visit again soon to get to know Haati better. Nudging his son’s shoulder he smiled. Haati smiled back at him, all the nervousness from earlier completely gone.

“Time to go, Haat’ika.” His boy looked up at him, tilting his head curiously.

“This is your bavodu’e’s home. Ours is the Chaab’kalar.” Haati smiled very wide and he looked down at the boy with a questioning brow. His face colored slightly.

“I like that… our home.” Drogan chuckled and put an arm around his shoulder, giving him a small hug.

“Alright then, let’s go home.”

Chapter 8

Laying on the grassy hill silently he watched the target through the sights of his verpine sniper rifle. The wind shifted and he felt anticipation flood his veins as he held his breath. The crack of the rifle echoed through the open field and he grinned as a hole opened up dead center in the head of the target. The sound of movement beside him had Drogan turning his head to see the pleased smile on his son’s face and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Kandosii, Haat’ika!” ‘Well done!’ Reaching over he ruffled the boy’s short hair affectionately. It had taken a while to get over his dislike of firearms but the wait had been worth it. The lad was a naturally good shot. He had a good eye, steady hands, and an almost sixth sense for the right time to pull the trigger.

“Vor’e buir.” ‘Thanks dad.’ Canting his head the boy seemed to almost be listening to something before dismissing it. “Tug’yc?” ‘Again?’ Drogan looked up at the sky, judging the time the old fashioned way, and shook his head.

“Ca'nara at ba'slanar.” ‘Time to leave.’ Immediately the boy sat up and began packing. Getting up himself he brushed some grass and dirt off his armor before packing up his own gear. Watching his son he went over the past three months in his mind’s eye.

There had been some rocky patches and a few cultural misunderstandings, which had baffled the boy, but over all Haati was fitting in well with his family. Jetta was thankful for another set of hands to look after the children and the kids themselves adored their new cousin. Dral’buir had threatened to introduce his boy to the glory of explosives while Taylin offered to show him some basic ship repairs. Tian’buir had even made him some new clothes to wear. Drogan had to admit the dark green with white accents looked good on him. The symbol associated with the Kurshi’cin embroidered on his chest was probably his grandmother’s way of claiming him and letting everyone know it. Drogan smiled fondly.

Heading back home they stowed their gear and had a quick meal. After cleaning up he watched Haati head straight for the training room and chuckled. His son looked back at him quizzically with a pout. Drogan smiled in response. It was nice to see him shedding his stiff formal manner and finally start showing more of his personality.

“Not today, Haat’ika. We have some errands to run in town.” The boy stared at him for a moment then shrugged and headed for his room to change clothes.

The walk was long but pleasant. Drogan gave his son more lessons in Mando’a to keep his mind busy but by the time they’d arrived he could tell the boy was getting bored. Walking past their normal stops Haati looked up at him and raised a brow. It was definitely something he copied from his father. Drogan ignored the look and kept his expression passive. He was sure that if he looked over at his son he’d start to smirk and give the surprise away.

Not even stopping he walked to a shop, opened the door, and strode inside. He didn’t want to give Haati a moment to think about it. The boy quickly followed him inside and stopped dead just inside the door, eyes wide. The sounds of metalworking rang into the front of the shop. Drogan couldn’t help the giant grin on his face as his son realized where they were.

“Surprised, Haat’ika?” Two brightly colored eyes turned to him, wide with awe. An older man stepped out of the back and looked between him and Haati. He snorted, amused, before he came further into the shop.

“You didn’t tell him you were coming today.” The shopkeep asked in Mando’a. Drogan chuckled.

“I didn’t tell him anything at all.” The man gave him a matching grin.

“Come here, child.” Haati looked up at him and he nodded, motioning his son to his side.

“You’re going to have to change.” Haati looked up at him for confirmation, brows furrowed, and he sighed.

“Basic, for now. He’s still learning.” The man blinked, shrugged, and switched gears.

“You need to change out of that.” He motioned to the boy’s outfit. “So we can fit you with a flightsuit.” There was a changing room off to the side that his son darted into, all too eager to try on the article of clothing that would go beneath his armor. Drogan couldn’t help but feel happy for his son for how much he’d grown these past few months.

The shopkeep, Motik, grabbed a few flightsuits from the shelf and handed them off to the kid. They waited quietly for him to try them on and eventually he emerged in a navy blue flightsuit. Drogan nodded. “Looks good.”

Motik pulled out the armor pieces that had already been made for the boy and motioned him over so he could attach them. They would probably need a little adjusting but Tianna used to be a seamtress. Her measurements were always accurate.

Staring at himself in the large mirror Haati beamed. The armor was a simplified version of his father’s and he couldn’t be happier. It was currently unpainted but that could easily be fixed later, when the boy finally decided what he wanted to present to the world. When Motik was done he stepped back to admire his work.

“Looks good, Haat’ika. Now you’re ready for anything.” Those two colored eyes looked at him from the mirror and he could see the pleased blush on his face. He was still so shy when it came to compliments.

“Oh, almost forgot!” Walking over to the counter he grinned as Motik reached down and pulled out the last piece. Haati turned to look at him, curious. When he saw the armor piece in Drogan’s hands he practically started to bounce on the spot. Going over to his son he unfolded the kama and clipped it to his son’s waist. It was a little long on him but he would grow into it eventually.

Motik tossed him the helmet and he handed it over. Haati slipped it on and squared his shoulders before looking in the mirror again. Staring back at him was the picture of a proper Mando’ad. Reaching over Drogan held out his forearm, tilted slightly. Haati reached out and clasped his forearm in the proper Mando way and Drogan couldn’t be more proud.

“Thanks for the rush order.” He said to the shop keeper as Haati pulled off the helmet and clipped it to his belt, still beaming. The man waved away his thanks.

“Your money’s always good here. The Kurshi’cin has been coming to us for their armor for generations. You just make sure that boy takes care of it. And if you ever need repairs you know where to find us.” He gave the man a respectful nod.

“Come on, Haat’ika. We still need to grab some things for your ba’vodu.” On his way to his father’s side he stopped, turned to the shop keeper, and bowed politely. It was the one habit they had yet to break him of and it still baffled everyone around him. Taylin seemed to understand it, somehow, and said that it would take years to break him of the habit. Drogan wondered what his brother knew that he did not. After all he was the one that very pointedly suggested they get Haati’s hair cut.

Stopping by the usual shops Drogan had to hold back his laughter every time someone complimented his boy on his armor. Haati would get so flustered and thank them quietly before practically hiding behind him to avoid more attention. Drogan shook his head. It was only a matter of time before his confidence grew and the armor became like a second skin to him. He’d have to get used to people noticing him. Mando’ade were well known throughout the galaxy.

“Me’vaar ti gar?” ‘How are you?’ He asked when they were on their way home through the streets of the small town. Haati looked at the ground for a moment, quietly contemplating his answer.

“Aalar’la evaar’la.” ‘Feels new.’ He shrugged his shoulders. Drogan could understand that. The armor would be heavier than what he was used to wearing and the kama in particular affected the way one walked. The feeling would be strange until he got used to it.

“Dinuir bic ca'nara.” ‘Give it time.’ He said comfortingly. His son shrugged again, shifting the bag of supplies in his arms. Suddenly his head snapped off to the left then quickly turned right. He looked confused. Out of habit Drogan’s hand went to his blaster and his eyes started scanning the crowd around them. He’d learned that his boy had a sort of uncanny sixth sense when it came to danger. He’d saved Aran from falling off the roof and Taylin from electrocuting himself when one of the generators malfunctioned.

Three figures surrounded them, all humans. Their hands were under their cloaks and Drogan knew they were palming weapons.

“Can I help you?” He growled out in Mando’a, cursing himself internally for not putting his helmet back on. Even Manda’yaim wasn’t always safe.

“Step away from the boy!” The woman on the left demanded in Basic. Drogan scowled. What did these people want with his son?

“The fuck I am! Haati, bevik gebbar at ni.” ‘Stick close to me.’ The boy took a step closer to him, turning slightly so his back was being guarded by his father and he could see two of the attackers. Smart boy.

“Justus, it’s alright. We’re here to bring you home.” Drogan’s brows rose as they pulled out their weapons. Jetii. The three of them were all fucking Jetiise! He looked down at Haati and could see a look of recognition on his face. Something inside his chest tightened.

“Buir, I think I used to have one of those.” He said, awe and confusion warring in his voice as he tried hard to remember. Drogan’s blood ran cold. Thinking back to every interaction he’d had with the boy everything started to make sense. The long strands of hair just behind his ear, the way he’d been so subdued and almost emotionless, the formality and polite bowing. The ingrained physical training, the fact that he found no conventional weapon comfortable to wield, and the sixth sense for danger. All of it had been right there in front of him… and Taylin had fucking known.

For the first time in his life Drogan was hit with something so far outside his realm of expertise that he froze. Haati was a jetii. Jetiise and Mando’ade had been enemies for a long time. His throat felt tight and he wondered at the odd feeling that filled him.

Betrayal. What he was feeling was betrayal.

Haati turned and their eyes locked. In that moment the tightness in his chest disappeared. Cin vhetin. Whatever his son had been before was gone, now he was Mando’ad. Tearing his gaze away he glared at the jetii.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing here, jetii, but you are not taking my son from me!” The man behind him shifted, taking a step toward them. Drogan pulled his blaster and aimed it at him, trusting Haati to watch the other two and warn him if they moved.

