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oh-theseus · 9 days

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bloody stones

pairing: astarion x gn!reader, astarion x gn!tav summary: you nearly die and astarion still can't bring himself to be honest with you. word count: 4,018 a/n: first time trying to write for astarion (or just bg3 in general) & i'm not sure it came out how i wanted it to, BUT i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless <333 i kind of wrote this to be like a background for a future thing i think... but no promises bc i am anything if not inconsistent 😭

warnings: descriptions of blood & injury, canon typical violence, mentions of past abuse. lmk if i should add more!

You were fairly certain you had never been as close to death as you currently were. Even while trapped inside of the nautiloid ship, you had felt like you would make it out. Granted, that might have been because you thought Lae’zel was going to kill you if you died, but still. Even then, on a ship that was actively crashing from hundreds of miles in the sky, you’d thought you’d make it out.

That hope is nowhere to be found as Z’rell drives her ax into your lower leg. You have been injured in battle dozens of times but this is the first time your injury has ever made you fall to your knees within three seconds of receiving it. There is next to no pain at first, but then she pulls her ax from your leg, and it feels like… well, like your leg was just split open.

Blood gushes down your leg, and you can’t stand up again, but by the grace of one of the gods, you manage to block her next attack. Her ax meets the blade of your sword with a loud clang that you can hear over the sounds of other blades clashing and spells being conjured. Anger blazes in Z’rell’s eyes and she surges her weapon further with as much strength as she can muster. You met her with the same effort, but you’re losing so much blood so fast. You’re not nearly as strong as she is.

A noise that is somewhere between a cry and a grunt falls from your lips. But you are certain this is it. You’ll die here. In Moonrise Towers with a parasite wiggling within your skull. You’ll die in a blighted land and your friends will go on without you. If they survive, that is. You can feel your arms wobbling, about to give out. Her ax will come down on your neck and you’ll sit here choking on your own blood until you die. Maybe she’ll dig the Illithid parasite out of your skull and consume it just as your Dream Guardian had urged you to do so many times before. You doubt Z’rell would have qualms about it though - if fact, she might just keep you alive while she digs around in your skull. She seems like the type.

But then there’s an arrow embedded in Z’rell’s neck. And now she’s the one choking on her blood, her weapon faltering. You don’t have time to be grateful, not when she’s determined to make a killing blow and take you out with her. It takes all of your effort to roll out of the way, her ax bouncing off of the bloody stone floor where your head had just been seconds previous. Your head is spinning from the movement, and your leg feels like dead weight, but you manage to draw your dagger and shove it deep into the disciples stomach.

Z’rell falls to her knees. Then forward, onto her face. Dead.

Hands are underneath your arms, dragging you away from the rest of the battle before you even have time to process that you aren’t dead. You have half a mind to kick and struggle, but when you try to push the hands off of your body you stop your fighting. You know these hands.

“Astarion,” you choke out, tilting your head upwards to see him above you, carefully dragging you behind a turned over table. You can feel a trail of blood being left by your leg; for a moment you wonder if Astarion had smelled your blood before he saw it.

“Don’t talk,” Astarion scolds, propping your back against the table. Blood is splattered on his face and armor, his bow slung across his body. Your eyes shift to his quiver where only three arrows remain. If you weren’t so busy trying not to pass out from blood loss, you might have told him you were right when you’d told him this morning he needed more arrows. But you can hardly convince yourself to breathe, let alone make a joke.

Astarion’s face is twisted into an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear before. There is determination there as he examines your wound, cursing beneath his breath. There’s concern too. But something else dances in his crimson eyes that makes you tilt your head to the side curiously.

Fear.

Astarion is scared.

“How bad?” you force out, leaning your head back against the overturned table. Your eyes lock on the ceiling of Moonrise. This had been a temple once. Briefly, as you fight to keep your eyes open, you decide that it might’ve even been beautiful.

“Not terrible,” Astarion lies. You know it’s a lie, and he knows you know that, too. You might’ve looked at him, tried to assure him you would be okay if you believed it. But you’re not quite sure that you do, so you keep your eyes on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of battle slowing down behind you.

Astarion stops talking after that. Your silence and sudden interest in the ceiling is enough to make Astarion certain his heart will start beating again just so it can race in fear. But his hands are quick in grabbing a healing potion from your belt and helping you get it down. They’re faster still as he shuffles through his discarded back for cloth to press to your wound.

Blood quickly soaks the white cloth and Astarion’s hands, but the vampire doesn’t mind. He can’t be bothered to think about how potent your blood smells, how easy it would be to just take some for himself. He is certain that if you’d been bleeding out in front of him like this when you first met that he would’ve taken every last drop of blood that he could get. But right now… Astarion wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to puke at the sight of blood more.

Astarion isn’t sure he’s ever felt a panic quite like this before. Perhaps when he’d woken up in a coffin six feet underground. Maybe when he’d realized he was a slave to an evil vampire lord. But other than that? No, Astarion had never felt fear like this. Fear that clutches him by the throat, makes his hands start to tremble. Fear that won’t let him focus on the battle coming to end. Not even to see if his companions - his friends - had survived. All he knows is you, your blood coating his hands, and terror coursing through his entire being.

He’s so consumed by his fear that he doesn’t notice you’ve finally passed out. Nor does he hear Shadowheart approach until she’s shoving Astarion away from you, her hands immediately coming to rest above the gash in your leg. She starts to mutter the words of a healing spell and even Astarion can tell that she’s completely spent, that she’s using her last bit of magic and strength to coax your skin back together.

“Wake them up,” Shadowheart hisses, her eyes still locked on your leg. “Wake them up now, Astarion!”

The near crack in Shadowheart’s voice stirs Astarion from his fear driven stupor. His hands are on your face immediately, your name falling from his lips once, twice. His fingers find the pulsepoint at your neck, and Astarion doesn’t dare to move until he feels it. It’s faint, but it is there.

But your eyes are still closed, and no matter how hard Astarion tries, you will not wake up. You’re still breathing, but it’s hard and labored, and Astarion is certain that if he looks away from you for even a moment you will be gone for good. He didn’t know much, but Astarion did know that a world without you was not one he was willing to return to.

By the grace of… something, Shadowheart manages to mend the skin of your leg. She’s exhausted and can hardly stand by the time she’s finished, but she does it. You’re still out cold, and Astarion is not sure whether to start crying or to find something else to kill to distract himself.

“It’s the blood loss,” Wyll assures him quickly, hauling Shadowheart up from the ground with her arm over his shoulders. “They’ll live. But we need to move them. Now.”

The Blade of Frontiers does not waste another moment, leading Shadowheart across the main floor of Moonrise Towers, down into the basement. Astarion doesn’t hesitate to do the same with you, his blood coated hands holding you so, so carefully.

When you wake up, you’re pretty sure you’re dead. You didn’t know what you expected the afterlife to hold, but it certainly was not a stone floor and the smell of mildew. For a second you think that maybe you could be somewhere else (somewhere where you are not dead) but you can’t think very clearly right now. All you can feel is a distant throbbing in your head and a bone deep cold. Your leg… You could feel your leg. That was good, considering the last thing you could recall before passing out was taking Z’rell’s ax to your shin.

And Astarion. You remembered his familiar grip, pulling you to safety. You remembered his crimson eyes, the fear you’d seen in them. But that was it. You didn’t remember passing out or how light you had felt while blood seeped from your leg. For a moment, it troubles you that you can’t remember. But if this was truly your eternal resting place… maybe it was a good thing you couldn’t remember. You’re not sure that it's really something you’d enjoy dwelling on for the rest of eternity.

You’re not sure how long you lay there. You don’t move your body, and your eyes keep falling closed every once in a while. You feel lightheaded, yet impossibly heavy at the same time. All you can bring yourself to do is stare at the ceiling. Maybe there is a god here, because you’re gifted the memory of doing the very same thing before passing out the first time. And this ceiling looks remarkably similar to the one in Moonrise Towers.

That voice, too. The one you can hear in the distance - almost as if they are shouting for you from the other room. The voice is so similar to…

“Astarion?” You breathe out, your eyes finally shifting away from the ceiling. They fall instead to the person beside you. At first, they’re just a jumble of white curls and red eyes. But then your vision clears and so does your hearing. Astarion’s repeating your name, asking if you can hear him. All you can do is nod. At least you know you’re alive, though. Or at least, you’re pretty sure. Your brain is still foggy. The lingering effects of blood loss? Or perhaps one too many healing potions?

You somehow manage to force yourself into a sitting position. Astarion’s right hand splays against your lower back carefully, his left one hovering in front of your body to catch you if you fold in on yourself. When you straighten your back, the room spins so fast you’re certain that Gale’s cast a spell to make it do that. Your hands grip Astarion’s left arm to keep from falling over.

“Easy, easy,” Astarion says softly. You’re not certain of many things right now, but you are certain that you have never heard Astarion use that tone before. One so gentle, so soft. Even when he’d told you of Cazador and the scar that tainted his back.

“I’m okay,” you reply after a moment. Your hands still grip his arm but neither of you seem to mind it. “I’m okay, promise.” The sentiment is just as much for yourself as it is for Astarion.

Astarion only hums in reply. His eyes are flickering over your face. Like he’s taking you in for the first time - or perhaps even the last. His hand on your back is a welcome weight and the feeling of his forearm under your fingertips keeps you grounded. This is real. You are here.

You are alive.

“Holy shit,” you curse. Your eyes widen and your breathing slowly begins to pick up. You’d been so close to dying, to bleeding out in a cursed land so far from home. You’d never thought you’d be one to care so much about something like this, but the fear that you could’ve died is gripping you by the throat, pinning you beneath its clutches.

Astarion notices this. Of course he notices. He notices everything about you. The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. How you shift your weight from foot to foot when unsure about something. How your hands flex when you’re growing frustrated. So of course he notices your breathing picking up, your grip on his arms becoming just slightly tighter.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You need to breathe, love.” He says your name softly then, still in that foreign tone of his. The hand at your back comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. “Breathe,” his voice is firmer now, one you’re used to from him. Maybe it’s that tone of his that compels you to listen. Maybe it’s his hand cradling your face like you might slip away as soon as he lets you go. Or maybe it’s the fact that his eyes are still swimming with that fear you’d seen before you lost consciousness.

It takes a few moments, but you manage to even out your breathing. Those invisible claws at your neck retract, fading into the shadows of the room. The basement of Moonrise Towers, you realize. That was why the ceiling looked similar to the one upstairs.

Everything returns to you then. The battle, Ketheric, the ax, the amount of blood you’d lost. Astarion’s arrow in Z’rell’s neck.

“You killed her,” you say, as if Astarion had not killed dozens of other enemies during your travels. “Nice aim.”

Astarion visibly deflates as soon as the joke leaves your lips. Your lips quirk into the smallest of smiles despite yourself. But then Astarion retracts his hand from your face, and that small smile falls away slowly. Astarion pretends not to notice it. You pretend like you don’t either; your attention shifts to your right leg, studying the skin exposed by the large tear in your pants. You make a mental note to find new pants.

Your hand trembles slightly as you remove it from Astarion’s arm and bring it down on your leg. Gingerly, you pull the ruined fabric back more and take in where the wound should have been. Instead, your skin looks near perfect. There is a thin scar from where Shadowheart’s healing had knitted the skin together but that is the only indication that your flesh had been torn apart that very same day.

“For a woman who worshiped the Lady of Loss, Shadowheart was rather good at keeping me - us from losing you.”

Your eyes shift to Astarion’s at his slip. You try to not let your face fall when he pulls his arm from beneath your other hand. He leans back in the chair that matches the table you’re laid out on top of, crossing his arms and screwing his face into that expression you’ve grown to recognize as a mask. A flash of hurt floods through you. Selfishly, you wonder how much more you will need to do to prove yourself before Astarion finally, finally trusts you.

“Shadowheart is a good healer,” you say instead of what you want to say. You want to comment on him being scared. You want to point out that he had literally saved your life. You want to tell him that that is not something you just do for someone you’re looking at with sheer indifference. “I think you’re the only one who doubts her.” Your own tone has changed. Despite the hurt in your heart, your tone is sharp.

“I do not doubt her, my dear. I don’t trust her. There is a difference,” Astarion replies with a wave of his hand. You don’t like this game. You hate this game. Why must he insist on playing it?

“Do you trust anyone, Astarion?”

If you were anyone else, Astarion would’ve had a quick retort. Or if you’d said it with anger in your voice. But you’re you and the question comes out with far less frustration than you had wanted it to. Instead, you sound sad. Hurt. And somehow, seeing you look like this is almost as bad as watching you bleed out. He predicts your next words before you say them, but he still winces at them all the same.

“Do you trust me?”

Your question hangs in the air between the two of you. Maybe it’s the lack of blood in your system that makes you say it. You never would have dared to ask something so vulnerable just a few feet from the rest of your companions normally. Maybe it’s the fact that you had almost died. Almost died with so many unsaid words swimming through your mind. Maybe that’s why you say it. Or maybe you’re just tired of not knowing what Astarion is truly thinking and feeling.

“You know I care for you,” Astarion replies after a moment. And you do know - how could you not when you’d seen his fear at the prospect of losing you with your own two eyes. How could you not know that he cared for you when he was so gentle every time he took your blood? How could you not know that he cared for you when he had sat beside you on sleepless nights?

But that was not what your question was.

“That’s not what I asked.” You intend to sound firm still. You fail, though, and you sound every bit as hurt and frustrated as you feel. “Why not?” Why didn’t he trust you? Or better, why did he not trust you enough? He trusted you enough to tell you about Cazador and what his former master had done to him. But he didn’t trust you enough to be honest about his emotions - especially his emotions towards you. Why? Why?

You watch as Astarion shifts in his seat. At first, you think he’s going to get up and walk away from you. Instead, he shifts forward, and his left hand finds yours. Your eyes fall to where your skin meets, they watch as Astarion holds your hand on top of his gently. His own attention is drawn to it, watching carefully as his other hand fidgets with your fingers.

“I thought you were going to die.”

His confession is soft, heartfelt. You might even be able to convince yourself he sounds like he might cry. But when he looks up to meet your eyes again, his crimson eyes are clear of tears. But there is pain there. Pain and torment and that fear.

“I thought you were going to die and I would… And I would have to live with -” He gestures to himself with his hand that had been fidgeting with your fingers. “This.”

Your eyebrows knit together at his words, but you say nothing. You had long since learned that when Astarion was on the verge of opening up, it was best to let him get the words out on his own. Pressuring him had never gotten you anywhere. Well, except for right now. Every other time it had been entirely fruitless.

“You have shown a kindness to me that I am unfamiliar with. With Cazador… His version of kindness was letting me eat instead of starving. But it always had a price. Always,” he can’t look at you anymore, instead looking intently at your hand in his. “Your kindness - I am learning - comes freely.”

“You are waiting for the other boot to drop,” You say, understanding what he is trying to tell you without directly saying it. When he nods, you swallow thickly. Words seem to fail you as you search desperately for the right thing to say. But there are no words that feel good enough.

Astarion also seems to be at a loss for words. Carefully, you place your hand not holding his under his chin and tilt his face upwards, so that your eyes meet once more. Your hand slides to cup his cheek, and your heart swells when you feel him press into your touch gently.

“I am not him.”

Astarion’s eyes close at your words. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything except sit there for a long moment. So long that you think he isn’t going to reply. But then he turns his head, and he kisses the palm of your hand. Then where your hand meets your wrist. Then the inside of your wrist. As he places the third kiss to your skin, you let your hand fall away and watch as he picks it up with his free hand.

He doesn’t say it, but you know he understands. He knows you are not Cazador. And you don’t say it, but he knows you understand. You know he is trying. And neither of you say it, but both of you see those three words swimming in each other’s eyes. But you both know they’re there.

“Thank you,” you say after a long minute. “For not letting me die. Not that I expected you to, but…”

But you knew he wouldn’t have saved you a few weeks ago.

“I mean it. Thank you.”

The fear in Astarion’s eyes finally melts away and that smirk of his falls onto his lips. But this was not his mask - no, this was his real joy. His real happiness at your not being dead and at being able to let a joke slip past his lips knowing you didn’t expect anything because of it.

“I can think of a few ways you could show that gratitude,” he says suggestively. A smile of your own spreads across your face, despite the color that floods it, too. Weakly, you shove his hands off of yours and roll your eyes at him. “You are welcome. I’ll save you a thousand times over if it means I get to see your smile once more.”

“Oh, don’t get soft on me now,” You say through your grin. But you’d like nothing more. A soft Astarion meant a healed one, a safe one. If that meant you were subjected to a few sappy lines here and there, you wouldn’t mind it.

“Hard to be soft with you around.”

“Astarion,” You hiss, realizing the joke you’ve walked yourself right into. For a second you debate getting off of the table and smacking him over the head, but when you shift your leg just slightly, that dizziness returns and has you gripping the edge of the table.

Astarion is on his feet within a moment, noticing the change in you as soon as it happens. His hand has returned to your back, steadying you as the room starts to spin again. With your head a little clearer now, you recognize the feeling as similar to what you feel when Astarion drinks from you. With how strongly you’re feeling it… you don’t want to think about how much blood you must have lost.

“Rest. Please,” Astarion says in that soft voice again. And truly, who are you to deny him when he’s being so gentle? You let him coax you onto the table, onto the soft pile of fabrics you hadn’t realized had been under your head until just now. You want to stay conscious, to talk to Astarion more, but as soon as you’ve settled back down, you realize just how tired you are.

When you stir hours later, you’re tucked into your bedroll within your tent. And Astarion is sitting not far from you, reading. You don’t say anything as sleep overtakes you again, but you’re pretty certain you could get used to waking up to the sight of Astarion.

And Astarion’s pretty certain he wouldn’t mind it either.

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helpimhyperfixating · 1 year

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Dark Medieval AU, tell me about it!

You wanna know about it?

This concept is young even if I have thought of it a long time ago. I don’t know for sure if I want to take it where I was planning to take it but we will see.

I think things are pretty clear from the snippet itself but it’s a medieval setting with a magic system AU >:3

There is a jump-cut in this snippet btw so please excuse that

A small groan left your form and Jotaro chuckled softly, leaning in to nose the side of your face this time, his arms tightening around you.

Even after seven years of marriage, you never failed to make him feel like a hopeless idiot. Waking up next to you every day, holding you close at night, all were things Jotaro cherished beyond all.

Tilting his head, he once more pressed a kiss to your cheek, your eyes finally fluttering open, tiredness obvious even in the tiny movement.

“Good morning.”

Hearing your husband’s deep timbre morning voice first thing when you woke up never got old, even though you were barely conscious enough to register it.

“Hng.” You made the small noise back, making Jotaro roll his eyes and grin softly as he pulled your body closer, turning you on your side so you were facing him. He really was soft in the mornings.

“I have an audience with the king and this is the greeting you’re giving me today?”

“It’s your fault for being his advisor.” Was your sleepy response and Jotaro huffed lightly, scooting forward to push his lips to yours, getting that good morning kiss he never seemed to be able to go without.

The door blasting open, everyone whipped their heads around, a darkness spreading into the room as shadows crawled and jutted out from the door, jerking across the walls, floor and ceiling.

“Well, well, what a turnout this turned out to be, king Speedwagon.” An all too recognisable smooth and clear voice echoed through the hall.

The entire council turned around instantly, defensive positions taken up as each one of them watched as a tall figure strode in through the door, dragging something behind himself.

“Dio Brando.” The king spoke as he stood up, his eyes narrowed. “Why are you in my halls?”

“Don’t worry yourself, old fool. My quarrel with you ended a long time ago.” The vampire hissed, but his uninterested face soon morphed to manic glee as his eyes settled on a certain knight. “I have a gift for that Joestar however.”

Widening his eyes a little, Jotaro cursed the court rules for not allowing him to carry weapons, but all his anger left to make way for dread when Dio pulled his arm forward and lifted what he was holding.

“Y/N!!” The panicked shout left him before he could help himself, and he bolted forward before Dio instantly stopped him.

Holding you up by the back of your neck, you were struggling as you dangled above the ground. He wasn’t asphyxiating you but it hurt, and when, upon Jotaro’s shout, he pressed a sword into your neck, you wheezed in a choked breath.

“Ah, ah, not so fast. Wouldn’t want your precious wife hurt now, do we?” Dio mocked and Jotaro clenched his fists in rage, his teeth gnashing as he tried to think of a way to get you out of the vampire’s grasp.

“Dio, let her go, she has nothing to do with any of our affairs.” Speedwagon spoke but DIO burst out laughing at that.

“Are you jesting?! She is exactly what I needed! Who knew the stoic Jotaro Joestar could marry and love!” Dio laughed cruelly again, staring dead at Jotaro who had no qualms glaring back.

“Your feud with the Joestars has gone on long enough! You have murdered four generations, nearly five. Don’t make it a sixth. End this useless blood feud!” Speedwagon called out, moving forward to stand by Jotaro’s side.

In response, Dio pressed the blade closer into your neck, drawing a small bit of blood - upon which you could instantly hear the clatter of Jotaro’s armour as he jerked to move.

Grinning wickedly to himself, Dio averted his eyes from Jotaro to the king, seeing the two Zeppeli’s had moved to stand forward as well, the rest of the council staying back like the cowards he knew they were. “How is extended life treating you, your highness?” The vampire mocked. “Does the magic you copied off of me serve you well?”

“You and I both know your vampirism is a highly different matter-“

“—give me back my wife.” Jotaro interrupted, speaking with a growl in his voice as he took a step forward.

Humming a little, Dio’s eyes were narrowed in cunning and Jotaro stayed wary, preparing his magic behind his leg as discreetly as he could.

Lifting the blade from your throat, Dio pushed you out in front of him, still holding you aloft by your neck and you grunted in pain. Suddenly, a dark red, blood-like material began swirling around you, creeping over your form as Dio released your neck, with you just staying floating there before a pool of the same material opened under your feet, with you starting to sink into it.

The moment the vampire took a step back, Jotaro threw his right hand forward, sending the precision based blast at Dio, hitting him dead on and throwing him back out the double doors while the knight instantly dashed forward.

“Y/N!!” His desperate shout reached you from where you were rapidly disappearing and you stuck out your hand for him in a panic.

“Jotaro!”

He bridged the gap of nearly the entire throne hall within seconds, diving to grab your hand, but his palm passed right through yours, with you disappearing not a second later, Jotaro laying on the pool where you had just been without any effect to him as it vanished below his hands.

Laughing sounded from up ahead and Jotaro snapped his neck up to see Dio getting up.

“How easy do you think I’m gonna make it?”

“DIO!” Jumping up, Jotaro sprinted forward but the vampire waved his hand, the double doors slamming shut as his laugh echoed through the hall.

Jotaro yanked the doors open, with no trace of Dio Brando anywhere…

#hih answers #still-jack-but-am-i-back #sneak peek #I hope it’s written well :’)#jotaro x reader #hih tag games

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onwesterlywinds · 7 months

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PROMPT #19: Weal

Contains body horror, mild descriptions of violence, and allusions to kidnapping.

"Blackram."

He jolted awake, halfway to mistaking the voice for the red-masked man's. But it was only Sid, standing over his bed. The first thing Blackram saw was the knife in their left hand.

"Where is she?" Blackram mumbled, because he had been stirred from his first bells of sleep within the last few days. "Sigrid, she-"

Sid shook their head. "Still where you've left her. Blackram, enough of this. You've not left the catacombs for weeks."

Some irritation he could not fully place propelled Blackram out of bed. He rolled out his shoulders, flexed out the fingers of his right hand and felt the familiar ache in his palm. A fresh stream of blood and pus and something else he couldn't readily identify in the dark oozed out from the wound; tamping down his disappointment and some muted stirring of dread, he went to go to the water pump near the cliff face to wash it out for the umpteenth time.

"You've been getting weaker by the day," Sid argued. They stowed their dagger at their waistband and lifted up a bucket, setting it down with purpose beside where Blackram knelt at the spigot.

"Which is why I told you I didn't want to be woken."

They rolled their eyes, then began to pace. "How much longer will you kill yourself for this red-masked devil? Drive yourself ever deeper into your debt to them?"

"It's… not…" Blackram winced as the cold water touched his skin, until the chill overrode all other sensation and left his flesh numb. "It's not… a debt." He had known debts: his bounty hunter father had not come into his profession out of any joy for it, but to settle a blood feud for the man whose partner he had killed. He didn't have the words for what it was, though perhaps "gift" was the closest he could think of.