Murmurs erupted around them and Drogan felt a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Behind the jetii the people of Mandalore had drawn weapons and were preparing to attack. No one came to their home and threatened one of their own without a fight. The jetii were woefully outnumbered, and they knew it.

Slowly they turned off their sabers and returned them to their belts, looking as if they’d eaten something sour. Drogan didn’t put his blaster away but he did lower it.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding here.” The third jetii, the other male, finally spoke. He looked between Haati and Drogan, frowning. It was obvious to all and sundry that Haati and he weren’t related by blood. Not that it meant much to Mando’ade. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood. Drogan had formally adopted Haati and that was it. The Kurshi’cin would fight anyone who tried to take their newest member away from his father.

“We’re looking for a lost padawan, Justus Armaan. White hair, fair skin, right eye green, left eye blue. He was last seen on Skiidush by a female doctor. She described a fairly large ship of a specific make and a Mandalorian in dark green armor with three white triangles in the center of the helmet.” The man pointedly looked down at the helmet clipped to his belt. “We tracked the rumours to Rorak-4 where a Mandalorian of the same description was seen carrying that same child to his ship after meeting with a Hutt crime lord.” Drogan’s hand tightened on the handle of his blaster and he grit his teeth. His jobs were his business, not theirs. While he knew that no Mando’ad would judge him for the jobs he took to support himself and his family it was a very personal choice.

“Justus, we’re sorry about the death of your master.” Drogan bristled as the man turned to talk to his son. “It must have been very upsetting for you. But we’re here to take you back to the Temple. Where you can talk to a mind healer.” Haati blinked at the man, clearly not understanding. “We even retrieved our lightsaber.” He said as he held out a smaller cylinder, obviously made for smaller hands. If the fucking jetii said anything else to his son Drogan was going to shoot him.

“I… sorry? I don’t…” Haati shifted closer to him, practically glued to his side. He was trembling slightly and Drogan growled. No one scares his kid and gets away with it.

“Come on, padawan. You’re safe now. You don’t have to stay here with this kidnapper.” Drogan snapped.

“You better back the fu-” It happened suddenly. One moment he was raising his blaster and the next he was catching his balance after being pushed a few feet down the road by the female jetii. A green light erupted from the cylinder Haati had summoned to his left hand as his right was raised toward the female jetii he'd pushed to the ground with the Force.

“My name is Haati Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri. Son of Drogan Kurshi’cin. I am Mando’ad, and you are not welcome here aruetiise!” ‘Outsiders!’ Drogan felt a burst of pride for his son.

Stalking forward he stepped up to his son and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You heard my son jetiise! You are not welcome here.” The female jetii stood up and glared at him, pulling out her lightsaber without touching it. Drogan stiffened but Haati stood there, calm and unmoving.

“Chandara, put it away.” The lead male hissed before turning back to them.

“Are you sure about this Jus- Haati? If you leave the Order we will not welcome you back.” There was a slightly threatening warning in his voice but Drogan didn’t rise to the bait. He stared the man down, certain that his son would handle the situation.

“I am Mando’ad.” He reiterated, voice unwavering. The three jetii looked to each other for a moment before the lead male sighed.

“I will inform the council of your decision. Our mission was to find you, we’ve accomplished that mission.” His focused shifted to Drogan and he scowled, but thankfully didn’t speak. Every gun remained trained on their backs as they slowly made their way back out of town. Once they were finally out of sight Drogan sagged slightly. Holstering his blaster he looked down at the remains of the groceries and cursed. Haati shifted under his hand and he looked back at his son.

The boy was staring at the cylinder in his hand and smiling contentedly. He supposed he’d be looking at his verpine sniper rifle the same way if ever he forgot what his favourite weapon was and hadn’t held one in months. Around them Mando’ade were staring at the boy with curiosity, confusion, contempt, or a mix of all three. It wouldn’t take long for the news to spread that Kurshi’cin now had a jetii in the family. Whether that would be a good or bad thing he didn’t know.

“Put it away, Haati. We need to pick up replacement groceries and visit your ba’vodu.” Seeming to snap out of whatever trance he was in his son put the lightsaber into one of the pouches on his belt. At least the bag Haati had been holding had nothing breakable in it, thankfully.

It was a little awkward to go back and re-buy the groceries, with everyone staring at his son with mixed feelings. Haati seemed able to sense it and after one particularly nasty glare he put his helmet on to hide his face. Drogan felt an almost uncontrollable urge to punch someone but he refrained. If he caused more trouble now it would reflect poorly on their clan. It wouldn’t help the situation any.

The walk home was quiet, both of them thinking over what had just happened. Drogan knew that the fact Haati was a jetii was a surprise to the boy as much as everyone else. He wanted to reassure his son but there was nothing he could say to change the truth. Haati was a former jetii and had the Force.

Entering his sister’s home he saw the family waiting to congratulate him on his armor and waved them down. The expression on his face must have been grim. Dral’buir was up from his seat in seconds. Drogan steered Haati toward the kitchen to help put the groceries away. He had yet to remove his helmet.

“What happened between here and town?” Dral’buir asked, following him into the kitchen.

“Not out of town, in town. We were ambushed by jetiise.” Dral’buir’s face could have been chiseled from stone it hardened so fast.

“Why the fuck would jetiise ambush you!?” Drogan looked back at Haati and sighed.

“Helmet off in the house, Haat’ika.” He hunched his shoulders for a moment but quickly slipped the helmet off and clipped it to his waist. “Good lad.”

“Because they were looking for Haati. He was a jeti’ika before I found him.” Dral’buir closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again he looked past Drogan to the boy who looked conflicted and hurt.

“Get your mother.” Drogan wanted to protest but one look was all it took.

In the main room he has headed for his mother when he spied Taylin leaning against a wall. “You fucker, you knew and didn’t tell me!” He hissed as he passed. His brother gave him an unreadable look.

“I knew. As long as he didn’t remember I thought it would be fine… I’m sorry.” Drogan swallowed but gave him an accepting nod.

“Tian’buir, Dral’buir asked for you in the kitchen.” His mother looked up at him, concerned, but silently went to go see what was wrong. The kids were looking between the adults, mostly quiet, as they sensed the heavy atmosphere.

A few minutes later they brought Haati back out and he was looking less like the world had caved in on him. He ran over to Drogan and launched himself into his arms. There was a loud clank as two armors forcefully met but he didn’t care. He pulled his son into a hug and placed a hand on his head. He looked from his father to his mother and back, confused.

“He was worried you wouldn’t like him anymore. He’s still only a boy, and who knows what the jetii put in his head that he can’t remember.” His father said with a scowl. Drogan couldn’t help the offended look on his face. Of course he wouldn’t turn his back on his son!

“Haat’ika, listen to me.” A sniffle came from where his son had hidden his face. “There is nothing in the entire galaxy that could make me stop loving you. No one will take you from me, do you understand?” Two puffy eyes looked up at him and he smiled. “I’m proud of you. You stood up to the jetiise like a proper Mando’ad.” Dral’buir’s brows raised in question and Drogan chuckled.

“He told the jetiise that his name was Haati Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri. That he was my son and a Mando’ad. Then he told the jetiise they were aruetii and weren’t welcome here.” Dral’buir burst into laughter, grinning ear to ear.

“Mandokarla! You were born to be Mando’ad.” ‘Showing guts and spirit.’ Haati blushed, wiping at his eyes then frowning when he realized he was still wearing the bracers. Drogan snorted and grabbed a handkerchief from one of his pouches, handing it to his son to wipe his face with.

“Come on Haat’ika. We thought today would be a good day to celebrate your birthday. If you remember later we can always change the date.” Haati stood up and let out a huff.

“Okay.” He looked at his cousins and then back at Drogan. His hand tapped the pocket where he was keeping his lightsaber and he tilted his head.

“Later. You can show off later.” The smirk on his face must have been enough to set his son’s mind at ease about whether Drogan accepted this new and strange part of his son’s life or not.

“Come on, ad’ike. It’s time to celebrate! Today is Haati’s gota’tuur!” The children cheered and clung to Haati’s arms excitedly, dragging him off with Dral’buir to play games. Drogan watched them from his seat on the couch and let out a sigh.

“It’s not the same, is it?” He looked over at is mother, who smiled. “Before kids and after. Nothing can compare.” He smiled back. She was right. There was something just so right about having Haati in his life. He doubted anyone else would ever come close to the amount of affection he had for his son.

“Now you just need a nice partner.” He groaned and ran his hand down his face as his mother laughed at him.

The End! Thanks for Reading!

Artwork for this story by the absolutely wonderful PeachyProtist on DeviantArt! Please go check them out!

#mandalorian oc #adoption #found family #fluff #mercenary #amnesia #mando'a #star wars fanfiction #star wars #star wars fan characters #force sensitive #alternate timeline #former jedi padawan

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sanscestships · 4 years

Text

“Escapee” Asylum Zoo RedvBlue (Oneshot, RedxDustxClassicxBlue)

Created on: 10/26/20

Requested by: @pigeons-just-pigeons, i feel really stressed out right now by school and im going to try calming my nerves with writing. also apparently she really likes FeralVerse-

(WARNING: hella longer than usual. maybe cuz its 4 people instead of 2-)

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Classic didn't know how to feel about the situation. About alternate versions of himself just suddenly getting mutated and now he has to work with more versions of himself to find a cure. Really, the whole thing sounds like one of those animes Alphys watches.

Unfortunately, it was real. And he was dealing with it. Of course, Paps didn't know a thing and the kiddo was covering him while the player was inactive. Must be either a busy day or night for them probably.