He knew far better than to say as much to Sid, who was already laughing - as dry and humorless as the bone dust littering the halls above them.

"What is it that has you so enthralled, then? This poisoned notion of godhood?" Sid held their arms outstretched, perhaps to indicate the majesty of the whole of the catacombs. "You are already a god in your own right, and your people see as much. Why don't you? Speak to any of the bones, if you've any doubt of it."

With his good hand, he closed off the water from the spout. The flow of fluids from his hand had not ceased, nor even abated. "That's enough, Sid."

"Surely it cannot be for this woman you barely know."

And what if it is? he longed to ask. Instead, he turned away in the hopes of finding a clean bandage.

Sid accepted his silence as tacit agreement, but they did not pursue the topic. Something had shifted in their demeanor - a tautness to their posture. "Have you ever seen a person die by infection, Blackram?" they said at last.

"No." The closest he'd ever come was seeing fever tear through the Saltery when he was yet a boy.

"It is one of the most agonizing deaths imaginable. Regardless of which part is infected, the organs shut down one by one, all while the brain screams for relief." They offered a moment of silence with which he might contemplate this death for himself. "I would not watch you suffer such a fate, my friend."

Blackram's eyes trailed downward to the barest glimmer of the blade tucked into their waistband. "Nor would I ever ask such a thing of you. Which is why, if you've any qualms with…" With what - his leadership, his priorities, his friendship? "…any qualms about us, you can say your piece, here and now, or you can leave."

Sid drew closer. They had shared so much of themself over the past few years, such that their proximity should not have been unnerving, and yet Blackram readied for the worst.

"Very well," they said, their voice uncharacteristically light. "I have never known you to sway from your course. Until, that is, you began to heed your red-masked benefactor." They raised their hands in surrender, and the dagger was there, gleaming in the candlelight; Blackram had not even seen them draw it. "But only one thing upon this star can bring about the ruin of a god such as you, and it has already begun its work. …Farewell, Blackram."

The words filled him with a dread he could not fathom, a fear as opaque as the warning itself. Sid was walking away with their back turned, as sure of their retreat as they had been throughout all their other partings from the catacombs. There was a twisted sort of relief to it nonetheless, what with the understanding that they could simply part ways, even if they would never again speak as friends, and that it would not inherently consign Sid to death-

They mean to excise the infection.

The whisper in his ear was unmistakable this time, even welcome amid his turmoil; nevertheless, Blackram's panic gave way to rage. "What do you mean?"

But the Ascian remained silent - and in truth, he needed no further prompting.

Immediately before the curtain, Sid stilled at the sound of his voice. Blackram took a step toward them, then another, until he lunged for the dagger in their hand and somehow wrested it from them.

"You," he panted, "will not lay a finger on her."

He slashed outward and the blade came away red. Sid loosed a cry of pain, but Blackram could not determine amid the darkness where they'd been struck; he saw only Sid's pale hands reaching back for the dagger, reaching for him. They had only to grab his right hand at an awkward angle and squeeze, and the pain from the infection was enough to make Blackram abandon all his other instincts.

"Listen to me," they said, beseeching. Their gaze flicked to the blade, which lay upon the floor of the cavern, out of reach for them both. "This cannot be what you want."

Blackram swung a fist; they dodged backward more out of luck than any real dexterity. They had only a few fulms until they reached the curtain that blocked off his chambers from the rest of the catacombs, and Blackram did not know who would be near enough, quick enough, or bold enough to respond to an alarum about his second in command. Sid tried to flee, but Blackram sent him sprawling with a kick. As they fruitlessly scrabbled for purchase upon the stone floor, Blackram lowered himself to their level.

"You meant all along to murder Sigrid. Do not deny it."

Sid sputtered, and spat out a mouthful of blood. "Bastard," they wheezed, an insult all the more ironic coming from them.

Blackram took hold of them by their hair, prompting another scream, and dragged them through the curtain with every onze of his fading strength.

All at once, for the first time he could remember, Blackram resented the distance of his chambers from the catacombs' main artery. He leaned against the rough limestone wall to catch his breath but did not remove or loosen his grip from his friend.

He longed to show some modicum of restraint, even now, and yet his Echo flared before he could control it. Here, amid the remains of countless dead from eras past and the tumult of their cries, Blackram recognized but one: further up along the wall lay a set of bones that had been cracked long before decay and age had reached them. He felt anew for himself the harsh sting of the lash, the agony of the metal rod that had broken the defiler-chief's body for the last time, so painful for its resurgence that he almost dropped his own captive. His right hand, racked by the persistent, pulsating ache of the wound Sigrid had dealt him, refused to heed his base instincts.

So too was he nearer to Brynhilde's crypt than he had been in weeks. Even now, even with so great a distance left still to traverse, the sound of Brynhilde's dying gasps filled his ears.

Vasu rounded the corner at that moment, just as he righted himself and gave Sid's body another hoist upwards along the ascending path. His mouth fell open in shock.

"Get Merfyn and Unsynskaet," Blackram ordered. "Tell them… tell them to ready the Iron Maiden."

#FFXIVWrite #FFXIVWrite 2023 #Blackram #Godhands

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onesunofagun · 3 years

Text

I shall now yell about Ingo, please stand by:

Ingo’s transformation from the underappreciated backbone of the ranch to an absolute ruff-wearing cantaloupe of a man is also pretty interesting (if you’re the kind of person who absorbs the Zelda series through your skin like a frog to live).

I’ve bolded the key points for skimmers.

Granted, the manga has it that Ingo just gets brainwashed by Twinrova into being a staunch follower of Ganondorf. That’s not canon, but it’s not informing any of this thinking, either way.

In the beginning of OoT we meet Talon by waking him up from a nap, and we learn pretty quickly that he’s lazy and often yelled at by his daughter for slacking off like this. Ingo at the ranch confirms again that Talon doesn’t pull his weight around there, and since Malon’s still a child, it’s pretty obvious that Ingo’s settled with the bulk of the work.

Ingo is grumpy, he’s resentful, and he complains a lot. But he does do the work, and you can find him (presumably) in the process of mucking out the stables.

Let’s examine what he does at the ranch:

Epona really liked that song... Only I could tame that horse... Even Mr. Ingo had a hard time...

Now, Epona is established in game to be a real winner of a horse. She’s fast, she’s smart, she’s got a lovely sorrel coat and white mane that seems to be quite rare or highly prized coloring. The catch is, she is notoriously wild. The only people she tolerates are Malon and Link, due in large part to being soothed by the song Malon’s mother taught her.

Ingo had to really try to crack this horse, which Malon’s observation suggests is unusual.

Epona is very young when we first see her, so it’s never really revealed if she was caught wild, or bred at the ranch with a very headstrong temperament.

Ingo’s clearly the guy that’s breaking them in, though. The most Talon is doing is... sleeping in with the cuccos. We never see any organisation of the cuccos, in terms of egg collection or poultry farming, but nevertheless, Talon has the much less physical jobs even if he was doing them. His focus seems to be cuccos, deliveries to the castle and book keeping between naps (and to be fair it’s probably a little depression related, given the dead wife).

Malon gives us a cow later on, and she’s got the egg for the crowing cucco that wakes up Talon, so I’d like to assume for simplicity’s sake that even as a kid, Malon was up at dawn most days helping Ingo with the cows and milking them. It’s never really implied that she has amazing skill in dealing with horses, just that Epona has a special connection with her specifically. Other than that, Malon is simply kind and respectful of her animals (though I’ve got no idea how she got that cow to Link’s treehouse and that’s worth investigating).

Later on, Ingo is also shown to be a competent rider. Enough that he has absolutely no qualms in challenging Link to races for wagers, and was quite confident of his ability to win.

The takeaway is, Ingo is usually VERY GOOD with both caring for and training horses, if not breeding them for the ranch.

That kind of lends to his grumbling, when he is referring to himself as ‘the Great Ingo’ and comparing himself to Talon, who is a ‘bum’. His claim to greatness may not be undeserved, at least in horse circles, and especially if he’s not getting particular credit for it, his bitterness and frustration (alongside envy, exhaustion, and dreams of recognition) would be quite deeply run.

So it seems that his friend and employer is clearly taking some advantage of him, especially after the death of Malon’s mother.

So now, let’s examine his feelings, and how he changes.

The feelings Ingo has about that are pretty textbook for the sort of thing ‘evil takes hold of and twists’, in the Zeldaverse.

Focussing on the game itself, Malon says this as an adult:

Since Ganondorf came, people in the Castle Town have gone, places have been ruined, and monsters are wandering everywhere. Mr. Ingo is just using the ranch to gain Ganondorf's favor... Everyone seems to be turning evil...

We do see other characters in Hyrule become influenced by the ‘darkness in their hearts’ as byproduct of Ganondorf’s reign.

A prominent example of a character who was visibly dissatisfied with their lot, and then notably changes (while praising Ganondorf for what he’d done), is the Castle Guard who is heavily implied to have become the Poe Dealer. Even if by some slim means it’s not the same person, the Poe Dealer does still express that they could not do the work they do without Ganon as King, and that they now benefit from him being in that position and are grateful to him.

The Kakariko Carpenters seem to have given into their fantasies about living among the Gerudo women, and gone out to the Valley and gotten themselves taken prisoner. Following work near the fortress, the team chooses to act on their selfish desires and go for broke, chasing their dreams. They weren’t previously prepared to act upon these fantasies when Link was young, admittedly much milder in their still very prominent obsession, but seven years later, they’re quite happy to risk it all and piss away the stability of their careers (and nearly their lives) at the first opportunity.

Anyway, the trend is, those across Hyrule who are unhappy with their lot before Ganondorf’s coup tend to be ‘corrupted’ by seven years later, and appear to have given in to a twisted version of whatever they most wanted.

This is noteworthy especially because the language in the game revolves around the Sacred Realm being opened and corrupted, too, by Ganondorf’s unbalanced heart and selfish goals. It is unable to be ‘sealed’ again while Link has the Master Sword. In aLttP, we know there is a mirror like effect to do with the sacred turned dark realm, in which it reflects the hearts of men.

So it is very reasonable to say, that for OoT in particular, much of this evil influence plaguing the land and preying on the darkness an people’s hearts is a result of the corruption of the Sacred Realm. It is an indirect byproduct of Ganondorf’s acquiring of the Triforce, but not necessarily something he himself does to people on purpose, unlike the brainwashing of Nabooru.

Mr. Ingo is just using the ranch to gain Ganondorf's favor... But Dad... He was kicked out of the ranch by Mr. Ingo... If I disobey Mr. Ingo, he will treat the horses so badly...

This explains a lot of the more callous and greedy behaviour that Ingo shows later on, and why it seems to disappear when he is truly humbled by Link.

Link’s win serves as a reminder of Ingo’s stagnating skill with horses, the very thing that made him feel so deserving of praise and recognition in the first place, in that for everything he now has control of at the ranch, he still cannot control that horse. He has become as much of a bum as Talon ever was, relegating Malon to do all the hard work while Ingo struts around uselessly. He’s even lost his touch with the Horses so much, in his arrogance, that now he has taken up mistreating them and using harsh and abusive methods (according to Malon’s concerns).

The humiliation and shame takes hold, his pride shattering with the loss of Epona-- not only as a valuable asset, but also as the horse he could never truly tame.

The dark feelings he was holding onto are let go of, as he regains a sense of humility, and the corruptive influence upon him dissipates. He even seeks out Talon to bury the hatchet and invite him back to the ranch.

Oh, I have to tell you about Mr. Ingo... He was afraid that the Evil King might find out that Epona had been taken away... It really upset him! But one day, all of a sudden, he went back to being a normal, nice person! Now my dad is coming back...I can't believe it, but peace is returning to this ranch!

But what about his obsession with Ganondorf in particular?

When the coup happened, Ingo watched the King of the Gerudo unwittingly play out a sort of grand parallel to what Ingo felt should happen on the ranch. To Ingo’s perception, I think Ganondorf was representing an ideal version of Ingo himself.

A man of the desert, where hard work and grit are as second nature to survive the harsh conditions. A man frustrated with the King of Hyrule’s shit, and forced to swear fealty to him despite being a King himself. A man resplendent with wealth, with fine and flashy clothes and plentiful jewelry.

And perhaps the most important note of all, the Gerudo in OoT?

They’re horse people.

They love horses. Ganondorf’s horse is reputed to be a purebred Black Gerudo Stallion, which is obviously a specialty breed, that is fully armoured and as flashy as he is. When the Gerudo cut the bridge leading to the valley, the only way in and out is to have a skilled horse jump the gap.

They also have a huge horseback archery range, and prowess in the sport is an incredible source of respect amongst the Gerudo, and many of the guards possess bladed polearms suitable for mounted use. From this, it can be assumed that during the recent civil war, Gerudo weapons, war tack and military tactics were probably built around mounted cavalry archers foremost, with a lesser focus on light and heavy cavalry aside (iron knuckle armour springs to mind).

Anyway, Horses are very important to the Gerudo in the era of Ocarina of Time.

So Ganondorf is also unique in the sense that he is the King of a people who value what it is that Ingo does very highly. He, of all people, stands to immediately recognise the knowledge and skill that Ingo possesses in rearing horses.

So this is a man who successfully stages a coup of Hyrule, who clearly inspires Ingo to do much the same of the ranch, and who Ingo also feels is very likely to take his side should he appeal the matter.

And Ganondorf does.

And if that’s not a great compliment to Ingo’s actual skill, I don’t know what is, because Ganondorf is not a man that suffers fools. He’s got a limited patience when it comes to shit that is beneath his notice. Clearly, he recognises that Ingo is indeed the backbone of that ranch-- and the main reason for the quality of its Horses-- and rewards this accordingly.

And for Ingo, being on decent terms with the big scary goth King is a very, very good place to be. But it’s more than that!

What a guy! Not only did he deliver on Ingo’s long due validation, he gave Ingo everything he’d ever dreamed of having to his name, and the authority to kick Talon to the curb. He gets it! Ganondorf, this great eight foot beacon of freshly sought divine power and topaz-encrusted glory, this absolute unit of a man, this great underdog horse-lover after Ingo’s own heart; he really understands how great Ingo is. Ganondorf is paving the way for people like them! Oh, to rub shoulders wiht such greatness when the rest of Hyrule is scorned.

Ingo feels seen. The Great Ganondorf made all that thankless time spent shovelling horse shit while Talon slept mean something. The Gerudo appreciate Ingo’s talents.

And all Ingo has to do is keep turning out really good horses, and promise to present the King with his finest.

So Ingo knows he’s in deep shit when he gets cocky and loses Epona to a wager, who at this point, he’s prepared pretty well and sunk a lot of money into on the idea that she’s going to Ganondorf.

Who he’s probably bragged to about how fast she is.

He lost her to some jerk in tights who’d barely ridden before, too. And then when Ingo tried to cheat him out of the win, the kid jumped the damned fence an in ass-bustingly cool move that really just drove home how excellent and rare Epona was.

One does not promise the King of the Gerudo a fast horse and then fail to deliver, let alone for such a stupid reason.

Honestly, by the end, the man’s just happy to be alive.

Also I’d like to think he and Talon had a much fairer delegation of work and forgave each other, each really learning to appreciate what they have and what’s really important.

how the fuck did the Kokiri leave the forest for this scene anyway, they don’t even have their faries???

#tloz #tloz oot #Ocarina of time #legend of zelda ocarina #nostalgia #ingo #malon #talon #lon lon ranch #hyrule #zelda meta #legend of zelda #gerudo #ganondorf #zelda discussion #zelda theory

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stubbychaos · 4 years

Text

A Guilty Conscience

Chapter 10 of Saviin’ika

Masterlist

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: While you get used to your new role in the tribe, you make it your mission to meet the ones who are to be your family. While befriending some unlikely members of the tribe, Paz later surprises you with something that he thinks will make you happy, though it ends up having the opposite effect.

Rating: T

Word Count: 14,000 *Y’all idk how this happened, I’m so sorry lol*

Warnings: Some unresolved sexual tension, minor injuries and reader still dealing with a bunch of past trauma. Other than that, this chapter is pretty harmless!

Just a quick mention: Thank you as always to @datmando for inspiring me and giving me so many amazing ideas for this story!! You’ve helped me so much with this story and getting through writer’s block and I freaking love you <3 Thank you as well to @aerynwrites @hdlynnslibrary and @maybege for all being wonderful and I love you all for motivating me to write more Paz!!

Also thank you to @coredrive for the beautiful gifs you made!! If anyone wants quality gifs for their stories, masterlists, etc... please go to Kat because she was so freaking lovely and sweet!!

“Would you like one of my shirts, ner cyare?”

You turn around, coming face to face with an unarmored Paz who is sitting on the foot of the bed, his forearms lazily resting on top of his thighs as he observes the way you hopelessly shift the torn, silky fabric in your hands. You turn to face the culprit who is currently curled up in a white rocky ball close to the furnace in the main area of Paz’s private quarters, seeming completely unbothered and not regretful that she had used your only sleep attire as a chewing toy while you were in the shower and Paz was talking to the armorer.

“That would be nice, thank you,” You murmur softly, watching with a smile as he promptly stands and makes his way over to the dresser near his bed while you discard the torn, silky fabric.

Though a few days have passed since the fight without incident--much to your appreciation--you notice Paz acting differently around you and while it’s not in a bad way by any means, it still has your curiosity growing. You notice how he almost seems worried about letting you stray too far from him, though you’re certain it’s not because he’s concerned one of his own will hurt you again, but perhaps he has the same fears you hold in your very own heart. While you’ve only been with the tribe for three days, you find yourself getting less sleep with every passing day, afraid that when you wake up, you’ll be right back at the village infirmary with your estranged father.

Perhaps he’s anxious that if he lets you out of his sight, you’ll randomly decide to leave without a word or trace.

The thought amuses you and also fills your heart with grief, wondering how the Mandalorian could possibly conjure the thought of you even thinking about leaving the place that had quickly become your safe haven.

“I’m going to shower, if you want to change,” Paz gruffly voices as he approaches you with a thick, black garment and you perk up a little upon feeling how warm it is--how warm it will keep you.

Once the Mandalorian is in the refresher, you’re quick to strip your clothes, smiling softly as you neatly fold the emerald, long-sleeved dress that Ima had found for you in a designated stack of clothes that wasn’t being worn by anyone in the tribe. Once you are only in your shorts, you grab Paz’s black shirt that he must wear over all his padding and sheepishly tug it over your head, instantly relishing in how it smells just like him--all woodsy and spicy and just like the soap he uses. The material is incredibly thick, though it’s not stiff and doesn’t make it feel like you’re suffocating; it feels soft and comforting against your bare skin, engulfing you so warmly just like one of his embraces, though you still long for the intense pressure of his arms around you. The sleeves that usually come to an end just above his elbows now fall just a few inches above your wrists and the hem skims the middle of your thighs.

As you sit on the edge of the bed and get to work on tending to your braids and all the tangles from the hair you had chosen to leave down, you think of how surreal everything still feels and how all the horrors you had ever dreamed about running away from are currently above you in the village. You try your hardest not to think about it, and instead, your mind wanders to the tribe and its intimidating, rambunctious warriors that you’ve been interacting with in the covert for the past few days.

It’s been… an interesting experience, to say the least.

For people who you used to be terrified of until recently, you think it’s somewhat surprising as well as amusing that Paz had been correct when he mentioned them being quite mischievous when it came to you, though you’re certain most of it comes from you being an outsider and not understanding their language. It had already happened a couple times where you would be exploring the enclave, trying to memorize the tunnels and where different ones led, and you would run into a small group of Mandos speaking in their native tongue as you shyly approached them to introduce yourself.

Most of the time they would simply peer down at you while informing you that they already knew who you were--that they had seen you standing your ground against Paz, which apparently nobody in the tribe had ever really done before. It was quite interesting seeing everyone’s perspective towards their heavy-infantry warrior, how they knew him to be one of the strongest in the tribe and how they respected him for it. However, it was also slightly amusing that they seemed to have no problem making jokes at his expense--talking about how they were glad you were at the covert so he would stop being grouchy and angry all the time.

Ima, you found, was the exact same way, although she had no qualms about berating the man she called her uncle to his face.

Seeing the way the teenager and your blue warrior interacted with one another felt like some sort of special phenomenon that you had never really witnessed before--a relationship stronger than that between a sister and a brother, but not quite as profound as one between a daughter and father. You thought uncle and niece was a good way to describe it and though you’re curious as to why Ima doesn’t call anyone else in the tribe ‘brother’ or ‘sister’, you decide it’s better not to ask for the sake of accidentally bringing up a sad memory.

You’re too deep into your thoughts that you don’t notice a hulking figure emerge from the refresher minutes later, a few water droplets dripping down his shoulders and back as he mindlessly observes you combing through your hair with your fingers.

A small cough startles you and you turn your head to gaze at Paz, his helmet slightly tilted to the side as he stares at you through the guise of that unforgiving visor. Your fingers are still threaded in your damp hair, your bare legs dangling off the side of his bed with your sock-clad toes barely skimming the stone floor as you blink owlishly at him, still not used to seeing him expose so much of his skin.

He’s not saying anything and it has you slightly worried--have you done something wrong?

“Paz, are you okay?”

His bare, broad shoulders tense upwards when you shift on the bed, finally working through a stubborn tangle as you tilt your head at him; you find yourself doing that a lot more lately and you think being surrounded by so many Mandalorians has their little mannerisms rubbing off on you.

You move to get up when he doesn't say anything, now worried that you really have done something wrong, but Paz shakes his head and squashes your worries immediately.

"No--I mean, yes," He huffs and shakes his helmet a little harder when you stand up next to the bed to pull the thick fur away from the pillows it's tucked under while he moves to turn off the lights, "I'm fine, just a little tired, cyare."

You nod your understanding, feeling your own exhaustion creeping up on you, though today had been a relatively easy day in regards to treating scrapes and bruises. You’ve come to find that some of the younger, less trained Mandalorians aren’t exactly the most graceful on their feet, some tripping over their own capes while descending staircases, while others who are less skilled with blades or blasters manage to slip up and injure themselves. It’s definitely not the kind of injuries you’re used to tending--minor ones--but you find it much more pleasant and rewarding than your job in the village, especially when everyone here has treated you politely, for the most part.

You know that even while you had been accepted into the tribe, it doesn’t quite make you part of the family to some, especially to those who still felt as though you should swear the creed to be fully accepted. It was a big detail you had worried about quite a bit, whether or not you would have to swear the creed and wear a helmet just as the rest of them, but you think that perhaps it is a topic you should speak to the armorer about.

You slide underneath the heavy fur and exhale a content sigh, reminding yourself that such worries could wait until morning.

A yawn leaves you just as you hear the quiet hiss of Paz’s helmet being removed before he places it on his nightstand and a tired smile stretches your lips when you feel the mattress dip underneath the weight of the warrior’s body.

Before you can even turn to face him, his huge arm is wrapped around your waist and he’s carefully moving you closer to him; an intense warmth spreads throughout your cheeks when he holds you close, your back pressed firmly against his chest as he wastes no time in placing a kiss to the top of your damp hair. You can feel the heat from his bare chest already spreading throughout your entire body and you curl your legs back to press your feet against his bare ankles.

He lets out a small huff as he curls his fingers into the soft material of his shirt covering your abdomen and leans down to press a tender kiss to your cheek, “You are lucky I love you, or else I would not let you wear socks in our bed.”

The ‘our bed’ comment definitely doesn’t go over your head and you hold back a giggle when he sighs against your warm skin, his thumb stroking firm circles near your belly button, “I cannot help it that my feet are always cold.”

His chest rumbles with a soft laugh as he settles behind you, his hand moving a little lower to your hip, just underneath where your cauterized wound is still healing, and he gives you a gentle squeeze, “I told you that you’d do nothing to warm our bed up, mesh’la, I knew I was right. You’re always freezing.”

“If I recall correctly, you told me that you would not mind keeping me warm,” You remind him of what he had said the night he had told you his name, your cheeks growing hot when you feel his lips against the outer shell of your ear, “And you are doing no such thing, ori kebiin.”

“You are a funny woman,” Paz is still trying not to laugh as his hand comes up to cup your jaw, long fingers splayed widely against your burning cheeks, “You feel plenty warm to me, sweetheart.”

Realizing that there’s no way of beating the Mandalorian at his own game, you give up and simply shuffle your curled toes between his calves, making him grunt a little when he feels the blocks of ice that are your sock-clad feet through the material of his sleep pants. He cups your jaw and urges your head to the side a little, using his thumb that’s pressed to the corner of your lips to seek them out with his own.