The skeleton sighed, starting to feel himself drift off and slump against the couch in the lounge. Though he should probably be more concerned, he couldn't help himself but to want to take another nap for the day. He'd already done a skeleton of work, taking Nightmare on a patrol to see if any more mutants have popped up. And yes.

That alone, was enough for him to last the day.

See, just dealing with Nightmare can be tiring. Though he definitely won't speak to you nor act like a rabid animal the rest do. He'll continuously sass and growl at you, occasionally tripping or slapping you with the tendrils that start above his paws. Then there's patrols, where you actually have to walk around. And with Nightmare! Which means a LOT of tripping! Then there's dealing with the situation if you DO run into another mutant and...

Well, at least it's mostly Nightmare who has to tussle with em. After all, to fight a mutant you usually need another mutant.

Sometimes when Nightmare REALLY trips Ink, the colorful artist will complain and grumble that Nightmare's lucky to be alive. But Classic always thought it was the other way around. If Nightmare hadn't still been sane after the mutation, they all probably would've been bitten by now. Really, the only times they've ever had to help Nightmare hold down a mutant was with Cross and Dust.

Cross had been driven insane by the OVERWRITE soul, massive trauma from his AU, and weak condition from the aftermath of the fighting. Dust had been driven insane long before he killed everyone but hadn't acted upon it and mutated until he'd reached his breaking point.

To think he could've ended up like that if he'd done the same as Dust. Well...

Technically he did, since Dust is him from an alternate timeline.

"ORIGINAL ME!" A chuckle escaped his teeth as he opened an eye socket to see the adorable version of him, Blue. Blue had always been one of his favorite alternates out of the bunch, seeing as he was basically a mix of himself and Paps. Still likes puns

(A/N so no one gets mixed up, Sans from UnderSwap canonically still likes puns. its a very popular headcanon that he doesn't. carry on.)

but is just as sweet and thoughtful as his bro. Really, he could never get mad or tired of the little blueberry. "THERE YOU ARE! I WAS LOOKING FOR YOU!"

"Is there somethin' ya need Berry?" The nickname had been out of his mouth before he could even think about what he'd said. And once he did, he could feel his skull tint with blue. Really? A nickname for a nickname? Jeez, what was with him now when he was around the little warrior?

"Actually Classic," he cocked his skull to the side, becoming more curious when his normally energetic alternate began to fiddle with his hands. "I was actually hoping you'd come with me today to check on Red and Dust. That's okay, right?"

Shit, he could feel the arrows striking his soul. First at the names "Red" and "Dust" before getting the final strike when Blue had looked up at him with those sky blue eyelights. As odd as it was, he couldn't help but enjoy the company of the edgy jackal-fennec fox. And really, he could absolutely relate to the insane grey wolf-tasmanian devil too. After all, he would definitely go insane too if he had to deal with hundreds of consecutive genocides.

Wait... Didn't he technically- NEVERMIND WE'RE NOT GOING THERE WITH THE WEIRD ALTERNATE TIMELINE LOGIC.

"Sure, I don't mind." With his signature lazy grin on his face, he began to follow Blue to the common enclosure room. This was the big room where multiple enclosures were put together. Though Ink was hesitant about the idea, Dream and Blue agreed that maybe it would help to have them all in the same room. Maybe being close to another in the same situation would make them feel more comfortable they had said.

Though some of them did enjoy each other's company, Classic thought he was right to assume Fell really didn't. While most of the others had big, terrifying animals, Fell was a mix of two animals that generally survived with their wits and willy physique.

Therefore, he really, really did not appreciate being shoved in the same room as a six-legged and two-tailed goop cat, a winged bengal tiger, and a bird clawed panther.

Now they were in the room, lit with colorful lights from the color planed windows above the enclosures. Something Ink had put up so the room wouldn't be as dull. The cracked glass of the cages were hit with more growls and roars as they walked to the quietest of the cages.

"Hey Fell."

A rumble came from the cage, and soon taps against the metal ground as the red eyed beast came out to the glass. He glanced behind us, making eye contact with Error before growling. Blue frowned, turning around in time to see Error snarl back in response as he began to try and calm the canine down.

"Sorry pal, didn't know that you weren't red-y for us yet." The canine stopped, staring back at him as he began to continue. Suddenly there was red everywhere, with a loud blare. Immediately, all of the mutants in the room except for Nightmare and Fell began to snarl and roar.

"Uhhhh... Guys?" Dream's voice came onto the intercom as the two skeletons glanced at each other. Oh boy, this couldn't be good. "Uh, I kind of went to Dust's enclosure to clean when I accidentally... Let him out?"

Ok, that was not good.

"Dusty's out of his enclosure?!" Blue jumped up, immediately running out the door.

"Wait, Blue!" Classic jumped up, starting to try and follow him before he heard a loud thud next to him. Turning, he saw Fell jumping at the glass, barking and howling at him. "Fell, what's wrong?"

He didn't stop. He just kept banging on the glass, barking and yelling. The original couldn't understand why though. Fell's never been as active as the other mutants. Like him, he tended to be lazy and just laid about in his enclosure unless provoked. But when someone came too close, he usually just pretended to threaten to bite them. Now here he was, just being nearly as loud as the others.

He didn't know what to do. Was Fell trying to warn him of something? Was he trying to tell him something important? He didn't know why he was suddenly so active, but he knew it had to be for a good reason if it was making him jump and bark like this.

"Heya pal, I want you to calm down," he tried to smoothen his voice so he didn't scare the canine, starting to move towards the enclosure controls. "I'm going to let you out. And I want you to stay calm. I'm sure the others know your mostly just bark and no bite, but I'm pretty sure they still won't feel safe knowing you're on the prowl unless you can prove you're not hostile. Okay?"

Really, he was doing his best not to talk to him while he was teaching a 5 year old. If he remembered anything about Fell before the mutation, it was that he got offended and ticked easily. Finally getting Fell to look calm, he pressed the switch that opened the glass door.

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Dust couldn't find Blue.

He couldn't find Fell or Classic either.

Who cares about that little blue mongrel and the toothy loser? His brother whispered to him. There are many caged, helpless, powerful monsters here Sans. We must find them. And we must kill them. We need more power brother. More LOVE.

He wanted to listen to his brother. He really did. He knew for a fact that Papyrus would never lie or misguide him. But he also knew that he wouldn't be able to focus on the job unless he knew where the three were. If they truly were powerful, than even if caged he'd have to focus if he wanted to be able to harvest them for LOVE.

Very well brother, I will trust your judgement.

He began to prowl around, sniffing the air to pick up a scent. He knew he needed to pick up as many scents as possible to work fast. There was much to be done: differentiate Fell, Classic, and Blue's scents from the others, locate the three as soon as possible, sneak off, kill the others, make sure Blue doesn't give him the puppy eyes or croc tears for killing most of his friends...

On second though, maybe the last one is basically inevitable.

"Dusty!"

He could feel himself basically jump up, starting to immediately run towards where he heard his blueberry's voice. Guess he didn't need to pick up on his scent in the first place. That'll make his job a little bit easier.

Don't forget to kill everyone else brother. We need to become more powerful. We need more LOVE. Do not let anyone distract you from the mission.

I know Paps. I know.

He knew at some point he was going to have to kill them too. After all, he'd killed everyone else. But he definitely didn't want to do it now. Someday, when he finds the will to give them the painless mercy of death.

But that day wasn't today.

Making a sharp turn, he'd finally found the blue scarfed skeleton. He knew he'd have to act calm though, to not scare him. Though many of them probably didn't know this, he wasn't actually as gone as Cross was.

Yes, he knew Cross's name. He picked it up from a conversation when they were trying to move him into his enclosure for the first time.

Ah yes, when that stupid oreo on legs nearly bit his blueberry.

He'll be the first to go.

(A/N i love Cross guys. i really do. i swear-)

"Dusty," he could hear the warning tone in his voice as he looked up at the skeleton before him. "I know that look on your face Dusty. No murder."

He didn't mean to let out a small whine. Probably his animal instincts. What did Sci say he was again? A "grey wolf" and "tasmanian devil"? What the hell even was a "tasmanian devil" anyway? It sounds like some sort of dog that failed to serve Satan.

"Dusty, no murder." Blue had repeated himself, beginning to pet the hooded beast's head as they both perked up to panting heard from behind Blue. Running into view were Classic, and Fell. How convenient, the three he was looking for came right to him.

Now onto "find a way to get away from the loves of his life and butcher everyone else in a totally non-yandere way".

Oh boy Alphys's anime ways are starting to get to him.

He could feel the rumbles in his non-existent throat, leaning his head more into Blue's hand. God, he knew this was just his animal instincts acting up but god his gloved hand behind his ecto ears felt GREAT. Was it like this for all dogs? Lucky bastards. He was glad he'd killed all of the dogs first. (Minus the Annoying Dog. That thing is impossible to track down. Much less kill.)

"Huh, looks like you've got him wrapped around your finger. When'd you learn to even to make him even wag his tail like that?" Wait, wagging tail? He glanced behind him to see that his ecto tail was indeed wagging. Huh. It must've started while he was thinking about dogs and didn't notice.

Brother, you're getting off task and distracted. How will you kill the others before they put you back into your cage if you keep letting yourself be treated like this? His brother did not look too pleased that he had not gained any LOVE yet. Then again, it'd been Ink knows how long since he'd been out. Much less killed anyone.