This close intimacy is certainly another thing you’ve noticed since you forgave him after the fight--him wanting to kiss and touch you whenever it’s just the two of you. It’s definitely something you don’t mind, you realize as his tongue firmly swipes across your bottom lip, and you find yourself growing more comfortable and relaxed when it comes to accepting little touches from him. You can tell that it’s something he’s nervous about when you two are just laying in his bed, wide awake when sleep refuses to wrap itself around the two of you--that he’s worried something he does will set you off.

He always tries to keep his touches to your thighs and hips feather-light after politely asking if it’s okay for him to touch you there and a part of you wonders if he’s already concluded that you’re simply not used to people asking you for consent when it comes to certain things.

Even if it’s not the reason why, you’re still grateful he always asks and his consideration fills your heart with warmth whenever he seems so hellbent on making sure you’re comfortable when you two find yourself in these sort of intimate settings. It doesn’t necessarily feel like it’s him testing your boundaries, but more so him seeing what you like and what gets certain noises out of you, though you find your skin quite sensitive to every nip and lick he inflicts on you.

A part of you is grateful that he usually lies on his back when the two of you are holding one another, as the thought of being pinned underneath anyone again, even your blue warrior, lingers like a storm cloud in the back of your mind.

Currently, however, you focus on the way his fingers tentatively curl around your thigh, just below the hem of the shirt he had given you and your lashes flutter as he guides your head back a little so he has more access to your throat. He seems a little more eager tonight, you think, and as his fingers curl into the thick fabric at your thighs while he dutifully presses tender kisses to your sensitive skin, you start to slowly put the pieces together.

“Paz?” His name comes out in the form of a breathy whisper as he settles back to press a kiss into your damp hair.

He still seems slightly dazed as he brings his arm back to curl tightly around your waist, “Hm?”

“Earlier, when you were staring at me when you came out of the shower,” You grin a little when you feel the way his arms tense around your middle, “Was it… is it because I’m wearing your shirt?”

Paz huffs an amused noise and you’re certain you’ve left him flustered for once as he slowly shifts his body until he’s able to rest his chin against the slope of your neck, “I like the way you look in anything, cyare, but something about seeing you wearing my clothes--it does things to me. I can’t say that I am upset that your vulptex tore up your nightgown, not with how beautiful you look right now.”

“You can’t even see me right now, silly man.”

“I don’t need to,” He mumbles, his beard scratching your sensitive skin as he lazily tends to all the little marks he left behind with his lips and teeth the previous night, “I remember everything about you, ner cyare, like how your eyes always get big whenever you see me taking off my armor and my clothes. Perhaps my sweet little nurse isn’t as innocent as I thought.”

You nearly let out with a whimper when you feel his tongue on your skin, your cheeks burning furiously as his hand cautiously grazes up your thigh, “Is this okay?”

His tepid breath fanning along the column of your throat makes you shiver a little and your voice cracks a little when you speak, “Y-Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He repeats with a soft sigh, his hand moving past the little shorts you typically wear to bed and up to your bare hip, just underneath where your blaster wound is still tender, though not nearly causing you as much pain, “Stars, your skin is so damn soft and your hair smells good--just like those flowers you’re always wearing.”

You let your eyes close as he continues to explore your stomach with feather-like strokes, seeming content to simply warm you with his large hand and you feel your thighs clench together firmly when he rubs a sensitive spot just underneath your belly button. His hands are leaving a scorching blaze in their wake and you feel a deep shudder wrack your body upon feeling the wet, open-mouthed kisses he’s leaving just underneath your earlobe.

Despite the ache between your thighs, you jump when his fingertips barely graze just above the hem of your shorts and he immediately freezes upon feeling the tension in your body.

“I’m sorry,” Your ears grow hot with shame and you think he must be frustrated with you for not feeling ready to be intimate on this kind of level yet, “I just--”

“Hey, don’t you dare ever apologize for knowing when you’re not ready,” He whispers, moving his lips away from your jaw and removing his hand from underneath the shirt he let you borrow, “I shouldn’t have done that--I should have asked first.”

“It’s okay,” You weakly reassure him, smiling softly when he politely fixes your shirt, dragging the hem back down your thighs, “I... I want to be with you like that and I thought I was ready but I... I don’t know.”

“You do not owe me an explanation. I would never pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do,” Paz promises in a rushed tone as he moves to unlatch his arm from around you, though you are quick to stop him, “I am sorry if I was too forward, cyare. I want you to only ever feel comfortable around me and if I ever do or say anything that you don’t like, please tell me, okay? I’ll never be mad at you.”

“I love you, Paz.”

He relaxes against you and presses another tender kiss into the hair above the tip of your ear, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner cyare.”

You smile into the darkness at the warmth his words bring you, though you can’t help but to feel doubt towards yourself and you turn your head a little over your shoulder until his warm breath fans across the plane of your cheek. Even though you can’t see him in the slightest, you like to imagine his eyes scanning your face thoughtfully--curiously--and you hear him let out an inquisitive hum when you murmur his name.

“I haven’t been able to sleep the last couple of days,” You admit softly, placing your hand on top of the much larger one that’s resting just under your sternum, “I’m scared that every night here is going to be my last one--that someone isn’t going to want me here because I haven’t sworn to the creed and that I don’t wear a helmet or armor.”

Paz exhales softly and you close your eyes when his minty breath tickles your nostrils, “Our alor already knows that you were to be brought to the tribe to be our nurse, not a fighter. I made it clear to everyone that you would not have to wear our armor and if anyone has a problem with it, they can take it up with me or the armorer. You’re not going anywhere… not if you don’t want to.”

You detect the way his voice lowers into a much more sheepish, subdued tone upon whispering the last part and your suspicions from earlier are proved correct.

He’s afraid that you’re going to change your mind about staying with the tribe.

In an attempt to squash his own fears and insecurities, you wrap your fingers around his wrist and urge his arm up past your chest until you are able to lean your head down a little and kiss his calloused knuckles tenderly. He lets out a content sigh as you let him splay his fingers out widely against the swell of your breast, your heart pounding frantically against his palm while his thumb studies your firm pulse at the base of your neck.

“I just want to be wherever you are, Paz,” You murmur, your lips stretching into a smile when he tenderly kisses your cheek again.

“I feel the same way about you,” He sighs, finally relaxing completely as you keep his hand cradled to your chest, “Anything else you’re losing sleep over, cyare?”

For a moment it sounds like he’s teasing you, but something about the rawness and sincerity of his voice makes you think differently and you swallow the lump in your throat as you think of the little boy from the nursery--the one that had clung onto your leg and hugged you. Though a part of you wants to ask Paz more about how he was found and what happened to his parents, you think it best not to ask and shake your head a little bit.

It is none of your business.

“Try to get some rest,” Paz murmurs against your cheek, his beard scratching your sensitive skin, “I’ll make sure to wake you up if you have any nightmares.”

You murmur a tired ‘thank you’ and let your eyes slip shut, feeling reassured by his words and the feathery press of his lips against the tail of your brow, along with the way his thumb continues to rest atop your pulse point at the bottom of your neck.

For once, you sleep restfully--not necessarily dreaming of much, but not really having any nightmares either. You’re stuck in a strange limbo for the rest of the night and at one point, you feel Paz stroking your brow in an effort to calm you down upon feeling your body jolt when you wake from a strange dream that has you crying out.

As you fall back asleep underneath the comforting guidance of his hands and sweet whispers against the shell of your ear, you briefly wonder if the heavy-infantry warrior ever sleeps.

The next morning when you wake up and tiredly crack your eyes open, Paz is already fumbling around the little kitchenette, his helmet and underclothes now on and you prop yourself up on an elbow as you watch him set a wooden bowl down in front of your excited vulptex. The dish is filled with colorful fruit and chunks of meat and you think it must be the best meal she’s had since she was born, what with her dramatic reaction. She lets out long, happy little squeaks between bites and you think you hear something reminiscent of a laugh or a chuckle from Paz’s vocoder when he reaches out to graze a bare hand along her rocky spine.

“And here I thought you hated her,” You murmur with a yawn, stretching your arms above your head before gracelessly rolling out of bed, the room dimly lit as you make your way over to your beloved companions, “You and everyone else are always calling her a runt.”

Paz snorts and shakes his head a little, tilting his head a little as he hands you a bowl of fruit that has some yogurt underneath, “She is a runt, saviin--doesn’t mean I hate her for it. Besides, she tried to bite Djarin in the leg yesterday, so I guess she’s starting to grow on me.”

You huff a little at that as you savor the fresh berries, your taste buds still not used to such sweet food, and you shake your head at your Mandalorian, “You better not be training my sweet vulptex to attack others, Paz.”

“I would do no such thing,” Paz still sounds a little smug as he begins to put on all of his thick padding and heavy armor, “I’d only train her how to attack the bounty hunter.”

You roll your eyes and watch as he puts his armor on piece by piece, the same way he’s done it every morning for the last couple of days he’s been here. It must be a routine for him, you think as you watch him clip his pauldrons in place and work his way down his body; you find the whole process to be mesmerizing and you wonder if he’s been doing this every single day for nearly his entire life.

“I can feel you staring at me, cyare.”

You feel your cheeks warm up when you promptly turn your attention to the breakfast that Paz had kindly made for you, though you had insisted the previous mornings that you didn’t expect him to do this for you. Your heart warms when you remember how he had admitted that it made him happy to see you enjoy little basic necessities that you had been robbed of nearly your entire life and you stopped arguing after that.

Though it was only yogurt and fruit, you still felt like the most spoiled woman in the galaxy.

After completing your usual morning routine, along with braiding the top half of your hair around the crown of your head, you pick out your clothes for the day and scoop your needy little vulptex into the crook of your elbow, her favorite resting place, it seems.

“What am I going to do when she gets too big and I can’t carry her like this?”

Paz snorts as you wait for him to snap his gauntlets into place around his black, leather gloves, “If you didn’t spoil her so much and carry her around all the time, this wouldn’t be a problem, cyare.”

You pout a little at that, struggling not to smile when he gives your earlobe a playful tug once he’s finished with his big gauntlets, “Her leg is still sore--would you really be so heartless to make her walk around the covert?”

“She seemed to have no problem limping around until you showed up and started carrying her all over the place.”

Not having a solid rebuttal to the playful words, you simply shake your head and watch as he checks all the big pouches attached to his utility belt. Your eyes immediately land on the vibroblade sheathed at his hip and you let out a shaky sigh when you remember the Trandoshan, though Paz seems to notice the change in your attitude and shields that side of his body from you.

“C’mon cyare, we have a long day.”

Following close behind Paz, the two of you make your way out of his private quarters and down the tunnels where others are starting to trickle out of their rooms as well. You’ve come to find that with the exception of a few Mandos, the tribe tends to stick to a pretty strict routine of going to bed at a certain time and waking up earlier, though you find this to work out quite nicely for you. Whereas once you were getting two or three hours of sleep a night, along with maybe a thirty minute nap on your break, you now have the entire night to rest, even if you don’t always get the best sleep.

Perhaps he’s worried that you’ll get lost, even though you memorized the directions to your little office on the second day of being at the covert, but you allow Paz to guide you there anyways, grateful for his company when you know you won’t see him until tonight. Though you feel slightly sad upon making it to your destination, you’re somewhat anxious and eager to see what today brings you and who you might meet.

With a gentle kiss of his Beskar forehead against yours, you and the heavy-infantry warrior part ways for the day and you contentedly enter the little office that you had managed to clean up pretty well since your arrival. As you enter the little alcove, something feels off and you quickly detect the sounds of soft hums and discontented grunts.

You freeze upon finding out that you are not the only one occupying the room and your brows shoot up at the strange spectacle taking place in front of you.

In front of your desk, where you had placed a small pot of violets that you’d taken from the room Paz and Ima had decorated for you, is an unarmored Mandalorian who’s currently inspecting something you wrote down on a little notepad the previous day. Though the Mando is wearing a light grey helmet with chipped away emeral trimmings around the visor and cheeks, you think they must be one of the elders in the tribe, what with their hunched over form, wavering hands, and the long staff they wield.

You don’t miss the sharp, pointed tip of the walking stick that is made from what you’re certain is Beskar and you make sure to approach slowly, not wanting to frighten the Mandalorian, though the thought of you startling a warrior is slightly amusing to you.

They’re humming something that you can barely make out through their modulator and your lips instantly stretch into a faint grin when you realize they’re reading the little list you had started of all the Mandalorians you had met in the tribe so far, along with the colors of their armor and their names to help you memorize the people who are supposed to be your new family. You watch with curiosity as the unarmored Mandalorian grabs one of your pens from the little cup next to your notepad, leaning down to try to scribble something down, though they seem to grow frustrated with how shaky their hands are.

You decide to step in when you hear a disgruntled voice uttering curse words under their breath that you’ve never even heard Paz say before and your cheeks grow warm.

“Hello, may I help you?”

Immediately, the Mandalorian whips around with a small gasp, making you jump as well and you hastily take a few steps backwards when they turn around to face you, their hand pressed tight to where their heart must be frantically pounding, just like yours currently is. Your eyes are wide, hands nervously clutched together as the Mandalorian tilts their faded, scuffed up helmet to the side while observing you closely. Though you think they must be elderly, they stand about only one or two inches taller than you and you’re finally grateful to meet someone who isn’t terrifyingly large or as tiny as one of the younglings.

“You cannot sneak up on me like that!” He lightly admonishes in a deep, gruff voice, still holding his bare, wrinkled hand over his heart, “I am not nearly as alert as I used to be, but it doesn’t mean I can’t deal out some damage still.”

He lifts the staff to show you the pointed, steel bottom of it and you immediately nod your understanding, bowing your head a little, “Of course, I am so sorry! I wasn’t sure if you were hurt or not and I just thought…”

You bite your bottom lip nervously--what were you even thinking?

“Ah, I see,” He seems to relax then, pulling out the chair in front of your desk and sinking down into it with a pained grunt while you continue to wring your fingers together in an anxious manner, “So you must be my replacement--the nurse Paz insisted on bringing to the tribe.”

Maker, did your Mandalorian actually tell the entire damn tribe about you?

Your leg bounces as soon as you take a seat at the end of the medical cot and you brush a few unruly hairs from your forehead before speaking to the elderly man, “I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a replacement, sir. I’m sure I could never be as good of a medic as you are for your people. I’m just here to help out as much as I can.”

He chuckles and shakes his helmet at your humbled statement, propping his steel cane against his thigh and you feel a twinge of sadness deep within your soul as he stares down at his trembling hands. You notice his right hand is trembling more than the left and you think that must be his dominant hand--the one he would typically use for certain medical procedures--and you remember what Paz had mentioned about the tribe’s medic growing too ill and shaky to actually help others.

‘No wonder why the office was so dusty and everything was unused,’ you think to yourself sorrowfully, your eyes taking in all the big dents and scuff marks on his gray and crimson helmet.

“Hey, don’t give me those sad eyes, little one,” He admonishes you again and though you don’t remember having any kind of grandparent in your life, you think being scolded by this man must be what it feels like to have one, “I was told by Paz that you are a tough one--a warrior, just like us.”

You offer him a wry smile, “I suppose he didn’t tell you that I tend to cry quite a bit as well?”

“Oh, he definitely mentioned that,” The Mandalorian chortles and you can’t help but to grin at that, immediately feeling better at how playful he sounds, “I was hoping he was messing around with me--our people aren’t exactly the best with tears and emotions, but I suppose it is not a bad thing. During times like these, the tribe could use a little more happiness and vulnerability.”

You contemplate his words deeply, thinking of the few times Paz had informed you that because of the Empire, his people were nearly extinct and you wonder how this stranger could so easily accept you into the tribe without really knowing you. Seeing how worn out and damaged his dented helmet is, you can’t help but to wonder what he’s been through and though he seems to be more of an eccentric member of the tribe, you’re certain he’s been through hell and back.

“If you do not mind me asking--” You offer him a fond gaze, your smile growing when he tilts his helmet dramatically to the side, his Beskar cheek nearly touching his shoulder, “May I have your name? I am trying to learn who everyone is, but the visors are all the same and sometimes the color of armor is similar and--”

“I get it,” The older man sounds like he’s amused and you briefly wonder if he was once an outsider like you, though you find it rude to ask, “I was about to write it in your little notebook, but I fear my hands are too unsteady for you to understand my writing, little one.”

You perk up and quickly stand up, making your way over to where he’s sitting before you crouch down in front of your desk and grab one of the several pens in the little cup near your notebook. The Mandalorian makes a funny noise as you give him an inquisitive glance, wordlessly asking for his name with a quirk of your brow and though he wears a typical Mandalorian helmet, you think he must be grinning underneath his Beskar guise.

“Ezir Ralas.”

You somehow manage to write down his name as fast as he spells it out for you and you grin at how demanding he sounds upon spelling every single letter out and how he describes the exact colors of his faded helmet. There’s something about his lighthearted tone that makes you think he’s not as intimidating as every other warrior you’ve encountered since being brought to the covert.

“Well, it is lovely to meet you, sir,” You beam at him as you make your way back to the medical cot to sit on while you wait for your first patient of the day, “Have you been the tribe’s nurse for very long?”

He chuckles again, long fingers curling against his knees, “Oh yes, I’ve been with the tribe since we were forced into hiding years ago. Before all of this, however, I was a field medic for my people on Mandalore, back during our civil war.”

“Oh, I um, I had no idea there was a civil war,” You frown at this new information, briefly wondering if Paz knows about this, though you think he must, “That must have been so scary to be out there on a battlefield, trying to save your own people.”

He lets out a small grunt as he leans forward to rest his forearms atop his thighs, “Even though I am a medic, I was also born and raised a fighter, little one. Though the things I have seen haunt me at night when I cannot sleep, I would not so willingly admit that I was ever afraid.”

You slowly nod and gaze down at the steel pendant that hangs between his collarbones and you recognize it as the one you often see around the covert, or in the morning when Paz tucks his own into the collar of his tunic. Seeming to recognize your curiosity towards the skull sigil, he unties the knot at his nape and holds out the necklace for you to inspect up close.

With great eagerness, you reach forward to accept the kind gesture, “Is it rude of me to ask what this is?”

“It is not rude,” Ezir sounds amused by your curiosity and your cheeks grow warm as you trace over the sharp horns protruding from the cheeks of the skull with your thumbs, “It is the skull of a beast that was once native to Mandalore--the mythosaur. They were these enormous monsters with teeth and horns sharper than a sword made of Beskar and when they tried to attack my ancestors, we either slayed them or conquered them and rode them as transportation.”

“How big were they?”

“Massive,” He flippantly waves a hand in the air, appearing far too nonchalant while speaking of terrifying beasts, “Well, I would imagine they’re the size of the village currently above us, little one.”

Your eyes grow wide and a chuckle escapes past his modulator at how incredulous you sound, “And you’re ancestors fought them?”

“Without hesitation,” He informs you and though the image of a monster so fearsome and enormous terrifies you, it also fills you with feelings of reverence and awe, “After the beasts went extinct, the mythosaur skull became a symbol of our people and all that we had overcome; it is a symbol of our history and culture.”

You hum quietly, barely noticing the way his tilted visor is trained on the way you tenderly trace all the curves and divots of the pendant with admiration, a smile tugging at your lips as you think of the symbolism behind the sigil. Suddenly, you understand why people have always murmured terrifying rumors of the Beskar-clad enigmas and you think it must be true that they’re the strongest warriors in the galaxy. You wonder what it must feel like to exude such power to the point where people fear you without even knowing who you are and though you still regret feeling so much terror upon initially meeting Paz, you’re suddenly grateful that you’d eventually let him into your heart.

“Perhaps one day, you will have one of your own,” Ezir concedes and your head snaps up to peer at him with shock; you hand the pendant back out for him to take, feeling undeserving to be holding something so precious to his people, “Oh, don’t give me that look. You may not wear our helmet or armor, but once I teach you some Mando’a and get a weapon in your hand, you’ll be a fearsome warrior.”

You think of what Paz had mentioned about the others in the tribe teaching you Mando’a, and while you’ve only known him for a few minutes, he seems to be a respectful man, albeit a little quirky.

“What does riduur mean?” You blurt out, your skin instantly growing warm when you see Ezir’s shoulders shaking as he laughs at the innocent question; suddenly, you fear that everyone has been saying something demeaning about you, “I just... everyone in the tribe keeps calling me ‘Paz’s riduur’ and I--it’s not an insult, right? They’re always laughing when they say it.”

He shakes his head as his laughter eventually ceases, “No, little one, it is quite the opposite of an insult, but rather a term of endearment. I do not think it is my place to tell you what it means and I am not sure if Paz has the guts to actually tell you, but I can say that I am certain you will find out for yourself one day when he calls you that himself.”

Your leg bounces anxiously as you watch him situate his mythosaur pendant between his collarbones and as you think of all the meanings that the word possibly possesses, one stands out to you the most.

“Is it something I would be allowed to say to him as well in the future?”

“Yes,” He reaches down to pet your vulptex that’s awkwardly making her way towards his boots, sounding utterly entertained by your inquiry, “Though I cannot promise you that his brain wouldn’t combust if he heard you call him that.”

“Then perhaps I would call him that as payback for all the times he’s teased me about certain things.”

Ezir guffaws at that, remaining diligent in petting the lazy vulptex that’s headbutting his calf in a needy manner, “I like you, little one. I almost didn’t believe Ima when she told me you had stopped the fight between Din and Paz, let alone when she informed me that you had stood up for yourself and the bounty hunter.”

You watch as the older man awkwardly scoops the little vulptex into his arms and you’re grateful that not many seem to mind her presence in the covert, as you’re not sure what you would have done had you been forced to get rid of her.

“I have been belittled by men all my life,” You shyly admit, staring at the little creature that’s reaching up in an attempt to bite his pendant, though Ezir doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest as you continue, “And for the longest time, I just learned to keep my mouth shut and deal with it because that’s just the way I was raised, I suppose. These last couple of days have taught me that it does not make me a bad person for only wanting to be treated with respect and my only regret is that I did not realize this sooner in life. Perhaps I’d be a stronger woman if I had realized my worth at a younger age.”

No longer is Ezir petting the vulptex, but instead, he now has his visor trained on you and in return, you offer him a small smile. He remains deathly silent for at least a minute before giving you a curt nod, as though he approves of either you or just your declaration in general.

“In our language, we have a word that I think perfectly describes you, little one,” His gruff, filtered voice drops to something softer as he watches you perk up with curiosity, “Ramikadyc--it means that you have the tenacity and determination of a Mandalorian, that you have our mindset.”

Your heart instantly swells with gratitude and you shyly cross your ankles together as you wring your fingers together on top of your lap, “I would hardly compare myself to your people. I do not think I would have the tenacity or determination to fight against one of those mythosaurs that your ancestors slayed.”

“Something tells me you and I are not too different,” Ezir informs you with what you think is mirth laced within his deep voice, “I do not think you would hesitate to put yourself in harm’s way if it meant protecting someone you care for or someone you do not wish to see to get hurt.”

You smile softly and give him a slight nod as you think of the bounty hunter that you had stood up for, despite him not deserving it, or even your little vulptex that you had taken a blaster shot for. If Ezir truly thinks that you have the heart of a warrior, then he must be saying it for a good reason and his words, along with Ima’s and Paz’s confidence in you, fills you with a little more hope in regards to your future with the tribe.

“Will you tell me more about you?”

“I am afraid my stories might bore you to the point of insanity,” Ezir chuckles, shifting in his seat a little so he can hold your vulptex in a more comfortable position, “But since you seem so curious, what is it you wish to know, little one?”

“Can you tell me more about Mandalore and the civil--?”

Before you can finish, a deep baritone from the entrance of your office interrupts your inquiry and both you and Ezir immediately turn around to find your blue Mandalorian standing tall behind another unarmored Mando, though this one is still taller than you and Ezir. The smaller Mando is holding their wrist protectively against their chest and it takes a few seconds for you to recognize the warrior as one of the younger ones that seems to have a knack for constantly getting hurt during training.

“Saviin’ika,” Paz greets politely with a slight nod, cocking his helmet to the side upon noticing who’s been keeping you company in the short amount of time you two have been apart, “Ezir.”

You raise your brows at the way your warrior tenses up a little upon seeing the elderly man, though you manage to get in a word before any of the Mandalorians can say anything, your attention focused on the injured boy.

“Is your wrist hurt?”