As Classic approached Blue to talk, Fell had coiled himself around the original's legs. Fell didn't feel comfortable around him and it was obvious why. After all, he knew that the hooded figure was at LEAST LV20.

Dust couldn't help but to respect the other. He survived abuse from his own brother, the monster around him, and had probably had his own fair share of Genocides too. He couldn't imagine his own brother disowning and abusing him too.

But of course brother, I'd never do anything to harm you. And Dust knew his brother was telling the truth. After all, Paps would never lie to him either.

His brother wouldn't.

He could feel his tail curl around the guard in training as the rubbing intensified, starting to lay down. After all, did he really need to kill them all now? It had already been established that he was absolutely capable of easily breaking out of his fortified cell. He could always just do it again. And if they set up guards, no problem. He'll kill them too. Extra EXP. In fact, he should probably wait until they do add more guards for him to kill.

Plus, he felt like hanging around these three a bit more.

Yet Papyrus still lingered... Whispering suggestions in his ears...

#oneshot #request #ship #undertale #undertale au #utmv #sans #blue #swap!sans #fell!sans #fell #red #dust!sans #redvblue #red x dust x classic x blue #asyzoo!red #asyzoo!dust #asylum zoo

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cyberninja · 4 years

Text

“Extremely detailed character sheet template”

Character Chart

Character’s full name: Caleb Akamori ( last name given to him by the Grand-master )

Reason or meaning of name: Caleb was chosen by his mother , but Akamori has a interesting background . mori [ meaning forest ] . the Grandmaster gave him this last name because he knew his spirit was as big as strong as and as old as a forest .

Aka [ meaning red ] was given because it was foreseen the evil in his that was to come . finally coming to Akamori . “ the evil will come first and then you will find your true spirit “

Character’s nickname: commonly known as the Cyberninja by most people , also among the Darkness Clan they refer to him as Doragonsureiyā ( Dragon Slayer )

Reason for nickname: he is known as Cyberninja because any photos captured of him he is in his prototype armor . Now he is know as Doragonsureiyā by earning this name , because he killed Doragonrōdo ( Dragon Lord ) a general of the Darkness Clan thought to be the most powerful ninja alive .

Birth date: June 9th , 1999 Physical appearance

Age: usually i write him at 18 - 20

How old does he/she appear: 20 but appears to be 25

Weight: 235 lbs

Height: 6 foot 3 inches

Body build: extremely fit and athletic

Shape of face: not round but not oval either sort of a middle ground normal face

Eye color: blue , a deep blue like a ocean .

Glasses or contacts: neither

Skin tone: lightly tanned .

Distinguishing marks: X shaped scars across the front of his chest and a scar across his throat ( received from a very intense fight )

Predominant features: his dark blond hair and his deep blue eyes .

Hair color: dark blond ( almost black )

Type of hair: straight

Hairstyle: messy ( always looks like a good messy though . )

Voice: deep voice , amazing bass singer .

Overall attractiveness: 8/10

Physical disabilities: none

Usual fashion of dress: usually blue jeans , with a tee shirt with ripped off sleeves , dog tags tucked under his shirt , tennis shoes , and a coat if its cold out .

Favorite outfit: white tee shirt with the sleeves torn off , blue jeans , and tennis shoes .

Jewelry or accessories: his dog tags ( never come off his neck ) Personality Good personality traits: loyal , caring , kind , brave , courageous , unselfish , and outgoing . Bad personality traits: usually very overprotective , hot headed , and can be clingy . Mood character is most often in: focused Sense of humor: can be a bit dry , but if you get him going he’ll loosen up . Character’s greatest joy in life: helping others Character’s greatest fear: losing those he cares about and being alone again Why? he has been alone most of his life to be outcast again into the cold darkness by himself . What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil? a friend dying . it would send his mind into utter chaos . Character is most at ease when: he is around someone he trusts Most ill at ease when: he is worried about something , before he goes into a fight . Enraged when: hahahah . if your the wrong person just look at him wrong . Depressed or sad when: he is by himself Priorities: protect , regain his honor , and eventually settle down . Life philosophy: treat others as you want to be treated If granted one wish, it would be: to have his family back Why? they were murdered when he was just a boy , didn’t even get to say goodbye . which has cause irreversible trauma to him . Character’s soft spot: just show him you care . Is this soft spot obvious to others? NO !! Greatest strength: his fighting skills and magic Greatest vulnerability or weakness: his short temper Biggest regret: long story short . he feels responsible for a civilian being murdered . Minor regret: not seizing the moments when he has the opportunity Biggest accomplishment: thats a tie between him becoming a master ninja , and building his prototype armor Minor accomplishment: ... quitting his addictions . Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about: his drinking and drug problem he used to have Why? he is very ashamed of it Character’s darkest secret: his curse and demon Does anyone else know? yes Goals Drives and motivations: his biggest goal is to eliminate the darkness clan and to eventually live out a normal life . Immediate goals: to become a better fighter everyday and maybe a little bit of a better person everyday . Long term goals: to eventually settle down , rejoin his clan , maybe have a family ? How the character plans to accomplish these goals: four words . blood , sweat , and tears . How other characters will be affected: nobody knows what the future will hold . Past Hometown: New York ( to the best of his knowledge ) Type of childhood: his childhood was very dark and scaring . 5 is a very young age to be all grown up , but his situation called for it . Pets: his pet Koi fish ( given to him by the Grand-master ) and his pet Cerberus First memory: falling asleep in his mothers arms Most important childhood memory: going fishing with his dad . Why: it was one of the only good memories he has of his childhood Childhood hero: ninjas ( needless to say he followed them quite well ) Dream job: N/A Education: he registered education is 6th grade , but he is very smart . often when working he will do the math in his head rapidly often involving advanced calculus . Religion: none Finances: n/a

Present Current location: New York Currently living with: himself Pets: his pet koi which resides in Japan , and a pet Cerberus Religion: none Occupation: assassin and master ninja Finances: well off Family Mother: deceased Relationship with her:N/A Father:deceased Relationship with him:N/A Siblings: brother Relationship with them:N/A ( still looking for him ) Spouse: none Relationship with him/her:N/A Children: none Relationship with them:N/A Other important family members: anyone he calls a friend . Favorites Color: Yellow Least favorite color:red Music:rap and country Food:fruits , vegetables , junk food , ECT ... Literature:spell books Form of entertainment:training Expressions:laughter Mode of transportation:car , motorcycle , feet , teleportation . Most prized possession:picture of his family . ( touching it is a good way to loose some fingers ) Habits Hobbies: smithing Plays a musical instrument? guitar Plays a sport? no How he/she would spend a rainy day: training , inventing , sharpening his weapons , patrol . Spending habits: weapons Smokes: has quit Drinks:has quit Other drugs:has quit What does he/she do too much of? training What does he/she do too little of?resting Extremely skilled at:combat Extremely unskilled at:expressing any form of emotion Nervous tics: none ( he is trained to hide these ) Usual body posture:tall , informal , and downright intimidating . Mannerisms: very polite Peculiarities: extremely secretive Traits Optimist or pessimist?optimist Introvert or extrovert?extrovert Daredevil or cautious?daredevil Logical or emotional?can be both Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat?methodical and neat Prefers working or relaxing?working Confident or unsure of himself/herself?unsure Animal lover?YES Self-perception How he/she feels about himself/herself: the his not good enough , he doesn’t deserve One word the character would use to describe self: secretive One paragraph description of how the character would describe self: ( character speaking ) “ well i try my hardest but a lot of times i feel like i am not good enough , i know i could be better and i have a whole world that doesn’t even know that i am protecting . maybe one day this will all finally end . What does the character consider his/her best personality trait? kindness What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait?temper What does the character consider his/her best physical characteristic?muscles , if you can sneak up on him on a good day you might caught him flexing in front of the mirror . What does the character consider his/her worst physical characteristic? the scars scattered across his body . How does the character think others perceive him/her: hot tempered , probably hated , reclusive , untrustworthy . What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: his life Relationships with others Opinion of other people in general: he knows the world can harsh and cruel but ha also has seen a lot of good in it also . Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others? not really , most of the time he is quite blunt . Person character most hates: himself Best friend(s): Dove ( @beyondthetemples ) , Red ( @champofpallet ) . Love interest(s): Dove Person character goes to for advice: his adopted father or his brother . Person character feels responsible for or takes care of: Dove Person character feels shy or awkward around: not anyone , most of the time . Person character openly admires: N/A Person character secretly admires: Dove Most important person in character’s life before story starts: his brother After story starts: his adopted family and all his friends

found here

tagged by : @beyondthetemples

tagging : @champofpallet , @tameradabsol , @sky-mxxn and anyone else who want to do it .

#took me awhile but i enjoyed it

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ladyrevanhalin · 4 years

Text

TWISTED MORALITY (PART III of ONLY LIGHT CAN CAST SHADOW) CHAPTER THREE: SEEKING SHELTER FROM THE STORM (PREVIEW SECTION 6 OF 16)

[AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a preview section from an incomplete chapter]

><><><><><

As hungry as Gwen was, Carth had insisted they seek medical care prior to seeking food. With how long she had been unconscious combined with what little medical supplies they had, he wanted to be certain there weren’t further undetected injuries in addition to the head injury that he’d been treating since the crash. Gwen had taken part of a ration bar in the meantime to hold her over. She had a lingering headache that she could not tell if it was from her injury or the fact that she had not eaten in the three days she had been unconscious. Either way, it hadn’t put her in the most pleasant of moods.