The unarmored Mando peers up at Paz with what you think must be a wary expression through his visor--something that your warrior immediately picks up on. With absolutely no hesitation, the heavy-infantry warrior murmurs something to the younger Mando in his native tongue and you raise your head with anticipation and a kind smile. As though that’s all the confirmation of the young teenager--Vhan--needs, he nods a little and you slide off the end of the cot so your first patient of the day can sit down.

You give the boy a small, encouraging smile as he takes his glove off and pushes up his sleeve to reveal a swollen wrist, “What happened?”

“It was my fault,” Paz says immediately, making you raise your brows in surprise at the thought of him somehow hurting someone so young, “He was sparring with his brother and I looked away for a minute. He fell and landed right on his wrist.”

You frown a little at the guilt in his voice, though judging by the exasperated sigh that wafts past Vhan’s modulator, you think this must be a common occurrence amongst the younger ones who get hurt on Paz’s watch.

“Well, it’s hard to tell for sure without x-rays,” You manage to rotate Vhan’s wrist in the slightest, a gesture that seems to cause minimal pain to the boy, “But it looks like it’s just a minor sprain, since there seems to be no crooked bones and you can still move it around a little. Nothing too serious and nothing to feel bad about.”

Paz lets out a relieved huff at the news, though you know your blue warrior enough to know he’s not going to let the guilt down so easily, especially not when it pertains to one of the younger members of the tribe. A knowing grin stretches your lips when Vhan groans, and now you’re certain this isn’t the first time Paz has been worried like a mother hen over the clumsy teen. Though the blue warrior has quite the reputation among all the adults in the covert, it seems he also has a completely different persona when he’s with the younger ones.

“See? I told you it’s fine. Can I go back to training now?” Vhan insists, moving to hop off of the cot, though you are quicker to stop him by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Uh uh,” You shake your head, earning another groan from the teen and what you’re sure are surprised expressions from the two other men occupying the room, “Just because it’s a sprain doesn’t mean you can go running off just to damage it even further. You should at least rest it for forty-eight hours and put some ice on it every thirty minutes for two hours until the pain goes away. Also try to keep it elevated as much as possible.”

“That’s so much work for a little sprain though!” Vhan argues and you let out a soft sigh as you begin to compress his wrist with a thick bandage, “Can’t I just--”

“Hey!” Ezir suddenly sounds annoyed, and you’re surprised when the boy tenses up a little, just as Paz had earlier, and something about their reactions has you growing even more curious to what kind of reputation the elder has among his family, “Listen to the nurse, di’kut. She only wants what’s best for you.”

“Yes sir,” Vhan mumbles, though you can tell he’s still not happy about it when he turns his visor to you, “S-Sorry, Saviin’ika.”

You blink your surprise at him calling you the familiar nickname, but eventually you give him a kind smile and stand up to retrieve your roll of ice wraps, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure it must be difficult for you to miss out on training, but it really is for your own good. I don’t have the resources here to fix your wrist if it was seriously broken, so it’s detrimental to make sure that the sprain heals properly before doing any serious training again. Perhaps there is… um, maybe something else you can do in the meantime that’s not too strenuous?”

He perks up a little and hope instantly flares in your chest as he gives you an eager nod before turning to look at Paz, “You told me the other day that you would show me how to take apart an assault rifle and put it back together--would that be okay?”

Paz glances at you and the boy’s eager tone makes it hard for you to say no, so you give your warrior a reluctant nod as you finish tying the ice wrap around his swollen wrist, “Just as long as you make sure to not move your wrist around too much and keep the ice wrap on, okay?”

“Alright!” He’s instantly hopping off the cot and you chuckle at his newfound excitement, “Thanks vod’ika!”

You huff a little, opening your mouth to stubbornly remind him that you’re far older than him, though he cuts you off with a quick headbutt to your forehead; while it’s not too harsh of a harsh gesture, it’s certainly not as gentle as all the times Paz has performed the same action. You rub your tender forehead as Paz turns to the side a little so Vhan can make his way, presumably, to the armory. Paz shakes his helmet in an exasperated manner as he steps toward you, most likely to get a look at your forehead, but Ezir’s small grunts as he slowly stands up has your full attention.

Instinctively, you move to help the elder up from your office chair, noticing his slight struggle to stand and you force yourself not to cringe at the numerous pops and cracks coming from his knees and back. After a lifetime of fighting and being a medic, you’re certain it’s taken a toll on him, though he simply chuckles a little and pats your back as you both make your way over to Paz.

“I suppose I should take this as my sign to leave you to your duties for the day, verd’ika,” You beam at the new nickname as he carefully grabs onto your elbow for better balance while you lead him to the entrance where Paz is still standing with a cocked helmet, “I’ll have to look for my old medical books and datapads for you to read.”

“Oh, thank you!” Happiness and warmth instantly blankets your heart at his consideration, gratitude filling your soul when you realize that he seems to approve of you being the tribe’s new nurse, “I would love that very much, if it’s not too much of a hassle.”

“Of course not,” He gives your hand a little pat before latching onto a grumpy Paz’s elbow instead, “I’ll just make this one help me later since he can reach the higher shelves.”

“I have other things to--”

Jutting a thumb out in your direction over his shoulder, Ezir sends a rough little whack! of his walking stick to Paz’s armored shin, “It is good she is here with the tribe now--perhaps she can teach you and everyone else some manners, you big brute.”

“Yeah, ori kebiin,” You giggle in a teasing manner, earning a small grunt from the blue warrior, “Would it really kill you to learn a few manners?”

Ezir lets out a loud laugh that has Paz shaking his helmet at you, and though you know you’ll soon regret it, you think it’s worth the delightful torment he’ll inflict on you later when the two of you are alone. Without another word, Paz reaches out to give your nape a tender squeeze before leaving you alone to your thoughts in your little office, though you think that seeing Ezir and helping Vhan has already given you a bright start to your day.

With a faint smile stretched along your lips, you add a few comments to your little notepad and take inventory of the supplies you have and what you need for the next time Paz goes on a supply run. For the most part, the day goes by slowly and uneventfully--something you are actually grateful for, what with being so used to the chaos that came as a result of working in a village full of crime and those with cruel hearts.

Needless to say, you don’t mind a calm day in the slightest and when Ima passes your office hours later to politely inform you that training and sparring lessons are done for the day, you’re grateful that no serious injuries were sustained. Packing up your things and making sure your office is in order, you turn off the lights and exit your office, eager to explore the covert a little more and go to the room that Paz and Ima had decorated for you.

After conversing with a few of the Mandalorians you had befriended in the short amount of time you’ve been at the covert, you happily make your way down the stairs that you know leads to everyone’s private quarters, as well as the nursery and your little flower alcove.

You hum a mindless tune to yourself as you stroll down the long tunnel, smiling when the atmosphere gets a little warmer when you pass the shielded alcove that leads into the nursery; your walking slows a little and you’re half tempted to go inside and say hi to the little ones, though you don’t want to cause any chaos again, especially so late in the day. Reluctantly, you continue past the nursery and make your way to the little room Paz and Ima had decorated with your flowers, your vulptex resting comfortably in your arms as you two seek out relaxation.

“I need to think of a name for you, little one,” You murmur, earning a soft gaze from her, crimson eyes slowly blinking up at you, “Maybe I should ask one of the younglings to come up with one. They must be far more creative than me.”

She simply answers you with a dramatic huff as you continue down the path that Paz had already taken you down a few times.

You’re completely oblivious to the little footsteps following you far behind.

Finally, you make it to your beloved sanctuary and let out a relieved sigh upon seeing all your growing flowers and the lights that hang above them. Placing your little vulptex on the center of the desk where you had placed a little pillow for her, you dutifully water the plants and flowers that look like they need it the most. It’s comforting to have a little place of your own, especially after dealing with so many of the boisterous warriors all day and while you feel as though you’re slowly getting used to their antics, you realize you truly had no idea what you were getting yourself into upon agreeing to be the tribe’s nurse.

A small smile quirks at the corners of your lips as you feel the tiniest ache in your temple where the younger Mandalorian had headbutted his gratitude a little too roughly earlier, though warmth fills your heart when you remember how he had referred to you as his sister.

You’re in the middle of checking on your little violets when your vulptex raises her head in a jolting manner; immediately, you turn around, expecting Paz or perhaps Ima needing you to tend to someone’s wound.

It is neither one of them, you realize with surprise.

You let out a little gasp upon seeing a pair of wide, fearful eyes poking from the tiny crack between the curtains and the doorway and you instantly recognize the sad, golden brown orbs from days ago in the nursery.

“Oh, it’s okay, little one!” You give him a warm smile that instantly seems to allay some of the despair in his big eyes, “You may come in, if you’d like.”

Hesitantly, he makes his way into the unfamiliar room, looking like a lost animal that’s experiencing a new environment for the first time and you think you know the feeling all too well; even after spending a few days at the covert, you still feel quite lost and you can’t possibly imagine what this child is going through.

You blink your surprise when he gets halfway across the room before spotting your lazy vulptex who is still curled up on your desk, staring at the boy curiously, though not unkindly in the slightest. Carefully, you make your way closer to the little who simply stares up at you with wide starry eyes, his hands clasped together politely in front of him and your heart melts at how nervous and scared he seems.

“It’s okay, little one,” You reassure him in a calm, hushed tone, reaching your hand out for him to take, “She loves younglings very much and would never hurt you, I promise.”

The curly-haired boy shifts his gaze between you and your rocky companion before ultimate latching onto your hand with his. Cautiously and without any force, you guide him closer to your desk where the vulptex is still observing the little boy with gentle eyes; you think that on top of being intelligent, her species must also be quite empathetic and can differentiate a kind soul from a dark one.

“Is it okay if I pick you up?” You question the boy softly, earning you a shy nod as an answer, and you carefully haul him up to the chair in front of your desk, keeping a hand pressed to the back of his shoulders to keep him steady, should he stumble, “If you want to hold your hand out to sniff it, it’ll be a sign that you want to be her friend.”

His eyes widen a little more and you can’t help but to grin as he holds a shaking hand out for the rocky vulpine to sniff eagerly, his other hand pressed shyly to his cheek in anticipation. A tiny, childish giggle meets your ears and warms your heart as the vulptex licks his palm, though he is quick to pull his damp hand back and wipe it on his beige tunic with a scrunched up expression. When he smiles up at you, you’re certain your heart is going to melt into a big puddle of goo in the pit of your stomach and you offer him one in return, smoothing his dark, unruly curls away from his forehead.

“See? She knows you’re brave and likes you now.”

He gives you a toothy grin and you feel a lovely warmth in your soul knowing that you were able to provide some emotional reprieve for the sweet child.

“Did you sneak away from the nursery, little one?” You ask him gently, not wanting him to think you’re upset with him at all; he simply drops his head in shame and you continue to stroke his curls in an attempt to comfort him, “It’s okay! You’re not in trouble, I promise. I just want to know why.”

For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to answer as he keeps his head lowered, but then he eventually peers up at you and whispers his response in a tiny, meek voice.

“Y-You were singing,” He explains quietly, and you realize he must have heard you humming and followed you all the way here, “‘M sorry.”

“Hey, no, none of that,” You crouch down in front of him so he’s taller than you while he stands on your chair and you give him a kind smile, “It’s okay, but how about next time you just ask the caretaker on duty, alright? They’ll come find me, wherever I may be.”

He gives you a shy nod, seeming thoughtful for a few moments as he presses a chubby index finger to his pouting lips, “Do I have to go back?”

You should say yes and you know it, but his eyes are all but pleading with you to say no and he looks so hopeful that you’ll let him keep you company. You think he must feel just as out of place as you do, not knowing who to talk to or who to trust, though you seem to be the one person he finds solace in.

How could you destroy that tiny amount of trust he already has in you?

You give him a tiny smile and shake your head, “You may stay for a little while, but I fear I do not make for the most exciting company, little one.”

The boy doesn’t say anything to that and you blink your surprise when he reaches out to clumsily touch the thick braid wrapped around your crown, along with the few flowers that you had strategically placed throughout the weaves that morning when Paz had been watching you. He seems curious by the vibrant flora, his eyes blinking and flickering with awe and you bow your head a little so he can get a better look at them.

“Do you like flowers?” You ask him quietly when he eventually ceases his exploration, and you look up to see him giving you a shy little nod, “What’s your favorite kind?”

You expect him to not know many, especially if he’s spent his few years of life on Nevarro, though he surprises you when he speaks in a barely there whisper, “I like roses--like the ones my ‘gramma used to paint.”

You’re desperately inclined to ask more about his grandmother--if he had any parents and what planet he had been saved from, but if he’s the covert’s newest foundling, the wounds on his heart and mind must still be so fresh and you do not wish to infect it further with your invasive questions. Instead, you force yourself to give him a warm, big smile and somehow manage to keep the tears out of your eyes when his chubby fingers find the little blue flower that Paz had tucked behind your ear earlier in the morning.

“Yeah? I bet they were beautiful,” You grin and he gives you a fervent little nod to confirm your thoughts, “What color roses did she paint?”

And what you thought was only going to be a ten or twenty minute interaction with the boy ends up to be more than an hour and a half long meeting where the two of you talk about harmless topics like flowers, favorite animals, different types of stars and constellations. Though for once, you do most of the talking and you are more than satisfied to describe the beautiful hot springs and caves that Paz had taken you to, sparing all the mushy details that you knew would probably gross out a child.

“He’s scary,” The boy murmurs as you tell him of the story, at least the clean version, of how Paz had stood up for you the night you first found your vulptex, “They all are--they don’t smile.”

“Well of course they do,” You inform the little one, curling a finger against his cheek and earning a tiny giggle, “Everyone smiles, you just can’t see it because they wear their helmets to honor their creed. It does not mean they are robots or incapable of feeling the same emotions we do.”

He’s perched on one of your thighs, seeming comfortable as he softly pets the sleeping vulptex and you smile down at him sympathetically upon realizing he’s still apprehensive of the armored warriors, “I was scared of Paz at first too, but he turned out to be one of the kindest, most honorable men I have ever met. These people are not cruel, but I understand why you are afraid, little one. I have only been here for three days and I am still learning how to fit in as well. Perhaps we can figure this out together.”

He gives you another toothy grin and nods, seeming comforted by your words as he leans back into you and your heart aches at the trust he shows in you; a part of you wonders if it’s because he can actually see your face. You’re not entirely sure of what to say as he continues to pet the sleepy animal, smiling whenever he hears the soft squeaks that the vulptex lets out every now and then.

“Do you have a name little one?” You ask kindly--tenderly--hoping that the question won’t overwhelm him as he tilts his head to stare up at you.

You truly don’t think he’s going to answer you, but then after a few moments of silence, he lowers his head a little, not looking you in the eyes.

“Odisian.”

“Odisian... what a lovely name,” You repeat it with a grin, earning a shy smile from him, “Is it okay if I call you Odi? Or do you prefer your full name?”

Suddenly, he beams up at you and kicks his legs a little, as if having a nickname makes him feel more at home, “I like Odi!”

Your cheeks nearly hurt from how big you’re smiling at him and you nod, deciding it’s best not to dwell too much on his own name or what nicknames he might have had before being brought to the covert. You straighten your spine a little and reach out to pet your little vulptex who keens under all the adoration and attention she’s suddenly receiving from you and the little one.

“Would you like to pick out a name for her?” You ask him softly, tilting your head to the side when he gives you an expression filled with awe and wonder, like he can’t believe you are asking him to do such a thing, “She needs one and I do not think I am creative enough to bestow her with such an honor.”

Odi swings his legs nervously and you can’t help but to grin as he seems to seriously contemplate this huge decision, his tiny hand squeezing his cheeks together in great concentration. You remain patient with him as he turns his head a little to stare at all the flowers on your desk and the colorful vines that are draping off the edge of the shelves attached to the wall with admiration.

“Rosie?”

He says it more as a question, like he’s nervous for your response, so you offer him a warm grin when you realize this sweet child wants to name your vulptex after his own favorite flower. You wonder if he somehow knows just how much your flowers mean to you, just as Paz does, or if the flower simply has some sort of deeper meaning to him and you playfully ruffle his curls, earning you a little giggle from him.

“That is far more lovely of a name than I could ever come up for her,” You inform him, your cheeks hurting from how big of a smile you’re wearing on your face and he perks up at your reassurance, no longer seeming quite as nervous, “Her eyes are red like roses too! Is red your favorite color?”

“I like yellow,” He bashfully admits, and you nearly chuckle at the way he pronounces his ‘L’s as ‘W’s, “It is a happy color.”

You agree with him as you begin to collect some flowers for the little boy, though a part of you lamely thinks he probably doesn’t even want them. You’re in the process of pointing out all the different flowers that Paz and Ima had been so kind to plant for you in anticipation of your arrival when the drapes to your alcove shuffle to the side a little.

You’re completely unaware of how long your blue warrior is standing in the entryway, simply observing you and the little one perched contently on top of your leg who seems utterly interested in what you have to tell him about the healing properties of violets and lavender.

“Oh! And then this one right here, if you just grind it up and add it into--”

“Cyare.”

Immediately, you and Odi both turn to face where Paz is standing just feet away in front of the rounded entrance, though the little one in your arms is quick to lower his head in fear of the massive warrior. Wanting the youngling to feel more comfortable, you simply smile up at Paz, who suddenly seems frozen to his spot as he stares at you with a cocked helmet, his shoulders tense as his pauldrons inch closer to the bottom of his helmet.

“Is something wrong, Paz?”

“No, it’s just--” His helmet slightly jolts to the side and he’s acting odd as you gently heave Odi off of your lap, offering him the little bundle of flowers so he won’t feel so lonely without you by his side, “It is time for the younglings to sleep and the caretaker on duty got scared because he was missing. I thought you might know where he is and it seems as though I was right.”

Odi is staring up at you with the saddest expression, as though he’s pleading with you to not return him back to the nursery and you gently cup the back of his curls, giving him a kind smile in return. Nervously, he fiddles with his hands as you stand up, easily scooping your vulptex into the crook of your elbow, all while the little one stares up at Paz with the most frightened expression you’ve ever witnessed, hiding behind your leg.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere and you’re more than welcome to visit me anytime,” You offer him a reassuring smile as he gazes down at the little bouquet of flowers and he is quick to grab your outstretched hand with an eager expression, “C’mon, I’ll walk you back. Besides, he likes flowers too--I bet he would like it if you gave him one.”

You say the last sentence in a low whisper, as though you’re sharing some sort of gossip with him and you instantly notice the way he perks up as Paz holds the drapes to the side for you, his helmet still tilted to the side as he observes you two. Odi is still quiet and thoughtful as he stares down at the little bundle of colorful flowers you had gifted him, all while holding your hand as Paz slowly leads you through the dim tunnels.

Shyly, the child gazes up at Paz and warmth blooms in your heart and soul when he lowers his helmet to regard Odi with what you’re certain is the utmost kindness, most likely wanting nothing more than to earn the boy’s trust. Without saying anything, the little one holds up the colorful bouquet of flowers for Paz to see and you grin at the adorable interaction.

"Those are... pretty,” Paz comments in a softer voice and you can tell he’s trying to appear as placid as possible to the nervous boy, “Which one is your favorite?”

Odi lets go of your hand to press his index finger to his bottom lip in severe contemplation and you nearly chuckle at what must be a cute little habit that he does unknowingly when he’s thinking too hard. After a moment’s consideration, he points a chubby finger at one of the many violets that you had tucked in the center and you instantly grin.

“Those are my favorite too,” Paz says quietly, and you’re too focused on the way Odi is smiling down at the little bouquet to notice the Mandalorian’s visor trained on your face.

Odi seems conflicted as he gently tugs one of the violets from the middle of the colorful bundle and offers it to the huge warrior with a hopeful gaze, not saying a word throughout the entire exchange.

“What an honor,” Paz sounds like he's grinning as he accepts the little flower and Odi immediately seeks out your hand again, “Thank you.”

The youngling peers up at you with a cheerful glimmer in his eye, as though he’s proud of himself for showing such bravery and selflessness in the presence of a powerful warrior. Once you offer him a knowing smile and a gentle squeeze of his hand, Odi turns to gaze down at his colorful bouquet with a tiny grin on his face.

Content upon realizing the little one no longer seems sad or fearful, you tilt your head up to beam happily at Paz, your heart still full of love and admiration towards both him and Odi; immediately the warrior lifts his hand to tenderly stroke your cheek. The cold bite of leather nearly makes you flinch and suddenly you’re remorseful that both of your hands are occupied by your littlest companions as you now long to touch the lighter blue in the hollows of his cheeks.

It’s not until you make it back to the nursery that Odi’s smile drops and his lips form into a little pout. Paz presses his gloved hand to the small of your back to guide you further into the nursery and through a short tunnel leading the four of you to where the younglings must sleep and take their naps.

“Hey,” You whisper after the four of you enter a dimly lit room with several beds lined up; you notice the tiny lumps curled up underneath the fuzzy blankets and smile as you crouch down in front of Odi, “Remember what I said, okay? You ever want to come see me, just ask one of the caretakers. I’ll always be here for you.”

He nods, and before you can even think about standing up, he steps forward to wrap his tiny arms around your neck and you’re quick to return the sweet gesture, your free hand coming up to gently cup the back of his head. You feel his chubby fingers curl into the hair you had left unbraided that morning and smile when he holds onto you a little tighter; you can tell he’s still afraid of you leaving as an idea pops into your head.

“Since Rosie seems to like you so much, why don’t I leave her here with you for the night?” Immediately, he pulls away from you, his starry eyes wide and filled with disbelief as you gently shuffle the lazy vulpine into his awaiting arms, “She may be small, but she’s a fierce little thing that will protect you from any nightmares you may have, I promise.”

He holds the animal closer to his chest, grinning when she lifts her head to lick at his cheek and Odi instantly giggles in response. He gives you one last shy smile before making his way to his little bed and you stand up to your full height as you watch him shuffle underneath his blankets, all while holding Rosie close to his chest. It’s not until you watch his eyes close that you let out a deep exhale and you wonder when you had stopped breathing; tears nearly escape your eyes when you watch Rosie curl herself closer to the child, head tucked underneath his chin as he smiles sleepily.

“Ner cyare,” Paz whispers and you jump a little, nearly forgetting that he had been standing there this whole time; you turn to face him and you give him a questioning look when he threads his fingers through the valleys between yours, “There is something I want to show you.”

You think when he says ‘something’, he most likely means ‘someone’, and your heart thrums wildly in anticipation as he leads you away from the younglings’ sleeping quarters. The alcove he’s leading you to is the one he had popped out of a few days ago after you confronted him after the fight, you realize, and you wonder what could possibly be in the room that he seems so excited to show you.

You blink owlishly at him as he politely holds the drapes to the side for you and you hesitantly enter the warm room; instantly, another Mandalorian with black and yellow armor turns to face you and Paz. Before you can offer the stranger an affable greeting, a soft whimper cuts you off and your heart instantly freezes over when you spot a wooden crib in the corner of the dim room.

An infant…

There is an infant in the covert and the thought simultaneously terrifies you and breaks your heart.

Paz quietly says something in his mother tongue when the caretaker on duty tenses as you step forward to try to get a better look at the distressed infant, your heart now pounding so wildly that you hear it in your ears. Whatever Paz said to the caretaker immediately seems to calm them down and they simply watch as you observe the fussy baby that is kicking its little feet wildly and growing even more distressed. The infant is wearing tiny white socks and a long, dark brown tunic that falls to her ankles; her little head is adorned with a white beanie, but you see dark tufts of hair poking out from underneath.

“I… I cannot get her to stop crying,” The Mandalorian’s deep, filtered voice is coated with exhaustion and despite the tears burning your eyes, you fixate your attention on the defeated Mando, the vibrancy of the yellow stripes painted on his black armor nearly hurting your eyes, “What am I doing wrong?”

You wonder if he’s ever had to take care of an infant before, but judging by the way the black and yellow Mando shuffles around nervously makes you think it is not all too common of an occurrence in the tribe.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, shaking off your fears and insecurities as you remind yourself that you were brought here to take care of others, “O-Okay, how old is she?”

“I only found her a few weeks ago, cyare,” Paz informs you quietly, not wanting to disturb the baby even more, and you turn around to gaze up at him with wide, watery eyes; he must see the confusion etched on your features because he immediately explains himself, “I was walking back from seeing you one night and found her abandoned behind one of the vendors in the marketplace. I can’t… I can’t imagine what kind of monster does such a thing.”

You know all too well of the monsters that are capable of leaving a helpless creature behind to die, most likely feeling no guilt when they close their eyes at night.

You nod again and let out a shaky exhale as the caretaker turns his body to the side and allows you to lean over the crib, your chest aching something fierce as you carefully scoop up the tiny creature into your arms. Instantly, she lets out with a piercing, shrill scream and you heave a small sigh at how fussy of a little thing she is, though you think you already know what her problem is.

“What are you--?”

The strange Mandalorian jolts forward a little as you shuffle the crying baby around in your arms until her chest and stomach is resting against the inside of your forearm, her arms and chubby legs dangling lazily around in the air and her cheek tucked against the crook of your elbow. It takes a few moments of tenderly stroking her back to get her cries to soften into something less ear shattering, and you let out a relieved sigh when her whimpers turn into little coos and grunts.

“I think she might be colic,” You inform the caretaker with a shaky whisper, his helmet tilted to the side with what you think is either curiosity or shock as she dribbles, “I’ve uh, I’ve seen this before and read about it. Are you making sure to burp her after each feeding? Or perhaps she should be using a different formula if she has a sensitive tummy?”

“I--” He drops his helmet a little, staring at the cooing infant that you’re bouncing a little, “She wasn’t spitting anything up and I just thought… I wasn’t sure how to do it, how to burp her.”

You give the black and yellow Mando a sympathetic expression and nod, your eyes still burning with tears, “Babies can be pretty fussy sometimes, but once you find out how they like to be held and handled, it makes things a little bit easier. This tends to be a good trick at calming a lot of babies, but you need to make sure she gets burped after every feeding or else she’ll be really uncomfortable and even fussier than normal.”

“Thank you,” The caretaker nods his gratitude as you continue to stroke her back and you give him a weak smile in response, “Could you maybe get her to go to sleep? I should check on the others and I--”

‘Need a breather.’

He doesn’t say it out loud, but you hear it in the way his deep voice drops and his shoulders fall at the mere thought of having a few moments of peace and relaxation.

He fidgets when you hesitate, though Paz places a gentle hand on your nape and he must realize that something is wrong as he squeezes the warm skin there; it’s something he only does when he’s trying to comfort you. Afraid that your voice will fail you, you offer the caretaker a jittery nod and he wastes no time in leaving the nursery that’s dedicated to this tiny infant.

You find it difficult to even look at Paz as you make your way over to the rocking chair that seems far too small for any Mandalorian and slowly sink down until you’re sitting comfortably with a cooing, sleepy baby tucked in your arms. A soft sigh escapes your lungs when you feel a little bit of drool soak through the material covering your elbow and you risk a glance at Paz when he gets down on a knee next to the rocking chair, his gloved hand moving to gently squeeze your bicep.

“What happened?” He questions as quietly as possible, warranting a tiny grunt from the irascible infant, “Why are you so sad all of a sudden?”

The way he asks such a question so softly instantly leaves you feeling painfully raw and vulnerable and you are quick to shoulder away a tear before he can wipe it away for you; you shake your head viciously, “It’s nothing.”

“Cyare--”

“I will explain later.”

The Mandalorian gives you a curt nod and retrieves a piece of cloth for you as you move the calmed baby to burp her against your shoulder. You can tell he wants to say something as you pat her between the shoulders, but he remains silent and tilts his helmet to the side upon hearing the infant gurgle and do her business against the cloth draped over your shoulder. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep once she’s burped up all the air and spit from her meal and you let out a grateful sigh when you watch her eyelids slowly droop, somewhat eager to get her out of your arms and into her crib.

Once she’s comfortable in her cradle and fast asleep, you are quick to exit the little alcove, Paz hot on your heels as you practically storm past the exhausted-looking caretaker who’s sitting on a stone ledge in the main play area.

“Hey thank you for--”

You’re out of the nursery before he can fully express his gratitude to you and you hear Paz mutter something to the caretaker before rushing after you. Halfway down the tunnel leading to his private quarters, Paz catches up to you and carefully wraps his leather-clad fingers around your bicep, turning you around to face him.

“Cyare! What’s going--?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” You don’t even realize you’re sobbing until you hear your own voice and Paz’s other hand comes to squeeze your shoulder in a comforting manner, “Wh-Why didn’t you tell me there was a baby and why would you make me…? I didn’t know and... Maker, she was so much like--”

Your chest is heaving, tears streaming from your cheeks like raging waterfalls and Paz gently pulls you to the side and covers you when another Mandalorian passes you two, giving you what you’re certain is a curious gaze. He cups a massive hand to the side of your neck and leans down as you continue to sob and babble incoherent pleas at him, wondering why he’d put you through this, though he truly had no idea what he had done to you.

“I-I am sorry, cyare,” He breathes, squeezing your bicep firmly with his other hand, “You seemed to love the little ones so much and I thought… I thought you would love to see the baby, but I didn’t think…” He shakes his helmet in a jolting manner as you viciously rub at your eyes and cheeks, “What happened? What did I do wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” You ignore his frantic questions as you try desperately to stop the tears escaping your eyes, along with the horrific memories from flooding your mind, “I didn’t mean to be so rude! I thought I was over it and I could forget, but seeing her...”

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” He hushes you in a kind manner, shielding you from any wandering eyes that might see your tears, “Why don’t… why don’t we go back to our room and you can tell me what’s going on? That’s what you said the other day, right? That we should talk about the things we feel?”

You nod your answer, not trusting your voice in that moment, and you try your hardest to force down the massive lump in your throat.

“Will you tell me why you are so broken up over seeing the baby?”

He’s quick to pull you in close, hunching over to hold you easier and you immediately stuff your face into the crook of his neck as you give him another jittery nod, “I fear you will hate me upon hearing what I’ve done in the past--how I have failed the ones I was supposed to take care of.”

“I… I could never feel such a thing towards you,” He promises with a deep exhale, sounding just as heartbroken as he reluctantly pulls away and leads you closer to his private quarters, keeping a firm hand on the small of your back, “Whatever it is, I could never hate you, I swear.”

Your chest aches more and more the closer you get to his private quarters and once you finally make it, he’s quick to sit you down on the foot of his bed, kneeling down as he collects your hands in his leather-clad ones.

“What is haunting you, ner cyare? What makes you cry so much when you sleep?”

You pray that once you tell him, the horrific memories won’t weigh heavy on your conscience any longer.

Translations:

Ner cyare=My beloved

Mesh’la=Beautiful

Ori Kebiin=Big blue

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum=I love you (lit. I know you forever)

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Verd’ika= Little soldier

Di’kut=Idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aerynwrites @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst @anakinsittinginsand @yes-music-is-my-religion @tangledlove27 @justrunamok @peqchynero @haloangel391 @awhiskeywithawinchester @aliciaxglasgow @bonesaldente @kawaiitimecharm @karaabove @clydesducktape @misssilvertongue @heartxheat @pazvizslasgirl4ever (Please let me know if I missed you or you’d like to be taken off!!)

Author’s note: As always, thank you all so much for being as patient and kind as ever <3 I don’t know why this chapter was such a struggle for me to finish, but I’m so glad eventually managed to get all the words I wanted down lol. I was worried it might seem like there’s a lot going on in this chapter, but I just wanted more interactions with our nurse getting more settled in with the tribe and meeting others, so hopefully this chapter doesn’t seem like it’s all over the place :( Anyways I love you all and thank you so much for all the support y’all continuously give me <33

#paz vizla x you #paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #Paz vizsla x you #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #my writing #IDK WHY I'M SO NERVOUS TO POST THIS CHAPTER OML #I hope you guys enjoy it tho <3 #also now y'all know why christina and I were fighting over wearing socks to bed lmfao

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cora-vizsla · 3 years

Text

Hypnotic (Taking Over Me) - Chapter 1

Pairing: Eventual Jedi!OC x Sith!Obi Wan

Word Count: 3.3K

Story Rating: E (18+)

Chapter Rating: T

Warning: Swearing. Threats of violence. Calm kidnapping.

A/N: Here is the first chapter! I have a decent amount of this story written due to the fact I wasn’t sure if Sith!Obi Wan was something that would fully call to me. But here we are!

“You can’t be serious.”

“I can’t believe you’re doubting me.”

“It’s a cliff.”

“Yes.”

“You want to jump off a cliff.”

“I’ll use the force.”

“I know we have different Master’s but mine never told me we could fly. I’ll have to ask him about that.”

“I never said I would fly Zara. I said I would catch myself.”

“No, Anakin, you said you would use the force. You never once said how you would use the force.”

“I can’t believe we’ve known each other this long and you think I would do something without having a plan.”

Zara crossed her arms across her chest and looked at Anakin. She peeked down at the space her friend was adamant about jumping into and huffed out a laugh.

“It is because I know you that I believe you would do something without having a plan.”

Anakin smiled fully at her and laughed. She rolled her eyes but returned the smile. As much as he annoyed the hell out of her sometimes, he was the closest friend she had. She looked around and smiled at Cody and the small group of troopers she had brought with her. It had been a fruitless mission, but it was almost refreshing to just enjoy the landscape for a while, even if Anakin wanted to jump to his death.

“Are you ready, General?”

“Yes, Commander, round the troops up. Time to head back.”

Cody started commanding the rest of the troops to enter the ship parked close to where they had been standing. Anakin was still looking down the cliff but before Zara could tell him to take a few steps back she felt a strange energy behind her. Absentmindedly she put her hand on her saber and looked over her shoulder. It was like someone was staring at her the way there was an electric jolt down her spine.

“Anakin, do you feel that?”

He turned to look at her and frowned immediately at how concerned she looked. He barked for the troopers to hurry up and load up.

“Generals, what about you?”

“Stay close, Cody. Whatever this is, you won’t be able to help.”

He hesitated but listened. In the end, he would always listen to his General even if he didn’t agree with the order. Zara turned fully and felt Anakin move so he was next to her. They could joke with each other all day, but in the end, they worked together flawlessly. One of the perks of basically growing up together.

“I’ve never felt something so dark.”

“Me either, Zar. Guess the intel wasn’t wrong.”

“The intel said droids, not this.”

The presence came closer until they finally saw someone walking towards them. The mystery person was wearing all black robes but didn’t move like the shadow his robes could make them be. No, this person was practically strutting. When they got close enough, they stopped and pulled their hood down with black gloved hands.

“Sith.”

Zara and Anakin grabbed their sabers and ignited them. The man in front of them had burning amber eyes and a feral smile.

“Ready to fight already? I haven’t even introduced myself yet.”

“Nothing to introduce. You’re a Sith. End of story.”

Zara gripped her saber tighter, studying the man. Anakin was always ready to fight no matter the situation, not that this situation didn’t call for it. Zara was just more likely to study and evaluate all the aspects that Anakin’s temper caused him to miss.

He was sure of himself. His energy was dangerously dark, but there was almost an air of sarcasm around him. It made all her senses sit on edge, but it wasn’t in the typical way. Normally she would have started an attack. The man was strange and strange meant she could learn something.

She snapped out of her thoughts when Anakin raised his saber. The man laughed and finally pulled his own saber, igniting it to show the deadly blade was a deep red. It didn’t surprise her, but the way it reflected off his eyes did.

“So, the boy is a guardian and the girl a consular. Interesting.”

“What do you know of the Jedi?”

Zara finally spoke and the man’s attention immediately snapped to her. He let his eyes rake down her once before smirking.

“Was wondering if you were mute, darling.”

Anakin let out a snarl at the cute name, but it only brought the Sith more enjoyment.

“Oh dear, did I strike a nerve? I didn’t realize they changed the rules when it comes to attachments.”

Zara furrowed her brows and looked over at Anakin. He was absolutely feral looking. Before she could say much to him, the comm link in her ear started going off. She pressed her finger to it and instantly heard the worry in Cody’s voice.

“General, were down the cliff. A quick jump would get you to us.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“It was the only way to get to you. Sorry, General.”

“It’s okay, Commander. You did good. See you soon.”

The man was staring directly at her and it unnerved her. She felt like he was looking through her. She nodded towards the cliff while looking at Anakin and he laughed, putting his saber away on his waist.

“Well, Sith, it’s been fun. Time to go.”

Zara and Anakin both stepped backwards until they were directly at the edge. The Sith put his saber back on his own waist and crossed his arms. Anakin jumped and the look of shock on the man’s face made Zara chuckle.

“Are you going to jump too, darling?”

“What other choice do I have?”

She had meant it as a rhetorical question, but her foot slipped slightly when the man responded in earnest.

“You could come with me.”

“Now, why would I ever go with a Sith?”

“Darth Veth. It would be awfully rude for you to go without giving me your name since I so kindly gave you mine.”

“A Sith looking for civility from a Jedi? How odd.”

He flashed her a grin. She had no idea why she answered him but when she spoke her full name, Darth Veth nodded as if he was greeting her. It was as if he were meeting a new friend, not an enemy on the battlefield. It unnerved her even more than his staring, but she wouldn’t let him see that.

“Well, as fun as this has been. It’s time for me to go.”

She jumped and flipped forward, landing on her feet but down in a crouching position. Anakin held his hand out for her, and she took it with a smile. The ship started raising up and they both saw the Sith shaking his head with a devious smile. Once Zara and Anakin slipped back into the ship, she looked back once and saw him putting his hood up not even attempting to chase them.

“What a strange man.”

“Don’t try to make sense of the Sith, Zar. It will just give you a headache.”

---

“Thank you for meeting with me, Master.”

“Of course, Zara. Although you aren’t my padawan anymore I am always here for guidance.”

Zara beamed up at him as they walked out into the garden. It had always been a favorite place for her, and Mace couldn’t count how many times he had found her there reading as a child.

“I know we gave our official report to the council, but I just feel so strange about the whole situation.”

“What is bothering you?”

She stopped and crossed her arms, mimicking her former Master. They faced each other and she shift her weight to one side.

“Darth Veth. Do we know anything about him?”

“Nothing official. Why?”

“He knew about our sabers. He knew that Anakin is a guardian and that I’m a consular. That isn’t exactly general knowledge to the masses.”

“No, it isn’t. What else did he say?”

“He brought up connections and attachments within the Jedi code. He kept.. calling me darling and it pissed Anakin off.”

“Getting under your skin isn’t exactly strange for a Sith.”

“Asking for my name is though. Even once he found out it was more like he was trying to just make conversation. Once Anakin was out of the equation he was almost.. friendly.”

“That is strange. You didn’t feel comfortable telling the counsel this?”

“Oh, that doesn’t bother me. Anakin just never lets me get a word in.”

Mace laughed at her comment and nodded, finally letting himself relax a little.

“Did he give you the impression that he was following you?”

“Not really. He seemed more interesting in talking to me. Anakin he just looked at like he wanted to fight him.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised by that.”

Zara smiled at him and nodded.

“I need to speak to the rest of the counsel, but I think it may be wise to send you out on your own without Anakin. If the Sith shows up, then we know there may be an issue. If not, we will just keep an eye out for him.”

“You’ll be giving Commander Cody less of a headache, that’s for sure.”

Mace chuckled and nodded.

“Go prepare for a mission. I’ll be getting back to you shortly.”

She bowed forward slightly, and Mace returned the gesture. He wasn’t always the friendliest Jedi there was but with Zara he was always willing to give advice and a smile. He watched her go with just a touch of worry. He really hoped that there wasn’t a Sith with his eyes set on her.

---

Zara stepped off the ship and looked at the landscape. Another humid planet with a lot of vegetation. Cody stepped next to her and pulled his helmet off, a smile on his face.

“Don’t look too thrilled that General Skywalker isn’t here.”

He chuckled and scratched at his head.

“Sorry, General. Just nice to have a smaller mission where there won’t be many shenanigans.”

“Are you saying I’m incapable of being a pain in your ass?”

Cody smiled again and shook his head quickly.

“No, General. Would never dream of saying that.”

Zara smiled and nodded towards the set of buildings they were tasked with searching.

“The intel says that most of the buildings have been empty for years. We don’t expect to find much.”

“Can I ask why we’re here then?”

Zara hesitated. Testing to see if the Sith would show wasn’t an official part of the mission. Using a Jedi Knight for bait wasn’t exactly something the council wanted everyone to know. She had no qualms with it but understood why it needed to be kept quiet.

“Just needed to make sure nothing is going on. We can also see what kind of capabilities the area has so if we do see droids here, we will know why.”

“Understood.”

“There is a smaller temple to the east. I plan on checking that out for any artifacts that may be there. Keep in contact with me. If there are any problems retreat back here immediately. We don’t have the numbers to get into a huge firefight.”

“Yes, General.”

Cody barked out his order to his men and they all left. If the Sith knew that she was a consular then he would expect her to be looking for things to learn. No one had been surprised when she ended up with a green saber. She loved losing herself in the forms and movement with her saber, but it was rare to find her without a book in her hands.

The walk to the temple wasn’t a hard one, but she hated how much she was sweating already. Life on Alderaan with a wealthy family hadn’t forced her to deal with the heat often. She tried not to complain but she preferred the cold if she was being honest.

Once she reached the temple she walked in, focusing on the artwork inscribed into the walls. She traced her fingers across the etching and smile at how intricate it was. Her footsteps echoed through the halls until she came to a room that had the walls covered in texts. She smiled at them and easily found herself lost in them.

Looking back, she could have kicked herself for not being observant. Part of the mission was to be bait yet she was so focused on the texts that she didn’t hear the footsteps coming down the hallway. She didn’t focus in on the feeling of darkness coming up behind her and she absolutely didn’t plan on jumping when her name was called.

“Startled, darling?”

She pushed the book now sitting on the floor to the side with her foot and ghosted her hand over her saber. Darth Veth was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“No need for sabers, dear. If I had wanted to harm you it would have been very easy with how distracted you were.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“Would you have attacked someone from behind?”

She sighed and relaxed a fraction.

“I suppose not. I’m also not a Sith though.”

He chuckled and pushed off the wall, moving to the books. He picked one up and started carding through the thick pages. Zara crossed her arms and watched him with confusion.

“It would have been a crime to hurt someone looking so innocently enthralled with knowledge around her.”

“I.. enjoy books.”

“I could see that.”

He shut the book with a snap and gently placed it back where it came from. He dusted his hands off and faced her fully.

“Why are you here, Lord Veth?”

“Falling for your trap, of course.”

“Trap?”

“Oh, darling. Do you find me dull? I knew the moment I saw you that the council would use you as bait. They surely wouldn’t send the hot head that was with you.”

“And how do you know I’m not a hot head?”

He chuckled and took a few steps forward. She wanted to back up but if she did it would put her in a rather dangerous situation. She may not have had the advantage, but she wasn’t going to let him box her into a corner.

“You’re far too smart to swing without assessing every possibility of your actions. If you weren’t you would have attacked when there were two of you.”

“You weren’t posing a threat at the time.”

He hummed as he stopped, directly in front of her. She looked up slightly, due to the height difference, and finally saw the different depths of amber his eyes were.

“And what about now? Am I posing a threat now?”

“Your saber isn’t drawn. Your hands are clasped behind your back. Though I couldn’t guess your next move, you are trying to seem as non-threatening as possible. My Master would have told me to be skeptical of you; never trust a move you make.”

“Ah, Master Windu. He is absolutely one not to trust really anyone. You didn’t fully answer me though. Do youthink I am a threat right now?”

She took a breath and felt out into the force. She could feel his darkness, but it wasn’t aimed at her. She could tell he would be fast, probably faster than her, but his muscles weren’t poised to strike. When she squared her shoulders Veth raised his eyebrows slightly.

“No. At least not beyond the fact that you are a Sith standing in front of me in a dimly lit room with only one doorway that you are currently blocking me from using.”

“Master Windu has trained you well. You’re levelheaded. How did you become so attached to the Skywalker boy when he is so volatile?”

“How do you know anything about Anakin?”

He chuckled and reached out to touch Zara’s long hair. She flinched but made no move to pull away.

“I know very much about Ani. It’s you, Zara Fross that I know very little about.”

“Pity we don’t have more time, Veth. I must be going.”

She walked by him, surprised that he made no move to stop her. When she reached the door, he cleared his throat making her turn to look at him.

“Ah, Zara, silly me. I forgot to tell you that there is a reason that I am here.”

“Oh? What reason would that be.”

“You see, it is true that I know very little about you. However, I do not plan on that being the case for very long. My ship is close, and you will be going with me.”

Zara laughed incredulously and crossed her arms.

“Don’t mistake my civility with you with us being friends, Sith.”

“I don’t. You may be the gentlest Jedi I have met thus far, but I figured that you wouldn’t come with me. The fact of the matter is, I need you to. I’m not normally the kind of man to galivant around the galaxy and kidnap young women but in this case, it is my mission.”

“Then we will fight. I’m not going with you.”

“Ah, also expected that response. I’ll make it easy for you both emotionally and physically. I anticipated you sending your men to the buildings. I have them set to detonate if you don’t go with me willingly. I’ve observed you for quite some time and I know how fond of your clones you are. It pains you deeply when you lose a life under your command and you will lose all of them if you reject my hospitality.”

Zara took a step back and glanced down at the comms connected to her wrist.

“I wouldn’t try to warn them. They’ll be dead before the message gets to them.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? This was a trap set for you.”

“One that I anticipated. Though I will be fair and show you this.”

He held up a device that was clearly made to detonate explosives. Zara ran her hand over her face and sighed.

“Alright, fine. I have a stipulation though.”

“Oh, do tell.”

“Let me leave a message for my men that they can give to the council. Since I have no idea where you’re taking me, I couldn’t give them a single clue. They already know you exist, and it will stop Anakin from doing something extremely reckless.”

“Very well. Let’s go.”

He walked past her, and she sighed. The trap that had been laid was not going to according to plan at all.

---

Once a message was left, Zara followed her sort of captor to his ship. It wasn’t anything fancy and it wasn’t meant for long trips. When they reached their destination, the man held his hand out to her expectantly. She looked down at his hand then back at his face.

“Saber. Can’t exactly let you keep a weapon that you’re trained to kill with on your persons.”

“I’m not giving you my saber.”

“Then I kill your men. I thought we went over this?”

“Maker. Fine.”

She ripped it off her side and slammed it into his hand, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Ah, there is that Skywalker influence.”

“I’ll have you know I was just as capable of sarcasm and being snarky before I met Anakin.”

He laughed and motioned for her to climb in. She shot him a glare before climbing in, plopping down into the copilot seat. Once he was situated, he started the ship up and began the trip to wherever he was taking her. She huffed out a sigh and looked out at the lights streaking by.

“Don’t look so glum, darling. Think of this as an extended vacation for you.”

Zara chuckled darkly and muttered just loud enough for the Sith to hear her.

“A Sith and a Jedi climb into a ship..”

He laughed fully and clapped his hands together once.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun.”

“If this is fun, I’d hate to see what your definition of torture is.”

#sith!obi wan #sith!kenobi #sith!kenobi x OC #sith!Obi wan x OC #Jedi!oc #jedi!zara #ZaraFross #obi wan kenobi #kenobi #starwars #star wars

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 4 years

Text

Band of Brothers-

Cute/charming things they say when they walk into a room and see you/you walk into a room and they see you:

Babe:

“oh SHIIIIIT! There’s my BABY! Do you see her, fellas? GodDAMN, I’m a lucky sonofabitch!”

(you blush so hard and are just like Babe, we’re at work stahp it but he dgaf).

It’s embarrassing and always makes Martin glare so imploringly at you that you’ll go over to Babe just to make him be quiet. Because, you know, YOU’RE AT WORK.

This bitch is shameless when it comes to loving on you, having once come to stand next to you when Sink was giving an important announcement and straight-up PINCHED. YOUR. ASS.

how you didn’t yelp is a miracle, and how no one else seemed to notice was equally astounding

(oh, the boys noticed. They kinda shipped it tho, so it was more a matter of hiding their joy).

Needless to say, it only happened the once, something you made Babe swear after you pulled him aside and punched him in the arm.

Don’t worry, you kissed it better.

Roe:

bb boy doesn’t say anything at first,

the smile he saves just for you is playing at his lips as you walk up to meet him, tho.

The moment you’re close enough that he can smell the sweet mint of your gum, he’ll whisper something sweet like “hey you” or “mon amor”, or maybe just your name

(bc let’s be honest, his accent is 10 out of 10 and he could read me the dictionary and I’d still rock an ugly giggle/snort combo).

If it’s a more serious situation, like if you’re hurt oh lordy

he will literally shout your name until either you shout back or someone tells him where you are.

I could see him being a face holder, in the sense that he does it to reassure himself that you’re okay and make sure he has your undivided attention.