“Look, I’m fine,” she insisted as they walked. “While I appreciate your concern, I don’t need you mothering me.”

“Don’t you think we’re better off at least checking?” He said.

“I think I’d feel a lot better if I had something other than ration bars,” she snapped. “I couldn’t eat a single thing on that damned ship it seemed without getting sick afterward!”

“Well sorry fleet cafeteria isn’t good enough for you,” Carth said sarcastically, rolling his eyes in the process.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me!”

“Calm down, geesh! It was only a joke. There’s a cantina close to the apartments, we’ll head back that way as soon as we finish here.” Carth added the last part as they stepped inside of a Tarisian Clinic. It was very plain, steryl… as a clinic ought to be. There were two men there who seemed to run the place: a younger one who was polishing a medical droid, and an older one who seemed to be working with chemicals at a lab station of sorts.

Carth approached the one working on the droid. “Excuse me,” the pilot said, “but can you help us--”

“Can't you see I'm busy with my duties?” the younger man snapped as he turned around sharply to face them. “Go talk to Zelka if you need something.”

“Well, nothing quite beats good old Tarisian hospitality,” Gwen muttered sarcastically. It was no sooner that she had than she felt Carth’s elbow nudge her ribs as he gave her a sideways glance. The woman groaned, rolling her eyes at her male companion’s disapproval.

“Sorry for disturbing you,” Carth said, frantically trying to cover up Gwen’s commentary. “We’ll uh… we’ll go talk to him now.”

She felt his hand on her back a moment, presumably to encourage her to walk away, and tensed. She quickly shrugged him away in an attempt to quickly end her discomfort. The physical contact felt strange. It had ever since… Well, there was no sense in thinking about that at the moment. Her head hurt enough as it was without additionally lingering on bad memories.

Carth must have understood her discomfort because he retracted his hand just as quickly as she had begun to shrug him away, and Gwen let out a silent sigh in relief. He left her and approached the older man at the other end of the clinic.

Gwen folded her arms and meandered throughout the little steryl space. There wasn’t much to look at, but it gave her something to do while she waited to head to the cantina. She could hear Carth talking in the background to whom she could only assume was the ‘Zelka’ the first man had referred to. Her eyes skimmed over the walls and shelves… until they fell upon something that caused her to pause.

There was a large locked door on the West wall that read ‘Lab Personnel Only.’ While it was normal for such establishments to have areas off-limits to all but employees, something felt… different. She didn’t know quite how to best describe it. She felt… familiarity? Was that it? Whatever it was, it compelled curiosity from her. Gwen’s haze drifted from the Aurebesh lettering of the door sign to a simple electronic lock pad on the wall next to the door. It was such an easy lock….

“Gwen? Could you come here?”

She spun around at the sound of Carth’s voice to look at him and Zelka “Yeah?” she said. Her hand had quickly drawn away from the lock, she hoped faster than anyone else there could have seen. ‘Dammit, Gwen, you’re supposed to be respectable now!’ she thought to herself. ‘Just let it go….’

“I'll not have it said that Zelka Forn refused to help somebody just because they weren't a citizen of Taris,” the clinician said to Carth, seemingly in response to a part of their previous conversation. He continued, this time addressing her directly and introducing himself. “Miss Dakaal, isn’t it? I’m Zelka Forn. Your friend here tells me you’re in need of healing? I can treat almost any injury or ailment right here at the medical facility, except the rakghoul disease, of course.”

“I’m sorry… rakghoul disease?” Gwen asked, raising an eyebrow. She folded her arms as she approached them, choosing to remove herself from the bizarre urge to pick open the lab personnel door. “What’s that?”

“A terrible affliction that has plagued Taris for many generations,” Zelka said, shaking his head. “I was just telling Mr. Polla here about it. It is spread by the rakghouls, horrible monsters that live in the Undercity below Taris' great skyscrapers. Prolonged exposure to the Undercity breeds the disease and those infected will eventually mutate into rakghouls themselves, becoming mindless beasts that feed on the flesh of others. Granted, from what Mr. Polla tells me, that would be impossible since you’ve not been down to the lower levels…”

Gwen had to restrain herself from snorting at the name by which Zelka Forn had referred to Carth. “Oh?” she said, a somewhat amused grin spreading across her face as her gaze shifted from the physician to the Republic pilot. “Now I’m curious. What else were you discussing with Mr. Polla?”

She caught Carth’s expression cracking just a bit at her dig, though it seemed that Zelka hadn’t noticed. That much was probably for the better. She could understand Carth’s choice for giving a false name, given the fact that he was a decorated Republic Lieutenant. After all, someone might recognize the name ‘Carth Onasi’... but Polla!? Surely in the days she was unconscious he should have been able to come up with a name better than that...

“Well, I heard the Republic scientists at the military base here on Taris were close to perfecting a cure for it. But the Sith have since overrun the base and are keeping the serum for the patrols they send into the Undercity.” Zelka sighed. “If I could just get my hands on a sample of that serum the rakghoul disease could be wiped from the face of Taris forever…. But nevermind. I don't see how that's going to happen now, and it’s irrelevant anyway to the situation.” He gestured for her to sit in a chair nearby.

She opened her mouth a moment to voice a protest, but caught sight of a look from Carth that made her stop. She leered back at him as she moved to the seat that Zelka had indicated.

“Well then, Miss Dakaal, I hear you’ve suffered some head trauma?” He took out a small light and shone it in her eyes, causing Gwen to instinctually squint and raise a hand to block out the excess light. “Eyes open, please,” the physician added. “What exactly happened?”

The woman struggled to keep her eyes open for him, choosing to focus her gaze passed him in order to aid her efforts. “My associate could tell you better than I,” Gwen said flatly. “I was unconscious, after all…”

“You know,” she Carth say. He seemed to be ignoring her, but she could not see him at the moment to tell for certain. He seemed to be circling back around to the previous conversation with Zelka. “There’s gotta be some way to get ahold of that cure the Republic military were working on…”

Zelka turned away from Gwen, back to Carth for a moment, and the woman used the opportunity to relax her eyes from the light, blinking slowly as strange colored phantom shapes floated across her vision.

“ I don't see how anyone could get their hands on the serum,” Zelka said. “The military base is crawling with Sith guards. Breaking in there would be a suicide mission. I suppose the Sith patrols in the Undercity might have a sample of the serum on them, if they hadn't already used it because of a rakghoul infection. But I doubt a patrol would just hand the serum over. And nobody's stupid enough to attack one of the Sith patrols, even in the Undercity.”

“Well, as soon as we’re off, I’m sure we’ll find some way,” Gwen said, wanting very much to end the conversation so they could get out of there and head to the cantina. Most of the reports were of the escape pods crashing in the Undercity anyway, so who knew! Maybe that actually would happen across a sample of the serum… There might even be some sort of reward, and they could always use access to medical services while stranded on an enemy-controlled planet…

“Please don't say that!” Zelka exclaimed as he turned to her, frantically gesturing with his hands to say no more on the matter. “If the Sith hear you they might think I'm suggesting you start sacking their patrols. They could shut me down! I only mentioned the serum because you asked. I don't actually expect anyone to get me the serum.” The man sighed, letting his arms relax. “Tell me what symptoms you’ve had since you regained consciousness.”

“Well,” Gwen said, “I’ve had a lingering headache, but I also haven’t eaten in a couple days--at least not since before the injury.”

“I don’t see any signs of lingering damage from your injury,” he continued. “The headache you described is likely from hunger, not lingering effects of concussion. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Nope!” she said, standing promptly. “I think that about wraps things up here….”

“Not so fast,” Carth interjected, catching her arm as she attempted to walk passed him toward the exit. He then spoke again to Zelka. “We heard some rumors about Republic escape pods having crashed in the Undercity from the recent space battle overhead. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Republic escape pods? Uh... no… That’s a strange question,” Zelka laughed. “Why would you ask me that? I don't know. Those pods crashed in the Undercity, I'm not involved in any way!”

Gwen turned back, raising an eyebrow at the man’s reaction to the question. “You seem awfully defensive about this,” she muttered. She’d seen more than enough bad liars in her time to spot it when someone was so obviously hiding something.

“I'm not defensive! I just don't like being accused of knowing something about those Republic pods.” And then Zelka scoffed. “This is as bad as an interrogation by the Sith!”

Carth winced. It would seem he hadn’t anticipated Gwen commentary, and was disturbed by how Zelka had been suddenly put off. “Don't worry, we’re not with the Sith. We won't betray your secret if you tell us…. Uh… not that you’re hiding anything, that is.” Carth rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. Whether or not Zelka would trust them with any further information remained to be seen.

“The Sith were already here,” the clinician huffed, “asking these same questions you are now. I'll tell you what I told them. I don't know anything about those pods. Now, is there something else you need?”

“We need a better answer than that,” Gwen said. If Zelka Forn actually knew anything about the crashed escape pods, then it could prove most useful in their quest to find Bastila and get off of this rock. “If you know something, you should tell us. Like my associate said, we don’t work for the Sith. But if you are hiding something, the Sith will find out eventually, and they will come here again. It’s in your best interest to help us. I think you want to…”

“I…. I want to….” Zelka said slowly. He seemed to be much calmer as he did so. “Well... you don't look like you're with the Sith. I guess… I guess I can tell you my secret. Or rather, I can show you…”

Zelka Forn walked over to the door that Gwen had seen previously and punched a code into the access pad. The large door slid open, revealing a series of kolto tanks, a few of them with familiar-looking men and women floating inside of them.