Since getting injured in Carentan, you hadn’t been as close to the frontlines as you had been, so when you were needed you are REALLY NEEDED,

and even if he didn’t like it Gene knew you were the best at what you did.

Gene also feels better if he knows where you are.

Even when you eventually return to Easy, he will feel better knowing which Foxhole you’re in, and knowing he’s seen to it your first aid kit was fully stocked.

Liebgott:

THAT FUCKER’S SMIRKING AT YOU SO OPENLY that whoever he had been talking to instantly goes

*sigh* y/n’s just came in, didn’t she?

And he won’t even ANSWER because he’s already shoving past them to walk up and eye you with obvious satisfaction.

“Bout time you showed up,” he’d say casually, hands finding your hips giving them a quick squeeze.

“Sooner we get briefed, sooner we can get outta here.”

(You’re not fully sure what ‘getting outta here’ entails, but if the way he looked at you was any indication, you had a feeling it didn’t involve anything less than PG-13 sexy times.)

Bull:

“Hey, little lady.”

He’ll say it no matter how tall or short you are, how wide or how narrow.

He will always say it to you that when you first see each other in the morning

(sometimes, you wake up to Hey, little lady being kissed into the soft skin behind your ear.)

(Once while on a 48 hour pass, he’d woken you up that way in a REAL bed and the two of you had nearly gotten him sent up Curahee for being late coming back because you’d ended up spending more time in that bed than either of you anticipated Whoops)

(Even if he had been late, he definitely wouldnt have minded, tbh. He fully considered going AWOL if it mean neither of you had to leave the bed)

but throughout the day he’s more concerned about getting his hands on some part of you whenever the two of you had been apart-

even if it was for like five minutes.

Nothing over the top- holding his arm up and out so you can step into his side, a press of his lips to your temple.

Idk guys i just feel like he’d just love you so much that everyone would be able to see, which they do and they all think it’s fucking cute

Buck:

He doesn’t always call out when he sees you, mostly because your eyes always seem to find his.

The two of you could be across a field from one another with a thousand angry Germans between you, guns blazing, and the two of you would always spot each other like two honing beacons.

If its downtime and you guys don’t have to be on your guard he’ll ABSOLUTELY wolf whistle in at you,

You’ll see a stupid grin lighting up his face as he nods in your direction.

“Take a look, boys. I think we’ve got ourselves a…”

and he always waits until you’re close enough that he can wrap a quick arm around your waist and pat your hip.

“Certified babe-asaurus!”

(in a foxhole somewhere, a wild Babe’s head pokes up in confusion).

You groan and boo him, and whoever he was with inevitably ends up booing him too.

But he doesn’t care because seeing you smile makes him so happy you guys.

Lipton:

If you’re in public, he will quietly step up beside you and place his hand gently between your shoulder blades.

He’s not super into PDA, which you didn’t mind because what he didn’t show in physical touch he more than made up for in open admiration.

He is in awe of you

sometimes he worries you forget how highly he thinks of you, how highly everybody thinks of you

(you don’t forget, but he’s just one of those people who will get intrusive thoughts like that and sometimes has a hard time shaking them so plz just let him say it ok?)

so he always whispers some praise with his greeting

(Hey, beautiful...Doin’ okay, love?...What’re you thinking, brilliant girl?).

It’d probably seem like overkill if anyone else did it but Carwood is just so goddamn sincere that you can’t help but duck a quick kiss to his shoulder.

HOWEVER!

If you two kids are alone….

OH BOI.

He is handsy, coming up and caging you with his arms,

probably pulling you close quickly so you lose your balance and he can hold you a lil bit.

(He likes to sweep you off your feet im so sorry)

That’s when his praises are hushed and sighed between long slow kisses.

Nixon:

Like Liebgott, he’s a snarky motherfucker who will get the most self-satisfied grin on his face the moment he sees you, instantly turning on the famous Lewis Nixon charm ( something he’d long since decided belonged to you and you alone.)

“Uh oh,” he’d say, looking you up and down before raising an eyebrow.

(bc your hot but also he doesn’t want to get all flirty if you’re hurt or sick or something’s up bc ur not just something to flirt with- YOU ARE A BADASS WITH BADASS RESPONSIBILITIES AND THAT WAS SOMETHING HE very often and sometimes FOUND SO HOT THAT IT MADE HIM THINK HE MAY HAVE AN AUTHORITY FETISH this has been a PSA)

“Here comes trouble.”

you roll your eyes, the behavior you once found cocky and arrogant having becoming endearing somewhere between Toccoa and England.

He has absolutely no qualms about PDA (verbal or physical), so it’s up to you to reign him in

(especially if he’s a lil tipsy, poor Luz didn’t need to hear Lewis’s sloppy and shameless plea for you to let him eat you out on top of piano he’d found in the attic of the billet he’d been assigned. You weren’t able to look at George for a week without wanting to die of embarrassment and Lewis Nixon didn’t get any for two weeks. He was sure to never make such a mistake ever again)

And Dick had probably grown blind to how Lewis liked to pull you his lap and run his hands up and down your thighs while you played with his hair.

Also, like Lipton, he probably saves the more explicit acts of PDA for when the company has scheduled downtime

(but only bc you told him he needed to keep it in his pants any other time he tried to get cute with you)

but you can bet your ass his hand will always try to tap it (your ass, that is.)at least once

a day when he isn’t supposed to.

That’s when you get to punish him whoopsies

Dick:

since the day you were introduced to Dick in Georgia, the boy always made sure to stand when you entered a room and will call you “ma’am”,

(you know, LIKE HE DOES ONLY BECAUSE HE HAS TO FOR SOBEL BC RANKS. I feel like he has a “we salute the woman, not the rank” speech queued up for anyone who tried to give him shit for it BUT THAT’s JUST ME)

but he has a knowing look in his eye that makes the term ‘ma’am’ feel anything but impersonal.

It confused the shit out of replacements, who would automatically stand because their superior officer (that would be Big Dick Winters) did- only to see you standing there in your fatigues with a coffee in each hand with a look of mutual confusion on your face.

(bc while they like you, but they’re confused still bc while you’re a boss ass bitch, you didn’t outrank him...or at least they theink you dont?)

Babe had been the one to ask you about the longing looks and lingering glances, and when you didn’t know how to answer him you’d gone to Nixon,

He’d burst into tearful laughter and was unable to get it together enough to explain anything.

Dick had been the one to bring it up the next time they were alone, weirdly enough, as she proofread his report for errors that didn’t exist.

Because you warrant it, he’d said when pressed for a reason why he greeted her like a ranking officer, looking down at his boots as they both blushed like teenagers at a school dance.

After that, he still stood wherever you walked in

but now he made a point to brush his fingers against yours at some point during the time you were together.

He’s the definition of a slow burn friends-to-lovers story, and boi can get spicy LEMME TELL YOU.

(this is my first writing thing ever plz let a sister know if there are any glaring typos. Also i’m roughly 97 years late to fandom but I brought y’all some starbucks so plz let me in thank you)

#band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader #babe heffron x reader #eugene roe x reader #joe liebgott x reader #bull randleman x reader #carwood lipton x reader #lewis nixon x reader #dick winters x reader #hbo war x reader #it's vv bad but I'll just add it to the pile of already burning garbage pile that is my bibliography #buck compton x reader

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

νοσταλγία (Chapter 19)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: The usual, human sacrifice, that’s an added one for this chapter

A/N: Hiiii, hope you like this chapter! The wedding is finally here lol, hope it doesn’t dissapoint :)

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson

Whatever it takes to escape. Whatever it takes.

You mull over Ubbe’s words as you wait for the thralls to come fetch you, to come wash and dress you, to come drag you down to make you Ivar’s wife.

The soft knock on your door is all the warning you have, before the meek girls slip through the door. You are familiar with them, not only because they’ve been the ones to care for you ever since you were given a place to call your own in this realm of cold, but because since you woke up this morning they’ve been coming and going, preparing your bath and tending to your hair, dutifully flocking around you in a manner you don’t have the heart to tell them is annoying.

Behind them, Freydis walks in, and you meet her gaze with wide eyes.

When the King lowers his guard and loosens what you call chains…

She only smiles calmly at you, greeting you with a slow blink and careful hands crossed over her stomach. The perfect picture of a maiden, and it unsettles you.

“Freydis.” You breathe out, and she bows her head with a murmur of your name in return. Her eyes trace your room, stopping on the planters and the plants you’ve managed to make blossom under your care.

She distracts you with simple topics of conversation while the thralls take care of your skin, of your clothes, of your hair. You feel her blue eyes settle with calculating interest as she watches you stop the girls and refuse to let them braid your hair, but says nothing.

They fasten the elegant red dress -the King’s choice, apparently- on you, and after quickly brushing your hair so it falls loosely down your back, one of the thralls moves to leave the room to fetch something, but Freydis’ voice stops her.

“I’ve got it.”

You turn around and find the blonde holding a delicate wreath of wildflowers in her hands, offering it to you. You blink and the breath leaves your lips as if a giant weight was dropped on your chest.

“W-What is that?”

“A wedding crown.”

You shake your head, stepping back.

“N-No, that’s…that’s…” Your panicked breaths quicken, your eyes find Freydis’ with what you are sure is a plea written in them.

“It means something to you, doesn’t it?”

You laugh bitterly to yourself, lifting your gaze to the wooden ceiling and wondering why you are still surprised Fate manages to be cruel to you.

The Hiereia brushes your hair back with gentle fingers, her bracelets clanking against each other and making crude music against your ears.

As she starts weaving your hair to hold the flower crown, you look into the mirror. For a moment you see a flash of red veiling your features, but when you blink it is gone.

You can remember the first time they put such a crown on you, your mother’s soft touch guiding the girl of barely six years into her first sacrifice.

“You feel Despoina’s touch upon you, don’t you?” Mother asked, a smile in her voice you can remember even today, even ten years later.

“I feel…” You couldn’t find the words, and you can’t now either. “I don’t know, mother.”

“It is her hand reaching for yours,” The Hiereia explains quietly, without any prompting, as if she too can glimpse into a past long gone. And the dried pomegranate branches make rustling sounds on your ears as she fixes the crown. “You wear the crown of flowers worn by the maiden she once was, and after tonight you bear blood to honor the crown of death and iron Lord Hades placed upon her head.”

The weight of memories, of grief, of nostalgia, burdens you more than it should. The woman at your back notices, and puts heavy hands on your shoulders and her mouth by your ear.

“Chosen by Persephone,” Hearing that name still makes a thrill run down your spine, and the title that she invokes hardens your heart but makes your soul sing. “You have nothing to fear.”

You didn’t notice your eyes lowering to your hands, but the Hiereia’s soft touch under your chin, making you lift your gaze to the mirror again, forces you to face the crown they have placed on your head and the thirst for something other than flowers that comes with it.

You look down at yourself, at the hands you are wringing together, and force your lungs to take a deep breath. You are tired of panic, you are tired of wanting to run knowing you can’t, you are tired of struggling.

You are tired, still far from defeated, but tired.

Closing your eyes, you try to center yourself, and trust. Trust in your mother, in her wisdom and in her protection, trust she had a reason for guiding you to Ivar’s side. Trust in her Gods, the Gods that she asked to protect and guide you even if you didn’t worship them, trust their hand in taking you here means there’s a purpose for you at Ivar’s side. Trust in your Gods, trust the deities you dedicated your life to wouldn’t fate it that you are defeated, trust Persephone, trust that she wouldn’t forget you when you haven’t forgotten her.

Trust Ivar, trust he can be a good husband, trust he will not try and silence you like many have before, trust he will never ask that you lower your gaze.

Trust yourself. Trust that all you survived means you can survive this, trust that you can and will fight for what you are owed, trust that no binds and certainly no men can keep you from the victories you are owed.

You take it from Freydis’ hands, and put the crown on your head yourself, raising your chin and straightening your back.

The view outside the small window shows you the kingdom you are to call our own now, but beyond it the horizon lays, the place where the skies meet the sea, and you allow yourself to feel at ease as you are escorted by Freydis to wherever it is she will take you.

____

A part of you that doesn’t hold a pit of dread growing in your chest, would have no qualms in saying the opening where they arranged for the wedding to take place is beautiful. Foreign, intimidating, Viking, but beautiful.

The sky has started to darken, and there’s carefully placed torches granting light to the ample circle where the people there to witness the union and the Völva stand.

They don’t need to tell you or guide you, you know you are supposed to walk towards the man you are supposed to marry, who stands before the witch in formal but still imposing clothes.

Leave it to him to get married in the closest thing possible to armor.

You bite down a manic smile at your own observation, and with a deep breath and a straightening of your back, you move to stand in front of him, with the officiant to your side.

A young girl is walked to the woman, and with no hesitation she signals for the women that assist her to tie the girl to a pillar behind her, a pillar you just now notice holds a container underneath, like the vessels you used back home.

The girl doesn’t squirm, doesn’t shake, doesn’t cry. She looks at Ivar, looks at you, and closes her eyes.

She does scream when she dies, when the Völva pierces her skin with the odd-looking blade, but her pain, you hope, is short-lived, and the blood of the sacrifice is collected and, you assume, that part of the ritual is over, judging by the dimming of the beat of the drums somewhere at your back.

The witch turns back towards you, dress proudly stained with blood, and says some words about Freyja and Frigg, about Odin and Fenrir, about what we are all here for: a binding before the Gods themselves, of a woman and man.

Without hesitation, and frankly startling you a bit, the woman reaches up and grabs Ivar’s face between her hands, looking into his eyes.

“Do you swear before the Gods you want to marry this woman?”

Ivar’s eyes stay on yours, burning like Greek Fire.

“I swear.”

The woman grabs your face between her rough hands, forces your eyes to meet hers,

“Do you swear before the Gods you want to marry this man?”

Your lips have breathed an answer before your mind can remember the words you should want to say.

“I swear, before your Gods and mine.”

She smiles then, pleased and warm, and releases you. You waver in the place where you stand, and a tremor makes its way past your parted lips.

This just might be the choice, the title, the name, that breaks you; you think to yourself. Everything would be easier if he could make you hate him, if he could make you see only the man that captured you and forced you to be at his side. Everything would be easier if you hadn’t realized this isn’t a captor you will grow to resent, if your foolish heart couldn’t latch on to the glimpses of the man you met in Aneridge that you still see in Ivar.

Because you wish you could tell yourself the captivating and enticing man you met in that old Saxon city was a mirage, a deceit by the cunning King of Kattegat. You wish, for it would make everything easier.

It would make marrying him only the blindly followed orders of an arrangement your mother made, and not a choice you could see yourself making. It would make marrying him in the eyes of the Gods what makes you swear loyalty to him and trusting in him, and not your loyalty and trust what makes you swear to be his wife before the Gods.

You are to be his wife. You are his wife.

In the eyes of his people, in the eyes of his Gods, in the eyes of yours. In his eyes.

Just as in your eyes, he is your husband.

You meet the eyes of the man before you, and a tremulous smile starts to curve at your lips. It is a bit broken, a bit mad; but there’s rush of freedom in finding yourself with no binds in that brief instant where you say yes.

You accept the title, not because Sieghild made the arrangement, not because Ivar wanted you to, not because ten thousand Greeks laid their hands over their hearts and kneeled, not because your legacy asked you to.

Because you wanted to.

Ivar takes his hand on yours and puts a bloodied ring the Völva hands him on your fourth finger. The woman hums a pleased sound, and you watch as she dips a small bouquet of branches into the sacrifice’s blood.

With a precise movement of her arm she specks Ivar’s face with the blood, and his eyes close. When she turns to you, she hesitates and considers you for a moment.

You meet her eyes, a new kind of fear in your stomach, and the witch raises her hand over your head.

The drops of blood fall on the flower crown on your head, and she smiles, she smiles like she knows a secret you don’t, she smiles like she knows every secret you’ve kept.

Another sharp movement of her wrist and your face is speckled in blood as well, but you feel the weight of those few drops on the crown on your head as if they were as heavy as iron.

“Before the Gods you are now married.”

The people clap and cheer, the drums beat louder and so does your heart.

Your husband’s eyes open and meet yours, and you cannot hear anything else.

You will tell yourself later that it was the pressure of the eyes of so many of the people of Kattegat on you, you will tell yourself later that it was the knowledge of what a bride’s duty is, you will tell yourself later whatever it is that can make the burden lighter.

But now you just stand on the balls of your feet, close your eyes and sink into the kiss Ivar breathes over your lips. You let him steal the breath from your lungs as his lips move tentatively against your own, and the steadiness from your hand as you raise it and let it cup his jaw and guide his mouth to press harder into yours.

You will tell yourself later that his hand is rough and forceful as he grips at the back of your head, you will tell yourself later you do not feel tenderness when his fingers run through the tresses of your hair as his hand moves to your lower back.

But now you just enjoy the touch of his lips on yours, the feeling of thrill that goes all the way down your spine, the heat that pools low in your stomach.

And no crown, no title, no kingdom, could make you feel as powerful as you do when you part from the kiss and have Ivar chase the touch of your lips, swaying forward, as if entranced.

Your eyes follow the red streak your hand now adorned with a ring leaves on his cheek and jaw, a path downwards to leave your hand on his chest, the delicate ring still shining with the red of the blood.

You ride a chariot -his chariot- all the way back to the main hall, reminded starkly of your own people’s traditions and realizing once again the Fates truly toy with us all.

Before long, the doors are opened by smiling warriors, and a feast awaits. You cannot take your eyes off the two identical thrones that await you where there used to be one.

Ivar guides you to them, and turning to his -yours too now, you suppose- people, and with his hand still holding onto yours, he turns his head to look at you, what you could swear is pride and satisfaction written all over his expression and his posture as he seems to stand taller, before raising his voice and announcing to the crowded room, to the kingdom now laid before you,

“Everyone! My wife, and Queen of Kattegat!”

When you walk outside of the tent aided by Galla’s firm hands, you find that the elders, the families, the soldiers and farmers, they all greet you with warm eyes, with kind and relieved smiles.

It feels like home and yet all there is around you is unfamiliar woods, it feels like peace even if your home burns at your backs, it feels

“Everyone’s been waiting to see you,” Galla whispers with the smile that hasn’t left her voice or her face since you awoke, weeks into your escape from Eleusis’ flames. “You know, they are going to need a leader, someone that can be their guide, someone they can love and admire.”

“Galla, wh-…”

“Someone that follows our Gods, someone that is willing to bleed and die for us, someone that when Attica is ours again rules our home.” She says, and when you turn to face her, she presses her forehead to yours, a gesture of affection and trust since you were but children.

Galla pulls back, black eyes looking into your own and even if the weariness of weeks on the road, of nights spent in the woods as sentinel, set on her dark skin like an unshakeable mark of pain and loss; when she smiles you cannot help but return the gesture, tremulous as yours is.

The Carthaginian straightens, and with a certain and proud movement, brings her fist to her heart before bending the knee. You accept her pledge, and all those that follow as the people surrounding you repeat the gesture.

“Anassa of Attica. May the Gods bless and guide you.”

You look at all those expectant faces, you face all your failures and your victories, you bear the burden your legacy earned you. And you cannot help but think if your body wasn’t burnt and broken you would have run away by now.

The Vikings cheer and raise their voices and their cups, and you find yourself smiling in thanks and in reflection of what seems to be genuine celebration.

You once again sit at Ivar’s side, this time on a throne of your own, and this time you don’t let go of his hand.

____

The feast lives on around you, loud and cheerful and chaotic, and you toy with the still-bloodied ring that now adorns your left hand, trying to make out the subtle design underneath the blood.

“You’ve been staring at it for a long time,” Ivar interrupts, and you lift your head to find him looking at you with his head cocked to the side, “Do you not exchange rings in Greece?”

Your right hand clasps at the place where you always keep your mother’s old pendant hanging from your neck, before dropping it once you realize tonight you wear some fancy jewels you don’t care much for. When Ivar’s eyes follow the movement of your hand before lifting to meet your own, you realize he may know without you telling him what it means to be given a piece of jewelry at your wedding day.

“No, it is not our custom. I…Sieghild never told me, she never…she never talked about these things.”

“And what did you make of it?”

You wear the crown of flowers worn by the maiden she once was, and after tonight you bear blood to honor the crown of blood and iron Lord Hades placed upon her head.

“It was all…familiar,” You reply honestly, clearing your throat to dispel the hoarseness that plagued it as you spoke past the memories and the stories they try to tell you. “They told me you ordered for my dress to be red.”

“I like red,” Ivar replies, shrugging one shoulder, before bowing his head to you, “And you look good in it.”

“It is a bride’s color to my people,” You reply with a rueful smile, before chuckling to yourself, “The Gods entertain themselves with this, you know.”

Ivar only smiles, tranquil and honest, but doesn’t argue, and returns his gaze ahead.

Whatever it is you are about to say is interrupted by the approaching figure. You turn your head and straighten in the throne as Freydis bows before the two of you.

You only watch with wide eyes, and she raises her head and meets Ivar’s eyes.

“My King,” She smiles calmly, innocently, “Congratulations on your marriage. May the Gods bless and reward you.”

You watch Ivar’s profile, and only because you are looking for the reaction it is that you notice the barely-there change in his posture, the subtle part of his lips, the questions in his pale gaze.

Freydis manic eyes on yours, her hand reaching for yours but it feels like it grasps at your throat, telling you those that endure pain are chosen of the Gods themselves.

Ivar sets new chains upon you and with the certainty of madness whispers that you are the reward for a lifetime of pain.

The realization of who it was that told Ivar those things, that put those ideas in his head, it strikes you and leaves you watching the interaction with wide eyes.

You wonder, like the prideful and arrogant woman the Gods made out of you, what exactly is the story neither of them has told you. You wonder, like the jealous and foolish girl you’ll never admit to being, why it is they haven’t.

Unaware to your thoughts -or pretending to be-, Freydis turns to you and smiles again, but it is truer, freer, hungrier. You don’t know if you should allow yourself to smile back.

But you shake yourself out of those thoughts, telling yourself you have no reason to distrust her. Right?

“I was hoping to steal the Queen from your side, only for a few moments.” The blonde continues, meek and unsettlingly calm.

Ivar considers her with a side smile that says he doesn’t particularly like this game she tries to play, but after exchanging a look with you, he signals with his hand in permission.

You stand from the throne and walk to Freydis’ side with careful steps. Ivar stops you before you can get too far, his hand trapping yours and keeping you close to the throne.

You turn around with an easy smile playing at your lips, because…Gods, you are a fool.

“Wife.”

Priestess.

“Husband.”

Viking.

____

Soooo, hope you liked it! I have a lot a lot of feelings about Norse and Ancient/Byzantine Greek traditions when it comes to weddings. The red is a true thing, and funnily enough the Ancient Greeks had a tradition of having the groom drive a chariot around the home he was gonna live in with his wife (or smth like that, I’ve been slowly bled for all I’m worth in these damn finals so my value as a source is a little off atm), and a lot of lil details like that that if I included would have made thisa 10k monstrosity that no one wnated to read lol

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed and I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this! Also, the wedding celebration/night of course isn’t over, but I try to keep my chapters on less than 5k lol

Thank you, sending you all my love!! <3 <3

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings #νοσταλγία masterlist

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seeing-the-light · 3 years

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TTS Gen Week Day 3: Protection

Note: Yes, I know this was yesterday’s prompt, I just ended up being too tired to finish it yesterday but I really liked where it was going, so here we are! Thanks @purplespacefairy for organizing this!

Something More Important Read on AO3

Edmund was upset, because today was supposed to have been special.

And it’d started off well enough. Ever since he’d informed the royal family in Corona that his son’s real birthday was approaching, they’d been nothing but willing to help him create the proper celebration. He could tell that their friend’s betrayal had been hard on Eugene and Rapunzel, but though it still cast shadows over everything, he could tell they were beginning to heal. That’d heartened him, particularly since he knew how far they’d come since it first happened.

That moment when his son had stepped into the room, with shock that turned to confusion… for a moment, he could imagine what it might’ve been like to something like this for him every year, growing up, if they’d been together. He felt something warm bloom in his chest as Eugene looked to him for confirmation, even then – for a moment, they felt like a child’s eyes. He made his way in and looked around with a child’s excitement and wonder – and though Edmund was happy to see it, he couldn’t help being stabbed with guilt. Maybe he could’ve tried harder, maybe he could’ve sent his son something every year just so he knew he was remembered, even if that could’ve been dangerous and attracted unwanted attention. If only he’d-

A cold gust of wind had run through the room, then, startling him out of his thoughts. He didn’t have to look to recognize the aura of the moonstone. “Swell party,” She’d smirked. “I’m guessing my invitation got lost in the mail.” It’s not my kingdom, He’d had to remind himself, adamantly, as she entered the room, dragging Adira’s blade across the floor. Cassandra didn’t deserve to be holding that blade. He was a guest here, this wasn’t his castle, which meant he had to defer to the royal family’s judgement, even if a part of him wanted to strike her down the moment she entered for having the audacity to use this moment, this moment that was supposed to be special and his first chance he had to celebrate a birthday with his son, to engage in her sick drama. The anger only rumbled deeper, and stronger, when she patronized the princess, and called his son an ex-convict and a loser.

He noticed his son only corrected the ex-convict part, and that hurt Edmund in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

After she left, the whole atmosphere had changed. No one wanted to celebrate anymore, with her threat looming over them. And before he had the chance to say much of anything, Eugene and his friends had already whisked out of the room, likely to decide what their next move was.

He couldn’t help feeling a twinge of regret. He wanted to be a part of his son’s life, especially on a day like this, but the last thing he wanted was to accidentally do something that’d push him further away. He didn’t think he could bear making any more mistakes, not when this was such a delicate situation and his son had finally started talking to him enough that he’d had to be careful not to mention this surprise birthday to him beforehand.

So he waited. In fact, the next he heard from any of them, it was when the dispirited couple was walking through the castle’s hallways, on the way towards their bedrooms. “What happened, son?”

Eugene glanced over at Rapunzel, before looking back at his dad. “She took him.” He sounded defeated.

“Took who?” Edmund said, brow furrowing, concern entering his eyes. He didn’t have to ask who she was.

Eugene sighed, running a hand over his hair, but it was Rapunzel who answered. “Varian. He was translating the scroll, and we thought…“ Her voice trailed off, lapsing into silence.

Quirin’s son. “Then we must go after them at once!”

“We?” Eugene said, at the same time as Rapunzel said “See?” She crossed her arms. “He agrees with me.”

“You can’t be serious, son.” Edmund said, looking at both of them. “You said it yourself, earlier- with the scroll, and the moonstone, she could-“

Eugene looked at Rapunzel again, more out of concern than anything else – but she didn’t seem to be overly affected by the remark. Then, he gave another sigh, “Listen, Dad… can we talk about this?” The implication was clear. Alone.

Edmund was silent for a moment, unsure whether he’d pressed too far, but then he nodded. (And maybe it wasn’t important, given the current circumstances, but he couldn’t help thinking of a time when Eugene could hardly stand being in the same room as him.) “Of course.”

As he waited, Eugene squeezed Rapunzel’s hand and leaned forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight, Sunshine. I’ll be by, later.”

Despite everything, Rapunzel smiled back. For a moment, the ring she hadn’t gotten to pull out weighed heavily in her bag. “Happy Birthday, Eugene.”

With that, she moved down the hall to go up to her own bedroom. Eugene’s gaze lingered on her until she disappeared from view, before turning back to his dad.

“I’m sorry if I’m-“

“No, it’s fine.” Eugene said, putting his hands in his pockets, before turning to walk towards his room. “This is important.”

“I agree.” Edmund swallowed, before walking to keep pace with him. “All I’m saying is that you already know exactly how powerful it is, if she has the ability to harness its full potential-“

“But we don’t even know where she is.” He cut in, half because he just didn’t want his dad to start detailing everything CassAHNdra could possibly do, right now. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it. “It’s dark, and in the woods, there’s no telling what we might run into- look, I don’t feel good about leaving her with all of that power and Varian, either, but what she did today-“

“What did she do today?” Edmund asked, in a quieter tone. By now, they’d reached the door to his bedroom.

“Kicked me down a flight of stairs, for one.” Eugene muttered, as they entered, closing the door behind them. He found himself continuing before he could stop himself- and once he’d started, he found he didn’t want to stop. “Almost ran me over with a giant ball. Almost brought a giant metal machine down on us while I was dangling over a drop while holding onto a horse’s legs. So you know-“ He forced out a wry chuckle, trying to hide just how shaken he felt. “A normal Tuesday. And that part was just Lance and Max and I, Varian is-“

Cassandra had taken him. Now, there was no telling where she was. And he suspected that Varian wouldn’t just tell her what she wanted to know, which meant-

Which meant the kid was in a whole lot of danger.

Eugene looked out the window. He’d never admit it aloud, but he didn’t think he’d been properly scared of what lengths Cassandra might go to in order to get her way before today. The person who’d faced him hadn’t been his friend- it was someone who had no qualms about using his life as a pawn in her game.

Well, at least it wasn’t his first time in that situation.

Edmund’s eyes hardened as Eugene relayed this series of events. “I’m sorry all of that happened.” Maybe, if he’d insisted on being there instead of waiting here, he could’ve-

“Dad.” Eugene said, looking back at him. “You were saying your thoughts aloud again.” By now, he’d crossed his arms, but the way he was looking at Edmund... it seemed almost vaguely confused by the sentiment.

“Sorry.” Edmund responded. He only hesitated briefly, before continuing. “But if you go tomorrow, you must let me come along with you.”

“You?” If anything, the confusion only seemed to have grown. “No, it should be Rapunzel and Lance and I, if anything- the less people who are at risk, the better.”

“The less people you have, the easier it will be for her to overpower you.” Edmund pointed out.

Eugene shook his head, and for a moment, Edmund caught a glimmer of the same conviction that’d swayed him from what he’d thought was his purpose for decades. “I’m sure Rapunzel can take her.”

“You have to agree, though, that having someone else along couldn’t possibly-“

“Look, I’m touched. But we’ll be fine.”

“And what if you’re not-“

“Dad,” Eugene said, resisting the urge to sigh for the third time and trying to keep his frustration at bay. “I get that you’re upset because Cassandra stole the moonstone and you-“

”This isn’t about the moonstone, son.” Edmund said, in a low tone. Eugene must’ve looked confused – he was so sure he’d understood exactly what was bothering his father – because then the older man looked at him more directly, and said in an even quieter tone. “It’s about you.”

Eugene blinked at him, stunned into silence at that statement. He didn’t know how to respond. People had tended to get upset at him time and time again throughout his life, but upset on his behalf? He hadn’t really encountered that until... well, Rapunzel. Which was much different from this. And his father had dedicated his life to protecting the moonstone, so he’d just assumed...

Well, he’d definitely been quiet for too long. It was time to fill the silence with something witty, like he usually did. Something intelligent, that’d distract him from whatever the hell this new emotion he was feeling was.

”...What?” He found himself saying instead, stupidly.

“It’s about you.” Edmund repeated, still holding his gaze.

Eugene blinked again, processing this, “…what,” He swallowed, realizing he was about to sound like an idiot again. “What do you mean? I mean, the moonstone is-“

“I lost everything because of the moonstone, son!” Edmund said abruptly, in rare burst of strong emotion. Eugene barely kept from flinching, startled by its force, even if he was equally surprised to realize he didn’t quite mind it. It didn’t scare him the way it had when they’d first met, at least. “In a different way from how she has.” Edmund continued, more softly, leaving no doubt as to who she was. “And now that ... something has brought us together again, whether you want to call it destiny or happenstance, I don’t want to-“ He gave a deep sigh, no longer meeting Eugene’s gaze. “I could not bear it happening a second time.”

You’re the reason it happened at all. He wanted to retort, but something held him back. The sentiment his dad was expressing seemed so... genuine and vulnerable, he wasn’t sure he had the heart to shoot it down, even if a part of him was still angry.

“And when she was saying all those things about you and your friends, I wanted to-“ Edmund’s hand clenched into a fist, taking the silence as an opportunity to continue. “You are many things, son, and I admit I don’t know what all of them are, and that is my fault. The weight of that decision is mine to bear for the rest of my life.” His voice was tinged with deep regret, as he finally raised his head to meet his son’s gaze again. “But a loser isn’t one of them. A loser would not manage to rise every time he was knocked down. A loser would not go out of his way to help even those who have wronged him. If being here has shown me anything, it’s how vibrant a life you’ve built for yourself, and how deep the connections you’ve forged run. Everyone practically jumped at the chance to throw you a party, after I-”

“...the party was your idea?” Eugene asked, in a small voice. Everything else he’d said was too overwhelming to process, right now, especially when he wasn’t properly sure how he even felt about the man standing in front of him. Besides, anything more, and his voice might start shaking, and the stinging in his eyes might turn into something more. He couldn’t afford that right now, even as he wondered at how... much it warmed him to be seen by someone relatively new to him.

“Well, Rapunzel took the idea and ran with it, of course.” He said, a somewhat endeared smile crossing his face.

“Of-of course.” Eugene realized he hadn’t been breathing, and released one, relaxing a little and unable to keep from giving a small smile. She had a way of doing that.

“But I wanted to commemorate this day in some way. So you could see that you are important - and to so many people, too.” His brow furrowed in frustration. “And then she-”

“That wasn’t your fault.” Eugene said, before he could continue. He wasn’t even sure why he said it, just knew that that wasn’t something he wanted his dad to blame himself for. Especially not after...all that. “Look, I’ll admit that I haven’t forgiven you for what you did, and what that meant for me growing up.” Rather than saying anything in protest, Edmund just nodded, bowing his head. Eugene swallowed, before reaching forward to put a hand on his father’s left shoulder. Edmund met his gaze. “But you’re trying, which is more than a lot of people would do. I can see that. And that still... means something.”

Edmund held his gaze for a long moment. To be honest, Eugene wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, in there. But then, without warning, he felt himself yanked into a strong hug. He gave a (very manly) yelp.

Edmund froze. “You’re injured. I didn’t even think about that, are you-”

Eugene’s breath had caught in his chest, but as it released, it bubbled forth in a laugh. “I’m fine, Dad. Just warn me next time.”

Edmund pulled him closer in relief (though more gently). “I make no promises.”

He gave a smaller chuckle in response to that, but just relaxed into the hug, in lieu of giving an actual response.

Edmund smiled. There was a long journey ahead, but every step was taking them somewhere, and it was more than worth it. For now, he was just glad to have this moment.

“Happy birthday, son.”

#tts gen week #eugene fitzherbert #rapunzel #tangled #cassandra's revenge #king edmund

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leah-halliwell92 · 3 years

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Daughter of Darkness

Summary: Leaving the island had been a backup plan…and a last resort. She didn’t want to leave home, but by Hera had their actions driven her to. She’d grown restless with their stares and whispers…no more. But little did she that leaving had set her on a path she could never have imagined.

Chapter 1

Previously:

“Oh it did,” Dick said laying back down, “He was beyond pissed, but I passed out from the blood loss before I could see or hear anything else.”

“She…made me chose in a way,” Bruce said quietly as he stared off avoiding any and all eye contact, “After killing the Joker, she asked me if letting him live was worth the risk of losing Dick…of losing my son.”

Chapter 2

The following morning Bruce woke with a painful grunt as the hits he took the night before made themselves known. He looked around rubbed his eyes as he remembered he’d fallen asleep next to Dick’s bed in the batcave. He went to stretch to take off the suit’s under layer and winced.

“You should take the day off Bruce,” Dick said from place on the bed as he let out a yawn, “Those look bad.”

“The batman can take the day off I guess,” he conceded before giving dick an affectionate pat on the shoulder.

“You know they’re gonna call right?” Dick said as he adjusted the bed’s back to sit up.

Bruce gave him a look and pulled up the grey under shirt of the suit. At Dick’s audible gasp he knew he needed an ice bath.

“He got you bad man,” Dick said softly, “Speaking of getting...who was the girl?”

“That’s good question,” Bruce said, “And a better question is how she knew where we were at all.”

“Think she could be meta?” Dick asked with a shrug, curiosity in his voice.

“Has to be for her to not only know where we are but help us the way she did,” Bruce said making his way to the main computer.

“Hey! Don’t leave me here when I can help!” Dick called after Bruce.

The older man had to chuckle at his boy’s antics, and realized he’d be sad to see him go back to Blüdhaven. He also knew that if Dick didn’t return to said city then they’d both have Barb to deal with...and that is not something either of them need at the moment. So he saved himself a second headache and brought the bagged dagger up to where Dick is so they could at least make some basic observations on it.

“Awww and he takes pity on my crippled form,” Dick said dramatically, cracking a grin.

“Ha ha ha,” Bruce said cracking his own grin despite the joke, “We both you if you wanted to be out of that bed you’d have gotten up the second you saw me leave.”

“And risk having Alfred and Barb jump down both our throats? No way man,” the younger man said hands up in mock surrender, “I like not having a headache so soon after waking up from getting stabbed. Plus its not like she won’t yell at us anyway for the same thing.”

Bruce had to give Dick that one and said, “Might as well take advantage of this while we can then.”

Dick started out laughing before it turned into a violent coughing fit.

Bruce checked his bandages making sure nothing had been torn in that hacking fit, and to make sure Dick was ok for himself.

“I’m fine Bruce,” Dick said waving the older man away back to his chair, “Just need to remember to not laugh so hard.”

Bruce shook his head and passed Dick the dagger.

Dick took it and turned it over in his hands.

“It looks old,” he said after a moment of consideration, “And not that it is old time wise. But that this looks like it was made recently if how well the blade and hilt are when you think about usage. It doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen from anywhere we’ve been. If it was made on earth it has to be from either a lost culture or a culture that has yet to be re-discovered.”

Bruce nodded and took the dagger back.

“Is there any information on it?” Dick asked with a yawn.

Bruce gave the young man a half grin, God knew how he had lived this long to raise such enigmatic boys.

“Sleep, if there is I’ll wake you,” Bruce said standing to let Dick get the rest he so desperately needs, “As for information...I’m pretty sure Alfred’s had that running before we got out of bed this morning.”

“Come one B!” Dick called out to Bruce, “At least promise me you’ll knock me out fully if Barb comes by! Please!?”

Bruce walked away chuckling as he did. He forwent going to whatever scrap of information there was on the blade and decided on taking it easy for once. Lord knew he’d need what little strength he had for when the rest of the family called.

~/~

Meanwhile...

Anna was laying on her hotel bed doing some work for the exhibit that opens the following day when the Skype screen popped up with a call.

She heaved a tired sigh at the caller ID, and thought about whether or not she should fall prey to that childish desire to not pick up.

In the end she decided the reprimand was not worth it so answered and with a tired smile said, “Bonjour Diana.”

“Good evening Anna,” she said with an equally tired grin, “You look like you’ve taken on something.”

“As do you...Wonder Woman,” Anna replied with a playful smirk.

Diana sighed at this still not used being as in the open as she was.

“He’d have loved seeing you live Diana. There’s no need to live hung up on a memory,” Anna said treading carefully as she spoke.

To her surprise, Diana nodded and said, “I’ve lived so quietly for so long, that...”

“Being out there and showing that there is someone there to fight for them is as difficult as staying in and living that quiet life,” Anna finished for her with an understanding nod.

Diana nodded and said, “You are in Gotham for the week yes?”

“I am...and I’ve already had a run in with the Batman,” she said, a small smile appearing on her face as she thought back to those moments.

Diana’s eyes widened, “You...”

“I did not go looking for him Diana,” Anna said sharply, “I had no sooner gotten to my hotel that I’d...felt this chill in the air. It’s summer Diana and I felt as if I’d walked into solid ice. No it’s not the room’s AC, I checked it, this felt as if...as if someone was going to die.”

“A premonition?” Diana asked incredulously.

“Not that but...a feeling, then the Shades arrived all referring to three souls and one they hungered for,” Anna explained as she thought back.

“What happened?” Diana asked both curious and worried.

“As we do as amazons...I went to investigate,” Anna said with a sigh, “I was lead to a warehouse on the pier. Diana I swear I heard the laughing from outside.”

Diana closed her eyes and shivered. It had been years since she’s come across a foe that enjoyed killing enough to find it laughable.

“Diana...it’s been an age since I had come across a man who enjoyed torturing other beings as much as this one did,” Anna said wrapping her arms around herself, “He reeked of death Diana. The Shades that were with me flew about the batman and his partner as one would expect of such warriors but nothing compared to how they reacted to who held them hostage.”

“I’ve heard that one of the most known criminals calls himself the Joker,” Diana said evenly, “An unconventional criminal, with a very long trail of deaths behind him.”

Anna nodded at this somberly and said, “Psychopath Diana, he was a psychopath. It was clear he had tortured both men but for how long I do not know.”

Diana gasped as Anna went into detail of what she’d seen, how the Joker behaved and how he clearly enjoyed breaking the Batman from the inside out.

“What happened next Anna?” Diana asked when Anna went silent, “Adanna!”

Anna looked up at Diana and heaved a sigh and said, “I was not going to ferry the young man’s soul across the river Diana.”

Diana’s eyes widened at the implication.

“I...Killed the Joker,” Anna said simply, “The mental and emotional connection between him and the Batman was one I had not seen between foes in some time. And to a degree I understand why hesitate in killing him even in self-defense.”

“Would he not have killed the Joker?” Diana asked, “I’ve heard rumors that he has a tendency not to kill those he captures.”

Anna nodded at this and said, “That’s just it! It felt different when it came to the Joker for some reason. He acted as if I’d severed a tether he needed present to keep going no matter how much damage it made.”

“We’ve all had those Ann,” Diana said with a sigh.

Anna wanted to say how her’s was thrown in her face everyday and how it haunted her to this day but held her tongue. That was not a conversation to have though Skype. And not a topic she wanted to touch on while she was still reeling from her encounter with the Joker and the Dark Knight of Gotham.

So instead she settled on, “I killed him Diana...and whilst I do not enjoy taking life, this one I had no qualms in taking.”

Diana cocked a brow at her her righteous morals about to reprimand her sister when Anna cut in.

“Don’t even think about it,” Anna said eyes darkening, “He would have killed that boy, and then no one in Gotham would have been spared the Batman’s wrath. There is a heart under that armor Diana, I felt it. He would have suffered greatly for the loss and worse being that the Joker would have bathed in the blood spilled and pain he’d caused. So do not lecture me on the righteousness of justice.”

Before Diana could say more Anna hung up and closed her laptop with a shake of her head.

“You have seen so much and have grown so much Diana...but you still need to learn that sometimes death is inevitable,” she said out loud before turning in for the night.

Tomorrow is the banquet presenting the exhibition, the following day the opening, and then maybe she could rest...if the city let her that is.

Tag List:

@flanagirl @xbreezymeadowsx @enigmatic-ravenna @alisinchainmail @disneymarina @thebeautyofdisorder @fandomgalcentral @wonderbat-official @lovelyyroseeee

#bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #diana prince #clark kent #batman #robin #wonder woman #superman #batman fic #batfam #pre batman v superman #batfleck

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cheshiresense · 4 years

Note

Could you do KoyoIchi (Swinging Pendulum), please? C: I have fallen in love with this ship ever since you posted those short one-shots (or whatever they are called) a while ago.

Hmm you didn’t include an AU and I’ve already done a KoyoIchi SP AU in the last batch, there’s not much else I can write for that I think. So how about KoyoIchi post-canon AU instead, where Ichigo’s human body gives out after the Quincy War, so he ends up splitting his time between SS and the Human world afterwards.

Edit: omg wtf did i do i went off i’m sorry this ended up semi-background pre-relationship KoyoIchi + like a dozen unrelated headcanons thrown in it’s a mess fml

1. It’s not usually done, he’s technically dead now (but not a Shinigami, not a Quincy, not a Hollow, and not even a Human anymore), but he has a lot of support from a lot of people - Kisuke has no qualms crafting him a gigai that would allow him to draw his blade even without stepping out of it, and Kyouraku basically gives him free run of Soul Society after they hammer out what Ichigo is supposed to do there considering he’s now stronger than the entire Gotei combined but also he’s technically only eighteen years old.

(It would be scarier, Kyouraku thinks, if Ichigo’s moral fibre hadn’t already proven itself superior.)

In the end, they settle it like this - Ichigo attends the Academy part-time for all the lessons Kisuke and Yoruichi and Shinji never bothered hammering into him because it was never important to the war, attends university in the human world, and the rest of his time is his do with as he pleases, whether that’s taking missions directly from Kyouraku, visiting with his friends in various squads and being roped into doing paperwork, or digging up yet another rebel faction or secret invasion out of the woodwork (”Please don’t dig up yet another rebel faction or secret invasion out of the woodwork for at least a month, Ichigo-kun. One month, you hear? We still haven’t finished cleanup from the last one.”).

Because it’s Ichigo, it works. it’s not like he wasn’t already coming and going from Soul Society when he was still human. The Shinigami have let him get away with far too much already to put restrictions on him now, especially considering he’s saved all their asses twice over now, and that’s not even counting all the trouble in-between. If there are some who complain, well, there are even more who are capable of making sure nothing ever comes of it.

So okay, no rebel faction, no secret invasion, but Ichigo’s not Ichigo without something to work towards, and he’s always wondered why the Shinigami side of his family was slumming it out in Rukongai when they’re supposed to be nobility like Byakuya and Yoruichi. The answer is simple enough - Aizen had mind-whammied everyone after Isshin ran off and fabricated a coup that resulted in assassinations courtesy of the Second Division before the remaining Shibas were ousted from Seireitei overnight.

(It was only too easy for Aizen to make them believe it.Nobody ever questioned whether or not the Shibas could. They had the power. They just never had the ambition, which nobody could understand.)

No way is Ichigo going to take that lying down. So he goes and yells at Kyouraku, who says it’s complicated and would take time, but Ichigo reminds him of the Visored and Kisuke and Yoruichi and Tessai, all let back in in the wake of the Winter War. If they could be pardoned, and rightfully so, why can’t the Shibas too?

“I’m not saying they can’t forever, Ichigo-kun,” Kyouraku says placatingly. “But Central 46 will want… assurances-”

“You mean they’re scared to let my family back in cuz they might still be a little bit pissed from having three-quarters of their members murdered in their beds,” Ichigo summarizes flatly.

Kyouraku sighs and gives up all pretenses of a neutral party. “If you have a better idea…” He waves a hand at the general situation, eyes dark and intent on Ichigo’s face.

Ichigo snorts and straightens up. “Yeah. It’s called ‘being too strong to fuck with’. The old bastards are in session right now, aren’t they? I’ll be right back.”

One day, Kyouraku muses as he watches Ichigo go, this will probably not work, and it’ll come back to bite them all in the ass. Then again, Central 46 has run Soul Society their way or no one’s way for far too long; Yama-jii had always given them too much power. They’d learned nothing from Aizen, so maybe Ichigo is exactly what they deserve, straightforward and running on emotion, but fair, always, and decent in a way that Kyouraku thinks most of their government has forgotten how to be, if they ever knew to begin with.

One day, even Ichigo’s threats won’t make Central 46 back down. But a god doesn’t bow just because someone demands it, no matter how important they think their bloodline or rank or status is. And Ichigo is probably the closest thing they have to a god these days. A god, with plenty of friends to back him up if he needs it.

So Kyouraku leaves him to it - better Ichigo than him, less headaches in the long run - and he isn’t at all surprised when Ichigo sweeps back into his office five hours later, expression grim but triumphant, reiatsu still writhing like a living shadow around him as he informs Kyouraku that his clan will be needing their old estate back.

Kyouraku pushes over the paperwork he’d completed an hour ago, authorizing the full restoration and compensation of the Shiba Clan. Ichigo smiles at him almost fondly, features only slightly tinted with a banked sort of inhuman rage that he carries around almost constantly these days - it’s three steps left of his cousin’s memory, with Hollow glinting in his eyes and the shade of his ancestor draped across his shoulders. He’s gone again in the next moment, off to tell his family the excellent news, and Kyouraku thinks it was probably a good thing Yama-jii died when he did. However reasonable Ichigo still is, he is no longer that boy with the too-forgiving heart who took the insults they served him with all the doormatted self-sacrifice of a storybook hero.

(He came back from the Soul King Palace equal parts pensive and victorious, with old eyes and reiatsu levels they could no longer sense and a terrifying sort of detachment when he looked at them all. But his friends had fallen on him without care, only relief, and the icy distance in Ichigo’s mien had melted. Kyouraku had understood though, in that moment, that Soul Society would stand only so long as Ichigo allows it.