“Hey... I recognize these men,” Gwen murmured, approaching one of the tanks. “They're Republic soldiers!...”

“You... you recognize these soldiers?” Zelka asked. “But how? Unless... unless you're friends of the Republic!”

Carth raised his hands. As if to try to prevent Zelka from doing anything rash. “Looks, I have a feeling we’re on the same side here,” Carth said. “We’re friends of the Republic.” He conveniently left out the part about them also having been on the same ship the soldiers in the tanks were from. After all, they were already putting themselves at risk here. There was no point in sharing more information than necessary… “We’re friends of the Republic. You can trust us.”

“Since the space battle overhead,” Zelka explained, “people have been secretly bringing in these Republic soldiers who crash-landed on the planet. I had to take them in. What choice did I have? Their injuries are terrible, most won't survive. But at least I can make their last days more comfortable. And at least here they are hidden away from the Sith.”

Carth let out a sigh of relief. “Well, for that you have my thanks,” he said, clasping the other man’s shoulder briefly. “It's good to know that at least some of these men ended up in compassionate hands.”

“I hate to imagine what the Sith would do if they discovered these soldiers here,” Zelka continued. “But since their initial questioning the Sith have not returned, so it may be my fears are unfounded.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Gwen asked, turning back toward Carth and Zelka. While they were in a hurry to find Bastila and get off, and while it would be easier for them to remain unnoticed if they were in a smaller group, she couldn’t help but to feel a sense of pity wash over her at the sight of her former comrades in such a state.

“I'm afraid there is nothing more anyone can do for these soldiers,” Zelka said. “Now, if you'll excuse me I should return to the front in case anyone comes in needing medical attention.”

The clinician stepped away, closing the door but leaving it unlocked for Gwen and Carth to exit of their own accord.

“Well,” Gwen said, shrugging with a bit of unease, “at least we know we’re not the only survivors.”

“It’s a good thing,” Carth said somewhat somberly. “It means there’s even more chance that Bastila survived as well.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…” There was a twisting in Gwen’s stomach that reminded her current hunger and she winced. “Standing here’s not going to do us any good though. I think we should gather more info--at the cantina! I’m starving.” And she let out an exasperated sigh.

A smile tugged at the corner of one of Carth’s lips as he let out a single laugh. “I guess we can head over now… Wouldn’t want you passing out on me after all!”

Gwen rolled her eyes and moved to the door, beating the switch with the side of her first, causing it to open as she walked out toward the exit of the clinic, the pilot scurrying briskly after her once he say she was leaving. They were stopped, however, by a voice when they reached the door leading out of the clinic.

“Psst. You there! Wait a minute. I need to talk to you about the rakghoul serum. I've got an offer for you you might want to hear.” it was the assistant they had seen working on the droid previously.

“Not interested,” Gwen said dismissively, and she continued to move toward the exit.

“Oh, don't be an idiot,” the man said, moving to block them from exiting. “Just listen to me for one minute and you won't be sorry. Davik Kang wants the cure, and you'd be smart to give it to him.”

Gwen placed her hands on her hips, regarding the man with a rather unamused expression on her face. “Davik Kang? Who's that?”

“Oh, come on – everybody knows who Davik Kang is! He's the big boss around here. Gambling, smuggling, extortion – he's got a piece of all the action on Taris.”

“You mean Davik's a crime lord?” Carth said, now seemingly rather unamused by the conversation also.

“I prefer to think of him as a role model,” the man continued in a rather grating voice. “He started with nothing, and now he's got it all: credits, power, women. It's the Tarisian dream, right?”

“Why does Davik want the cure so badly?” Gwen asked, rolling her eyes as she did so.

“Davik's interested in anything that can turn a profit. He could make a fortune selling the serum to anyone infected with the disease – not like Zelka, who'll practically give it away.”

“I think we'd rather give the serum to Zelka,” Carth said. “He'll use it to help people.”

“Helping people is all well and good,” the assistant harrumphed, “but you have to help yourself first, right? I'm telling you Davik will pay big credits for the cure. More than Zelka could ever afford.”

Gwen considered a moment. Credits would be a big help if they were going to get off of Taris. After all, they would need a ship… “Where can we find Davik if we want to give him the cure?” she asked, folding her arms.

Carth looked at her a moment in seeming disbelief. She tried as best she could to ignore his gaze of disapproval.

The assistant smirked. “Davik isn't the kind of guy you can just walk up to, you know? He likes to keep his business at arm's length. The best thing to do is take the rakghoul serum to Zax. He runs the Lower City bounty office, but everybody knows he also works for Davik. He'll make it worth your while.”

“And why do you care who gets the cure?” Gwen asked, narrowing her eyes at him. The man seemed parasitic as a mynock…

“Look, Zelka can't afford to pay me much,” the assistant explained. “If you sell the serum to Davik, I can probably get a nice finder's fee for directing you to him.”

“What if I tell Zelka you're helping Davik get the cure?” Carth interjected. It seemed he was having none of the idea, despite how lucrative it could prove.

“Hmph! I'll just deny it,” the assistant said with a shrug. “Who's Zelka going to believe – me, or some off-world stranger? Now, be smart about this. You'll get a better deal selling to Davik.”

“And then only the rich could afford the cure. Just let the poor suffer, right?” Carth said.

The assistant frowned, glaring at the pilot. “Look, if you find the rakghoul serum, just take it to Zax in the Lower City bounty office. He works for Davik. He'll pay you what that cure is really worth!” And with that, the man stepped aside, allowing them to pass.

Once Gwen and Carth were a bit a ways from the clinic, Gwen spoke first. “That guy gave me the creeps,” she commented.

“Why would you even consider something like selling a cure to a crime lord?” Carth asked her. He still seemed to be in disbelief at what he had heard. “You saw what Zelka was doing in there. He’s a good man…”

“Yeah, but we need the credits, Carth. Last I checked, even if we do find Bastila, we can’t get off Taris without a ship…”

“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong, I just… I think we should consider this carefully before we make any decisions of the sort. I mean, who knows if we’ll even find it while we’re looking…”

“Yeah, well unless you have a better idea for how to get enough funds to get out of here, I think we should consider his offer… but enough of this. Let’s get to the cantina or I really am going to pass out on you.”

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feynites · 7 years

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Hello, the anon reading to her mother here! I passed on that you were happy she enjoyed your story and I think she's a little starstruck; she's still not used to a community where writers and fans interact freely haha. She then told me not to bother you too much, but to ask if you could write about Zevran showing Brosca Antiva City for the first time? She's always had a difficult time picturing Antiva beyond the fact that it's Spain-esque. She wants to hear how beautiful it is!

The trip to Antiva is a longone.

She and Zev get on their boat in Amaranthine, very nearly undercover of darkness. They don’t set sail until morning, but they’re both eager toavoid having her recognized.

It’s not that she doesn’t really want to check in with anyone else,per se, it’s just that she doesn’t want to have to go and deal with some othercrisis (or ten) before they can even get out of the docks. The two of them steer clear ofthe keep, and the wardens they spot on patrol as they make their way to the port. The last letter she got from Nathaniel had been depressing, but at least not urgent. She’d collected it topside, from a warden drop box she’dset up herself, not long after reuniting with Zevran.

Most of the wardens she’d recruited for the Amaranthine keep aregone. Anders, Justice, Velanna, Sigrun – all had left no less than a week aftershe had set out to investigate the Deep Roads again. Orlais had sent over a man, Jean-Marc Stroud, to mind the territoryand oversee some repairs in her absence. He’d brought a load of Orlesian recruitsalong with him, and part of her thinks she’s going to have to… deal with this,somehow. At some point. The Ferelden distaste for Orlesian soldiers is still strong enough toextend towards wardens, from time to time, and from Nate’s accounts, Stroud’sabout as charming as mud and nearly as thick.

But Zevran’s got businessin Antiva, and that’s important, too. And she honestly doesn’t think she couldhandle more months of fending off darkspawn and dealing with warden politicsand the horrors therein. Not… not now. It feels like she’s been shunted fromone crisis to the next, from politics and werewolves and abominations, armiesand archdemons and talking darkspawn, the surface and the Deep Roads and enoughhorrors to make her almost miss Dust Town. Assassins, she can handle. Assassinsare normal.

The sea, though…

She almost regrets it once they’re on the open water. The sway ofit disorients her, and the sky overhead and the vast, choppy blue all aroundmakes her feel dizzy. She empties her guts over the side of the boat so manytimes that she loses count, and after a while Zevran even stops making quipsabout land-legs and develops is a furrow in his brows instead. He pours enoughginger tea down her that by the time they dock, she’ll be happy to never tasteit again.

Her first sight of the Antivan shoreline is kind of anticlimactic.Mostly because she’s just focusing on staring at the ground and resisting the urgeto kiss it. By the time they make it to an inn, she’s recovered enough to atleast look around some, though. Bright,she thinks. The first thing that catches her eye are the flowering vines thatgrow along the outer walls of the building they’re heading for. Ruby redblossoms hang like bells from a shaded canopy, casting coloured shadows overwindows with wooden shades. They’re a good ways away from the docks, now, sherealizes. Zevran had led her quickly enough, carrying two bags on his back andlooking so intent and so assured of where he was going that she, in herstill-nausea-addled state, hadn’t even thought to question it.

"A dwarf!" a man exclaims, before they’re even at thedoor. "We don't see many of your kind around here." He has the darkerskin tone that seems more common on this side of the sea, and he towers besidethe frame of his doorway, standing just beside it. His voice has the lilt of athick Antivan accent, but unlike most of the sailors they’d travelled with, hedoesn't try to speak to them in the smooth and fluid native language that shecan't really understand.

He hardly glances at Zevran. She’s not sure she likes that. Butmaybe it’s the novelty.

“I guess not. Where would we come from?" she replies, as Zevtakes a look around. He’s checking something, but she can’t really say what.

There aren't any dwarven cities in Antiva - none outside ofFerelden and Orlais, in fact - and having suffered the trials of traveling viaship, she can't imagine that many dwarves would subject themselves to itregularly enough to raise a good surface community here. Even if the sun iswarmer, and the air has turned from the drab grey of rainfall to a salty-brightscent that feels strangely refreshing, she doubts it would be worth the trauma.Particularly as she's not far enough from the docks to avoid the strong stinkof fish and... whatever else makes the sea smell so strongly. Salt, for onething.

The inn-keeper raises an eyebrow. "Well, they'd come fromwherever you came from, maybe," he replies, running his hands lightlyagainst one another. Finally, he glances at Zevran. His eyes linger on Zev’stattoos for a moment, and his back straightens a little when he does.

"No sane dwarf would subject themselves to that trip,"she replies

Zevran shifts, then, moving his cloak just enough to reveal thecoin purse at his hip. He glances at her.

“No cowardly one, I would say,” he counters.

But when he speaks next, he looks to the man by the door. And hiswords come out in an elegant rush of Antivan. Swift and sharp, and faster thanshe can keep up with. She watches his lips move for a moment. He’d taught her alittle of it, in between her rounds of vomiting. She’d already known some Antivan, of course, but most of itwas the sort of thing that had limited use. ‘Mi amor’ and the like. She catchesjust enough to know that Zevran’s asked about lodgings.

The man’s gaze lights up with professional interest, and he ushersthem inside. The inn is nice. Nicer than most of the places in Ferelden, infact, with thick off-white walls and bright, multi-colored curtains hangingover arched doorways. It's clean, too, as near as she can tell. No mold on thewalls or dirt on the floors, and the rug in the entryway looks only a littledusty.

Zevran talks very quickly in his native tongue, and while shedoesn’t make out a lot of the specifics, she can tell that he’s being firm about something. The innkeeper transitions,in short order, from all but ignoring him, to making appeasing gestures and addressinghim almost entirely. She catches a few stray words. Mostly the haggling; Zevhad been very intent on showing her how the currency worked and explaining whatthe general cost of things should be.

It takes a little longer than usual, but eventually, they get aroom, and a bath, and a platter of food. Crusty bread and soft-cookedvegetables and little round balls of cheese. Once they get inside, though, shetakes some time to just sit with her feet on the floor, and her back againstthe wall. There’s a chair, but it’s too tall for her comfort. The bedframe islow, though, and surprising enough in itself. Most inns this small don’tusually have such things. Zevran checks it, pressing down on the mattress andthen giving her a wink when it proves steady.

She chuckles at him. The ring she gave him gleams on his finger.

“Come,” he says, extending a hand towards her. “You will feelbetter with a change of clothes and the ship grime scrubbed off of your skin.Trust me.”

She doesn’t doubt him, really. She can feel the way her clothesare sticking to her, the way her sweat has permeated the fabric and the itchingof her scalp from it.

“I just need one more moment,” she requests, though. Antiva doesn’thave a lot of darkspawn, she thinks. Some, but not a lot. That might explainwhy it just feels… different, here.Muffled, almost, but not in a bad way. It’s like some tether or other that she’snever quite been wholly aware of has slackened. She might like it, she thinks,but right now, between the sea and the sky, it’s making her feel dizzy.

Zevran frowns a little, and moves towards her.

“You are not feeling sick again, are you?” he checks.

“No,” she assures him. “Just… getting my balance back.”

He accepts that, with a nod, and after half a second, settles ontothe floor beside her.

“Perhaps the sea voyage was a poor idea,” he concedes.

“How else were we going to get here?” she counters. After a beat,she reaches out and takes his hand. Threading their fingers together. She runsher thumb over one of his callouses, and tips her head back against the wall.

Zevran lets out a tremendous sigh.

“Well, we are here now. No more ships for a while,” he reasons.They’ll have to go back at some point, of course, but she opts not to mentionthat. For the time being, Antiva will do, and she’s not in any hurry tocontemplate return voyages. That’s a problem for her future self to deal with. She’soff the boat, and on dry land, and there’s a bath waiting and Zevran besideher, and honestly that food platter is actually starting to seem a little bitappealing, too. The metal bath tub looks just the right size for a dwarvenwoman and a slightly-built elven man.

She can work with this. Happily, in fact. Sea air’s still betterthan dust.

Another minute more, and then she sits up.

“Alright,” she says, giving Zev’s hand a squeeze. “The sooner weget out of these clothes, the better.”

He chuckles.

“Always a woman after my own heart,” he agrees.

But even though their hands roam quite a bit, they don’t actuallydo anything much beyond helping one another undress and wash. The clothprovided is serviceable, and there are three bottles of… stuff, which shethinks seems like a bit much, but Zevran grins happily and then explains thatone is for the body and two are for hair. He shows her how they’re supposed tobe used. One of the bottles for hair smells like honey. She grins as she worksher fingers across his scalp, playing with it a little, and enjoying the way heleans back into her touch and relaxesin the water.

Water which has turned muddy and cold by the time they’refinished. Still, they’re both clearly feeling a lot better by the time they getout, and she finds she has enough energy to tuck into the food platter.

The little round cheeses are spongey and strange, but she likesthem best.

“We will have to find better clothing for you, now that we arehere,” Zevran muses, as he munches on some of the bread, and busies himselfwith taking stock of their travel bags.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” she wonders, honestly baffled. She’dbrought three sets, all good for travel, and even for the perils of weather. Zevran tsk’s, though, andshakes his head.

“For slogging through muddy Ferelden and fighting darkspawn?Nothing. But we are in Antiva, now, and there is the sun to contend with. Youcannot wear so much wool and leather, you will overheat.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Ferelden has the sun,” she feels compelled to point out. Sheknows, it was one of the most disconcerting moments in her life to look up andsee it. The first week she spent on the surface, she kept worrying that it wasgoing to fall down.

“Ah,” he says. “But it is not Antiva’ssun. Trust me, you will be thanking me for this.”

Well, he would know better than she would, she can concede. Thesun still looks like the same glowing orb of disconcerting fire to her, but then again, it’s impossible tolook directly at it. So maybe she wouldn’t even notice if it changed. It’salways going up and down, too. Maybe at some point over the sea, another suncame and swapped places. Maybe that’s why the light falling in through thewindows looks different, on top of everything else.

It’s a light that likes Zevran better than Ferelden’s grey skies,she thinks. He’s still naked as he goes through their bags, one hand holding athreadbare, off-white towel that he occasionally presses to his hair. He looksbright, too, here. Polished by this sunlight. Maybe it remembers him? Can thesun do that? She watches him for a long moment, as she picks up anotheroffering from the food tray.

If she was the Antivan sun, she thinks, she would have missed him.Would be happy to welcome him back, too.

Eventually, he catches her staring, and raises an eyebrow.

“See something you like?” he teases.

“Mmhmm,” she confirms. “The man I’m going to marry. I always likethe sight of him.”

Zevran grins, at that, in the pleased way he’s taken to gettingwhenever she mentions their plans. They’ll get married in Antiva. He knowssomeone, he’s said, but honestly, she doesn’t much care about the particulars.It’s being married to him that she’slooking forward to. A wedding was never one of her dreams – never even one ofRica’s dreams, truth be told. But if he wants some kind of party or aparticular place or people, she’s not going to object.

He puts down their bags and comes over and kisses her.

When he pulls back, she picks up one of the little cheeses, andpops it into his mouth, in turn. Playful and light, the sea voyage memoryfading to the background almost completely, now.

“I almost cannot believe we are in Antiva,” he admits. “But thefood actually tastes good, so we must be.”

She kisses him again. Just on the surface of his lips, while hechews.

“Are we going to have to go smell boiled leather, too?” sheteases.

Zevran hums.

“We may,” he decides. She doesn’t think he’s actually joking, atthat. But that’s fine enough. Some part of her is curious, too, to see more ofthis place that made Zevran. She feels an odd sort of resentment for it, and anodd sort of gratitude, too. It made him the same way Dust Town made her, butwhile she’d be fair enough with never setting foot in Orzammar again, Zev’salways missed this place.

They pass some more time with kisses and quips, then, until Zevranfinally deems some of the clothing she brought sufficient ‘for now’, and thetray of food has been emptied. Once they’ve redressed, they wander back outinto the inn proper.

By then it's almost evening, and a few other patrons have trickledin - most of them coming just for drinks and meals, it seems. They look likedock workers, and talk in loud tones that remind her of inns and taverns theworld over, despite the fact that they’re all speaking Antivan. There’s a goodmix of humans and elves among them, and while she merits a few curious glances,no one calls out to ask if she’s a warden.

They don’t linger for very long, anyway. Zevran’s of a mind to getto the market, and seems convinced that the encroaching night won’t be an issue.The innkeeper stops them just briefly to ask something about ‘morning’, shecatches, but Zev waves him off and just says a polite ‘no’ in return. They slipback out through the door they came in by. Their bags are left behind, butreally, there’s nothing particularly of value in them. Just clothes and some travelgear, and a writing kit for all those letters which Grey Wardens are apparentlyobliged to send.

She still hasn’t really told anyone where she’s gone off to. Shefigured it would be better to actually bein Antiva before she did, lest some crisis emerge and stop her.

At this point, she feels only a little guilty about it. But Zevran’sarm is around her and the streets look orange in the evening light, and shefinally has enough of her own back to really look around and appreciate it.

Antiva is big. Big, bright, and well-populated, with wealthydistricts and tall buildings piled atop the poorer communities and slums, notterribly unlike Orzammar in that sense. The colours here are vibrant. There arefew of the subdued greys and browns which hold prominence in Denerim andAmaranthine. Instead, everywhere she looks, there are flowery yellows and richgreens and light, eggshell blues, broken up by the occasional deep red, burntorange, rosy gold or vivid purple. Most of the buildings are pale, and inplaces the light strikes them with a brightness that makes them shine, and doesa serviceable job of disguising the shadows and the wear-and-tear on some ofthe older structures. She can still see places where plaster has peeled orpaint has come off, and the sea air has worn some of the places closer to thedocks down in strips of flaked paint and faded awnings. But it looks warm andsort of peacefully ill-repaired. Down the main road and opposite the sea, shecan make out a great green hill, dotted with what looks to be manor buildingsand estates.

It's remarkably beautiful, she thinks – but there are still longshadows in the alleyways.

The streets are filled with all sorts of folk as people make theirway home from work, or out to late jobs. The movement of bodies reminds hermore of Orzammar than a human city or the Dalish camps. Up on the surface, sheknows, activity slows down once the sun starts to set. Humans and elves and dwarvesalike, and even qunari, probably, retreat to their homes or taverns, abandoningtheir work until the light comes back. Elves a little less swiftly than humans,having fewer luxuries of free time and better eyesight to make the early nightappealing to them. Zevran had explained it to her once, though she can’trecollect how it came up.

Underground, of course, it's different. The fountains of magmalight the streets constantly, and always at the same brightness, so there is no'day' and no 'night'. There are hours where more people sleep than others, wheremore shops are open, or where this tavern or that bar is closed so as not tocompete with the other. It doesn’t have the same sort of overwhelmingconsistency, but, she’s gotten used to the surface ‘shutting down’ at night.

And yet, as she wanders through Antiva she sees people - mostlysmall, skinny elves - lighting torches here and there along the wider roads,trying to fend off the darkness for those who seem set to work another shift.People still move like they’ve got business to see to.

The torches smell strangely familiar, and when she remarks on it,Zevran casually pulls one down to show her. She finds that it's filled with athick, bronze oil that burns very, very slowly. All at once she recognizes thescent - it's milder, but rather like the vile, black sludge that some of theminers in Orzammar bring up from the working tunnels around the Deep Roads. Thesame substance that is used to light some of the fancier fountains in thepalace and market districts. Stealing a pot or two of it could fetch a goodprice for a nimble-fingered youth who knew a good fence, way back when. Itprobably still does.

She wonders if this stuff has come as far as she has, or if thelocal Antivans dig their own tunnels in the absence of dwarves, and mine itthemselves.

“I cannot say,” Zevran admits. “Does it matter?”

“Not really,” she concedes. “Just curious. I wonder if I everunwittingly sold stolen oil that made it all the way to Antiva.”

He gives the torches a considering look, at that.

“I wonder if I ever used your oil to light an evening,” hecounters, and seems taken by the whimsy of the unlikely idea.

One of the children barks a complaint at them, though, and Zevranwaves back and throws a coin at the skinny girl, before putting the torch backin its proper place.

“They get in trouble if they run short of oil, or break any of thelights,” he explains.

She looks towards the little figures.

“Are they orphans?” she wonders.

“Some, maybe,” he says, with a shrug. “So far as jobs for childrengo, it is one of the better ones, so a lot of them will have families, too.”

That’s familiar enough, she supposes. Lighting torches had neverbeen fit work for Casteless in Orzammar, but there had been jobs that werebetter than others. Anything away from the middens was usually worth fighting overthe privilege of doing. It takes her back in unexpected ways, watching thechildren dart through the passersby; overlooked, almost invisible, but thelight follows them wherever they go.

As night settles in, Antiva City’s greens begin to fade, and theyellows, reds, and golds all gleam, and firelight spreads like the jewels on anoblewoman’s necklace. Dotting its way along the rich-looking hills. The seaseems terrible in the dark, though. Black and fathomless, as the waves lapagainst the docks. The dark of the ocean reminds her of the dark of the depths.

She wonders if that’s why they light up the night, when othersurface folk seem content not to.

The market they get to is certainly bright enough. There are morestreet lights, but also some which look to be done by magic. She thinks shesees some mages, and some Tranquil with sunburst markings on their skin, sellingwares that look different from the enchanted goods for sale in Ferelden. Butthe mages aren’t the only ones hocking their goods, and there are enough peopleand traders about that the crowd soon moves them in another direction.

Zevran seems content to flow with it. She follows his lead, andkeeps an eye out for pickpockets, or other trouble. Some part of her – some partthat she’ll probably never be entirely rid of – half expects to hear someoneshout at her. Casteless in the market. That part is always braced for guards tocome and chase her out, for someone to throw something. A shoe or a brokenbottle or a curse. The lights in the market blot out the stars well enough thateven looking up can’t quite remind her that she’s topside. The sky just seemsblack as any deep cavern wall, now. But the abundance of tall folk help, andthe eyes that linger on her seem to do so more from curiosity than distaste.And on some other level it’s steadying, too. From the marketplace, they can nolonger hear the eerie sounds of the sea.

Zevran keeps an arm around her shoulders.

They pass vendors selling cloth and charms and sweet-smellingperfumes. Fresh produce does not seem to be a good nighttime business, atleast, but there are a few stalls selling roasted nuts and dried preserves, andthings that would be too heavy for sticky fingers to covertly nick from thedisplays. They pass jewellers and carvers and blacksmiths, and stop at onepoint to admire a boxed knife set at a general goods dealer. The seller is busywith other customers, though, and the blades would need a lot of restoring tobe good enough by their standards.

Eventually, their leisurely tour sees them to a stall sellingclothing. Clothing in light fabrics, and bright colours of a match for thesorts of vivid dyes she’s already seen around the city. Part of her thinks it’sfancy, noble sort of stuff. Frippery. The kind of clothes you wear when you don’thave to get your hands dirty or your ankles wet, and you want to show off aboutit. But then she looks closer, as Zevran chats with the seller, and finds thather gauges are all off. The dyes might be bright and the fabrics might belight, but there’s none of the fancy needlework or decorations that come withnoble finery. Some of the fabrics are rougher than they’d seemed. And the cutslook like working clothes, as near as her eye can tell.

It’s just more of Antiva’s brightness, then. Sinking into theclothes as well as the buildings.

There’s not much made in dwarven sizes, but after some chattingthe woman minding the stall takes some measurements, and they go over a fewitems. She speaks some common, and makes a point of saying a few things in it,asking about pants and skirts and even directing them to a cobbler further downthe square. Zevran tips her, and they make arrangements to come back tomorrow,when some of the articles they’ve managed to pick out can be modified to fit adwarven frame much better. And he also selects a couple of tunics and a set oflight trousers for himself.

Even in the flickering light, the shade of blue he picks looks sobeautiful against his skin that she can’t help but tell him so.

“I missed colours,” he admits, a little ruefully. “Ferelden dyesare… not good. Except for the green. There is some nice green over there.”

“Do all these dyes come from Antiva?” she wonders, as they headfor the cobbler.

“No,” he admits. “Some do, but I know some come from Rivain andNevarra, too. And Orlais. Though Orlais buys much more than they sell. It’s easierto get in Antiva, though. Something about how trade works. I actually have noidea of the particulars there, to be honest.”

She laughs.

“You can’t regale me on the nitty gritty of Antivan trade?” shejokes.

Zevran sighs in mock despair.

“Sadly, no. Not in this field. I could tell you more about thefish trade, or the leather trade, but even there, I fear some of my knowledgeis outdated, at least.”

“I’ll try to contain my disappointment,” she promises.

The cobbler is interesting, though ultimately their boots areserviceable enough, and he lacks anything that is of the particular leather andstyle that Zevran seems most taken with. His stall is close enough to the roadthat it’s easy to circle back to where they started from, even moving with theother foot-traffic, and not long after that, they begin to make their way backtowards the inn. By then she’s shifted into holding Zevran’s arm, and hasrelaxed enough that she’s no longer watching anyone unless they drift too closeby.

They pass a tavern along the way. A particularly talented bardsings out into the night. Voice echoed by the lyrical strumming of some stringinstrument or another.

“So,” Zevran asks, once they’ve gotten past the tavern. “Firstimpressions! What do you… what do you think of Antiva?”

He looks just a little bit nervous.

Well.

This is the place he’s been telling her about for years, now,after all. His home. The one he’s been sick for; the one with a sun that loveshim, and streets full of colour, and nights full of light.

“It’s beautiful,” she tells him.

He beams at her.

“The most beautiful place in the world, I told you so,” heasserts, with more confidence now. She can’t help but smile back, as they carryon towards their inn again.

“The most beautiful place in the world,” she confirms. Much to hisdelight.

But really, if it makes him so happy… she’s willing to concedethat it might well be.

Even if just for that.

#filled prompt #brosca x zevran #i hope your mom likes it #she sounds like a nice lady i hope you both have a good week too #Anonymous

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