He likes Ichigo, he genuinely does. Jyuushirou had too. That hadn’t stopped his old friend from attempting to leash him, which had almost backfired in the end and literally only hadn’t out of the goodness of Ichigo’s heart, and it doesn’t stop Kyouraku now from catering to Ichigo’s whims. Only time would tell if this approach will work better or worse than Jyuushirou’s law-abiding one, and in the meanwhile, it doesn’t hurt that Ichigo doesn’t actually want anything Kyouraku doesn’t want to fix anyway. Soul Society has been his home for over nine centuries now. He does not want to see it burn. If that means dragging it kicking and screaming into a new era with a boy their world created to fight their wars for them looking over his shoulder, then Kyouraku will do it gladly.)

It takes almost three months for the Shibas to gather again and move back in. They’d scattered, after their exile, all across Rukongai, but Kuukaku is their head, and Ichigo has single-handedly wrested back their birthright for them, and when both of them call, the rest of the clan answers, trickling in in twos and threes and fours, suspicious and wary and not inclined to trust anyone but their own, but they come, and the first thing they do is raise wards around their home strong enough to withstand a siege from the Royal Guard.

“That’s everyone?” Ichigo asks, looking from the civilians to the once-Shinigami to the children. All in all, they barely make thirty total, and over half of them are from their retainer families.

Kuukaku shrugs tiredly at his side. She’s never looked older than she does now. “You know Isshin’s staying in the Human world for your sisters, but other than that, pretty much. Everyone else is dead.” She pauses. “Well, except one, but I doubt he’ll come. Kaien’s wife’s brother,” She adds for Ichigo’s benefit. “Koyonagi Senzou. He was the Kidou Corps Commander before Tessai, demoted to Academy teacher after some mission the higher-ups covered up. He was the only one the Gotei kept on after we were kicked out. Never found out whether he actually wanted to stay or if Central 46 insisted he stay. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. He’s wasted at the Academy, too useful to kill but too dangerous to let out of sight. As far as I know though, he’s still there.”

Ichigo frowns as he digests all this. “And he won’t come by to see you guys?”

Kuukaku shakes her head. “I doubt it. He was never really one of us.”

“Why not?”

Kuukaku shrugs again. “He never wanted to be. I didn’t know him very well, Ichigo, but he loved exactly one person, and she was more or less killed under Kaien’s watch. It wasn’t Nii-san’s fault of course, but she was sent out on a mission given to her by the Thirteenth Division lieutenant, and she never came back. He attended her funeral. That was the last time any of us saw him, although our Shinigami members reported glimpses of him in and around the Academy over the years.”

Ichigo hums. Kuukaku gives him an arch look and then snorts. “Shall I prepare a room for him anyway when I start renovations?”

Ichigo grins at her. “That’d be perfect, Kuukaku, thanks.”

2. Of course Senzou has heard of Kurosaki Ichigo. You’d have to be living under a rock in a cave in a different dimension to not have heard of Soul Society’s God-Slaying Saviour.

And of course he’s a Shiba. That lot always was more trouble than they were worth, too powerful for their own good, and too reckless or too confident or too stupid - Senzou has never really figured out which - to hide it from the world or at least play it down to keep the world from turning on them because of it. No subtlety at all. And look where it got them in the end.

In the aftermath of the Quincy War, he hears of the Shibas’ return to the city, and he can feel the power in the wards they almost immediately erect around their home. For protection, no doubt, because old dogs can learn new tricks after all, but to Senzou, it just looks like a very pretty cage. Why they - or the Visored for that matter - came back to serve the very people who betrayed them in some of the worst ways possible is beyond him.

Not that it makes much of a difference to Senzou. He’d ignored them for decades before their exile; no doubt, he’ll happily ignore them for decades more. They’re related only through an unfortunate marriage, and considering both parties are long dead now, what little obligation he had to them likewise expired years ago.

But, he thinks, as he watches an increasingly familiar head of orange hair slide into his classroom, someone forgot to give that memo to the Shibas’ newest pride and joy. Even Senzou - with expectations that literally no student has ever met - can admit that Kurosaki Ichigo attending Kidou lessons is a complete waste of time. Senzou spends his days teaching idiots the incantations for each of the ninety-nine standard spells, trying not to scratch his own eyes out when he has to grade their papers, and making sure they don’t blow themselves up when they practice producing them. Even the most advanced of the sixth-years can only manage spells in the fifties range, with a fifty-fifty chance of average-at-best success.

Ichigo memorized all the incantations in the first two weeks he was here. His first essay on the use of forbidden Kidou - instead of a regurgitation of laws citing the illegality of them that everyone else turned in - became a dissertation on their pros and cons, arguing that every case in which they’re used should be thoroughly investigated not only by Central 46 but also by a panel of Shinigami, and why the laws against them should be amended to allow for unexpected circumstances. The brat even had the gall to throw in quotes of interviews he’d conducted, and if it had been anyone else claiming to have received firsthand and eye-witness accounts of forbidden Kidou usage from names like Tsukabishi Tessai and Hirako Shinji, Senzou would’ve set them on fire for being such a bad liar. He couldn’t even fail the boy for incomplete research because the books he referenced might not be found in the Academy library but they all had Urahara Kisuke stamped on them.

And his practicals? A high level of reiatsu usually means the caster would have a harder time performing Kidou, especially when they’re first starting out, too much power shoved into the lower-level ones, too little control to hold together the higher-level ones.

Not Kurosaki Ichigo. That boy spent the first week putting holes into everything except his targets, went away for a weekend, and then came back with singed eyebrows and bags under his eyes but a resolute set to his jaw and picture-perfect Kidou at his fingertips. He didn’t even need the incantations anymore. And to make him even more of an anomaly, he could perform spells right up into the nineties. In fact, the higher the difficulty and reiatsu output, the better he was with them.

There is nothing the standard Kidou curriculum from any year can teach him. His learning curve is insane, and his essays read like he’s gearing up to go toe to toe with Central 46, never mind an Academy class.

He doesn’t need to be here. Senzou knows it. The other students know it. And Ichigo most certainly knows it too. And with the special allowances granted by the Soutaichou himself, he doesn’t even need permission to skip. The boy’s been given unprecedented free reign to come and go as he pleases, and yet he comes back, week after week after week. He doesn’t even have the decency to sleep through Senzou’s lectures. He’s a flickering candle in the corner of Senzou’s eye, all flame-bright hair and brown-gold-brown eyes and shadows that won’t stop moving, and that unwavering attention he pins on Senzou every time makes it damn clear exactly what he’s waiting for.

Shibas. No subtlety whatsoever.

The bell rings. Bags are packed. There’s a scramble for the door.

“Kurosaki-chan,” Senzou calls in bored tones without looking away from sadistically adding an extra assignment to the board. If no one notices, that’s their problem. “Stay behind.”

There are some interested whispers and prying eyes, but one glance from Senzou sends them scurrying away. And then Ichigo is there, sauntering up with his perpetual scowl - not at all like Kaien this one. The two are as charismatic as each other, from what Senzou’s observed. But Kaien had people wrapped around his finger because he had a knack for putting them at ease and making them feel special and making himself both approachable and worth looking up to. Ichigo on the other hand scared a lot of people when he first showed up at the Academy with an armful of books and a gruff disposition that didn’t lend itself to making allies, let alone friends. He wasn’t arrogant, just introverted, but it made him the kind of genius that people resented.

And then Senzou caught him in the hallway one day, looming over a mousy-looking fifth-year student huddled on the ground, and at first, he’d thought Kurosaki was bullying her. Everyone’s golden boy, picking on a shrinking violet of a girl. But then Ichigo had stooped down and gathered up all the books spilled across the floor before offering them back to the girl. The girl had still cowered, but she’d accepted them, and when Ichigo reached out and hauled her to her feet, she’d flinched but hadn’t moved away once she was on her feet again and Ichigo had let her go.

Then Ichigo had told her, quite clearly, “Next time someone can’t keep their hands to themselves, break their fucking wrists. Or kick them in the balls. Or tell them to fuck off. Start a scene so they have to stop. Do something. Don’t just fucking stand there.”

And then he’d stormed off, and the girl - Fujiwara, from the Kyouraku family - had stared after him, all baby-duckling wide eyes. And the next time Senzou had happened across her, it was just in time to see her chuck one of her textbooks at the head of one of her bullies. Said bully had staggered back, and then purpled with anger, already moving forward with fists clenched. Half a second later, he was on the ground and wailing from a broken nose, and Ichigo was standing over him, murder glowing gold in his eyes and black reiatsu streaking his hair and pooling at his feet.

Nobody had touched Fujiwara after that, especially since the girl had taken to following Ichigo around. Ichigo had still scowled like no one’s business, he’d also been seen kicking Fujiwara’s ass in one of the training rooms, they studied together in the library, and they ate together in the courtyard when Ichigo happened to stay for that.

And gradually, other students joined in, tentatively, some nervous, some with hero worship in their eyes, all hopeful. Ichigo never turned any of them away, but one day, he started a debate in the library about laws that would take species outside of Shinigami into consideration that ended with raised voices and enthusiastic opinions that got the whole giggling bunch thrown out, and another day, he suggested a free-for-all game of tag where only Kidou could be used to catch each other which ended with everyone sweaty and gasping and wanting another round, and in calmer in-betweens, he answered when the others finally asked him about what Hueco Mundo was like, what the Material world was like, what Arrancar were like, what Humans were like, and he never lost his temper with them even when he had to explain something more than once.

He was still blunt and borderline rude and not at all like Kaien, like a Shiba, not outgoing or friendly or instantly personable. But the charisma was the same, people couldn’t help but be drawn to him, and it took weeks for Senzou to realize he was just as susceptible to it as Ichigo’s growing circle of friends within the Academy. So susceptible he was literally stalking him everywhere just to see what other chaos he was sowing.

That’s probably why he wants the boy gone so badly. He’d sworn he’d never forgive the Shiba Clan for taking his sister away from him, the only leeway they got was that he wouldn’t actively go after them either because Miyako wouldn’t want him to, and it wasn’t as if it was difficult to keep such a vow. He’d never liked the Shibas anyway. When they’d been slaughtered and cast out, and no assassins had shown up at his door in the aftermath, all he’d thought was good riddance.

But Kurosaki Ichigo…

Under any other circumstances, Senzou would be thrilled. Here is a student who challenged the world around him and brought a storm to the Academy.

But this isn’t any other circumstances, and as Ichigo stops in front of his desk, a beast glinting behind his eyes and a dead king’s inheritance pulsing in the shadow splashed at his feet, Senzou meets his gaze and slices a mocking smile in his direction.

“Kurosaki-chan,” He starts, smirk widening when Ichigo’s eyebrows twitch. “The Academy’s star part-time pupil. What exactly are you still doing in my class?”

Ichigo shrugs. “I signed up for it, your lectures aren’t boring, and I’m trying to figure you out.”

Senzou feels his smile grow fixed. “And how is that going for you?”

Ichigo scruffs a hand through his hair, pauses briefly to frown tug at the shoulder-length strands like he wants a haircut, and then shrugs again. “You’re the one following me around all the time, what do you think?”

They stare at each other for a moment.

“Let me make one thing very clear, Kurosaki-chan,” Senzou finally says. For once, he doesn’t feel like weaving his usual mind games. “I don’t know what your clan has told you, but I have no desire to play happy families with them. I know you Shibas tend to be all about bringing family together, but I am not one of you.” His lip curls. “Do not push this issue any further than you have. Am I understood?”

Ichigo cocks his head, something animal in the way he watches Senzou now. “Kuukaku agreed to reserve a room for you at the compound if you ever want it, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m not here for that.”

Senzou’s eyes narrow. “Then what are you here for?” He gives the boy a sardonic look and cuts him off preemptively. “Besides class.”

Ichigo grins, quicksilver bright, and something in Senzou recoils with surprise.

“I don’t really have a plan,” The boy tells him. “But I’m getting my family settled back in, and making sure nobody can fuck with them ever again.” He aims another considering look at Senzou. “If you don’t wanna be all buddy-buddy with them, that’s fine. It’s not any of my business if you wanna hammer your shit out with them or not. But you were connected to them even if you didn’t like it, and that doesn’t change just because that connection’s gone. So I guess what I wanted to figure out was whether or not someone’s fucking with you too.”

Senzou opens his mouth, then closes it when nothing comes out. How embarrassing. He settles for a derisive smile that feels a touch too brittle on his face. “I don’t need your protection, God-Slayer.”

Ichigo immediately makes a face. “Don’t call me that. And I didn’t say you did. But when I start something, I like to see it through, so I thought I’d check just to be sure.”

Senzou scoffs with disbelief. “Then why didn’t you just ask?”

Ichigo rolls his eyes like he thinks Senzou’s being dumb on purpose, which is a new experience for Senzou. Usually he’s the one rolling his eyes.

“Well you didn’t want me to, did you?” Ichigo says, looking exasperated now. “You were curious about me, and all the stalking was recon or whatever.” He levels a thoughtful look on Senzou before snorting with something like amusement. “You are the type. But yeah, anyway, now you know. If you need help, the offer’s open indefinitely. But I’ll stop coming to class if you don’t want me here.”

He trails off, arching an eyebrow in question. When Senzou doesn’t reply, the boy shrugs once more, adjusts the strap of his bag, and turns to leave.

Senzou… Well, he’s pretty much been on the back foot this entire conversation, hasn’t he? There’s something about Ichigo that just… throws him off. It’s frustrating. Unnerving.

And yet… Ichigo didn’t push. Kaien would’ve pushed. The rest of his family would’ve pushed. It’s what Shibas do when they want something - push and push until they get what they want, a single-minded persistence hidden under their signature cheerful geniality that makes the rest of the world believe them to be the nicest clan in all of Soul Society.

Miyako had said no, the first time Kaien had asked to court her. But he’d asked again and again, until she’d said yes, and she’d been happy to, Senzou had made certain of that, she’d been perfectly willing, had found a good man in Kaien and been glad she’d finally given him a chance.

But she’d said no first, and Kaien had pushed, and it just… rubbed Senzou the wrong way. Because once upon a time, Shinigami had plucked them out from Rukongai, dusted them off and provided the training and shuffled them into the military, all expenses paid, but no had never been an option, and that had become all the more true after Miyako became such a public, vulnerable figure, not only Third Seat of the Thirteenth but also wife of a clan head.

When Central 46 had come knocking, interested in Senzou’s prodigal skills with Kidou, they hadn’t even needed to drop Miyako’s name for Senzou to know that saying no then wasn’t an option either. He’d been pushed into their service, and it had taken Miyako’s death for Central 46 to finally leave him alone, solely because he had no one else for them to hold over his head.

It’s not the Shibas’ fault, not really. It’s been long enough that Senzou can admit that, if only to himself. Miyako’s choices were her own, and even if she hadn’t married him, Central 46 probably would’ve found another way to get to him through her. But Senzou has always been petty and vindictive at heart, and he’ll blame the Shibas for the rest of his life, because at the end of the day, they’re just like all the other nobles in this place. What they want, they’ll push until they get, because privilege is in their blood.

So Senzou flounders when Ichigo doesn’t push his advantage. The boy is already halfway to the door, and somehow, Senzou is certain, if he doesn’t say anything now, Ichigo won’t come back. It’s so wildly different from what he’d expected, so unexpectedly not-like-a-Shiba, that he has to fumble for something to say for an unforgivably long moment. Him, fumble. This whole conversation has been one unexpected surprise after another, and later, Senzou will blame the shock for his next decision.

“Wait.”

Ichigo stops and turns back. He doesn’t look surprised, but neither does he look triumphant or even just smug.

Senzou suppresses a grimace. “The school has nothing left to teach you about Kidou.”

Ichigo nods in unabashed agreement.

Senzou snorts softly. “But I do. And I guarantee it won’t bore you.”

Ichigo blinks, and a crooked smile slowly curls at his lips. It doesn’t erase his frown, but it softens his brow and makes his features look less harsh. “You sure you wanna teach me?”

Senzou scoffs and pulls out his chair. “I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” He gives himself a mental shake and drags a grin back onto his face, sharp enough to cut. “Sit your ass down so we can figure out a schedule, Ichi-chan.”

Ichigo instantly loses the smile and glowers like a thundercloud. Senzou all but basks in the familiarity of it, inwardly relieved at being back on steadier ground.

“Don’t call me that, asshole!”

He probably shouldn’t have offered, should’ve just let him go and good riddance. But Senzou hasn’t been taken so off-guard so quickly in a long time, and it had been frustrating and unnerving but underneath both…

There is a storm waiting on the wings of Seireitei, and Kurosaki Ichigo is the one holding its reins.

And Senzou. Senzou is just curious enough to want to see what that storm will bring.

3. “Did your hair grow three inches over the weekend?” Senzou asks the moment Ichigo walks into one of their weekly lessons.

Ichigo dumps his bag in a chair and scowls at him. His hair has been swept up into a bun, which is certainly a feat considering the last time Senzou saw him three days ago, it had only brushed his shoulders.

“This body is seriously shit at regulating itself,” Ichigo grumbles. “I didn’t have time to go to the barber’s, and Kuukaku threatened to shave me bald if I tried to chop it off with my Zanpakutou again.”

Senzou squints at him. “You realize that’s not normal.”

Ichigo rolls his eyes. “I didn’t have a knife on me, and it was getting in the way, okay? Don’t judge.”

This time, it’s Senzou’s turn to roll his eyes. “That wasn’t what I meant, Ichi-chan. Shinigami bodies don’t suddenly grow several inches of hair overnight.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ichigo mutters before shaking his head, and Senzou watches as black reiatsu crackles lazily across his shoulders. “I’m just kinda weird. Excess reiatsu plus funky biology apparently means random hair growth and dye jobs.” He shrugs. “Kisuke’s still figuring it out.”

Senzou hums noncommittally. “Urahara Kisuke. Your… mentor?”

Ichigo pulls out the books Senzou had given him last week, along with a notebook and the latest essay Senzou had assigned him. All are tagged with multiple sticky notes.

“Kind of?” Ichigo sounds like he isn’t all too sure himself and even less concerned about it. “He’s… Kisuke.”

Senzou eyes him curiously. “You don’t care that he basically engineered half your life then?”

Ichigo stills. Then he glances up with Hollow-gold eyes, and Senzou smiles and meets them without flinching.

“Why would you say that?” Ichigo asks in even tones, but the office suddenly seems darker.

Senzou shrugs carelessly. “Urahara has a bit of a reputation for… working outside the box. It’s not just me who thinks it, Ichi-chan. There aren’t many who knew him who wouldn’t take one look at you and guess that he had something to do with your existence.” He pauses. “Although admittedly, I suppose the worst of these rumours come from the ones who want him back most. Central 46 doesn’t benefit half as much without his skills in assassination and technological development. It must’ve been a blow to their egos when Urahara refused their invitation to come back after the Winter War. They might be hoping enough unease over any other projects he’s bound to be working on would be enough to make him come back under their protection-”

“That’s not called protection,” Ichigo growls, and Senzou stops, words withering on his tongue.

There is something about the black abyss of Ichigo’s unblinking stare that makes some base instinct in even Senzou want to back away, run, throw himself at this eldritch entity’s feet and beg for mercy. He squashes the urge and smiles like monsters don’t exist.

Ichigo blinks. The darkness in his eyes recede, and the room clears again, bright with the sunshine pouring in through the open window. A shadow passes over his face, and when he opens his mouth to speak, Senzou catches a glimpse of fangs.

“Well that sucks,” The boy remarks succinctly like the silhouette on the far wall behind him doesn’t outline a grinning mouth with too many teeth. “It’s none of their business anyway. Kisuke prefers his shop. He’s his own boss there, and he likes it that way. Central 46 will just have to deal with Kurotsuchi.”

He flips open his notebook and shoves his essay over. “Now come on, we only have an hour today, and you said you’d go over this bit with me.”

Senzou nods and drops the subject. But three weeks later, he laughs when whispers tell of five Central 46 members retiring from their seats, replaced by one Shiba elder, one Shihouin, one Kuchiki, and two seated officers from the Gotei, one of which has served long enough that she doesn’t mind semi-retiring, and the other who prefers more time at a desk job over constant fieldwork. Both have roots that trace back to the slums of Rukongai. Twelve days after that, the Soutaichou announces a new official position filled by Urahara Kisuke - Human World Liaison - and a team of his choice, effective immediately.

“You don’t waste any time,” is Senzou’s greeting the next time he sees Ichigo after that debacle.

Ichigo, seated on the edge of the Academy roof and surveying the rest of Seireitei (like a ruler looking over his kingdom), waves a dismissive hand that trails solid shadows through the air. “People who’ve never been Shinigami shouldn’t be allowed to judge them. Kyouraku-san agreed.”

“I’m sure he did,” Senzou agrees, fighting near-hysterical glee down to a chuckle as he drops down to sit beside Ichigo.

He wonders if this is what it looks like, for a man to crown himself without even trying while most of the world cheers him on.

He glances to the side, arching an eyebrow when he finds Ichigo watching him. “Yes, Ichi-chan?”

There’s a disappointing lack of irritable twitching this time, but the thoughtful look Ichigo has levelled on him instead is more interesting.

“I have finals starting next week,” Ichigo says abruptly. “So I won’t be coming by the Academy until I’m done.”

Well, less interesting than he’d expected. “I’ll pick up your assignments for you,” Senzou offers, feeling generous. It’s not every day Central 46 takes a beating. He doesn’t care about Aizen, but if there was one thing he did right, it was butchering the judiciary authority on the way out. One group of them anyway.

Ichigo snorts. Rude. “Thanks, but I was thinking, you could join me down there for once instead of me coming up to meet you here. I want to concentrate on my university exams, but I have to eat and stretch my legs sometime. If you want, I could show you around campus. Kisuke can lend you a gigai so you won’t even have to request one from the Twelfth and wait for the acquisition forms to be approved.”

The first thing Senzou wants to say is I can’t. Because he can’t. Central 46 can’t make him do shit anymore, but short of slaughtering his way to the Senkaimon or disappearing into the Rukongai and living out the rest of his life as a fugitive, he can’t leave Seireitei. He doesn’t hate it here so much that he’d prefer either of those options, but the truth of the matter is, this is as much his home as it is his prison.

(A very pretty cage indeed.)

So he can’t, but Ichigo isn’t stupid, he should’ve already figured it out, or guessed, if not from the start after whatever his family told him about Senzou, then in the five months since. Stuck at the Academy because he’s too much of a wild card to go on missions.

Ichigo isn’t stupid, but neither is he cruel, not to those he has no quarrel with - that much Senzou can accept as truth. That he’s bringing this up anyway…

So, “How?” He asks instead, raising his eyebrows when Ichigo actually barks out a laugh. And then his eyes widen when Ichigo twists fingers through the air, and a Garganta springs into existence beside them.

“This can take us there,” Ichigo grins. “And no one will ever even know if you don’t want them to.”

Senzou stares from him to the murky void and back again. “…Why?”

Why are you doing this? Why would you offer?

They’ve known each other for five months, six if you count the one Senzou spent studying him. Most of that time has been spent in private tutoring sessions, and it’s benefitted Senzou as much as it has Ichigo. He technically shouldn’t be teaching Ichigo even half the Kidou Corps secrets he’s already imparted, but Ichigo makes it worth his while - quick on the uptake, a challenge in the sparring ring, and a breath of fresh air from the tedious drudgery of teaching his other students. Occasionally, they even go out for meals, tucked away in a quiet corner of a restaurant or a food stand. And sometimes, Ichigo brings souvenirs back with him from his trips to the Human world - fiction, toys, tech, trinkets the living modern age has that Soul Society does not - and he gifts them not only to his friends amongst the students but also to Senzou these days.

It’s a friendlier relationship than Senzou thought he’d ever have with anyone outside his sister, doubly so for a Shiba. Then again, Ichigo’s barely that, thank the Soul King, even if he was raised by one of the worst examples of that clan.

“Why not?” Ichigo counters, like it isn’t downright unnatural for anyone to do anything for Senzou, mostly because he’d rather stab himself in the face than fall into anybody’s debt. People avoid him when they can because he is cruel, and that’s the way Senzou likes it. He has high standards and little tolerance for things that bore him. Nothing bores him as easily as people do.

Until Ichigo.

“You don’t wanna be stuck here all the time,” Ichigo continues. “And I have an easy way out. So yeah, why not?”

Senzou turns his gaze to the horizion, past the sprawling streets and buildings of Seireitei to the sun setting beyond the wall.

He looks at the Garganta again. When Ichigo doesn’t move to stop him, he reaches over and lets his fingers drift past the mouth of the portal. The void is cool to the touch but not freezing the way he’d half-imagined.

He retrieves his hand. “A campus tour then?” He muses lightly, and Ichigo’s features brighten in response.

Senzou almost sighs. He thinks he might understand now. Ichigo is a little more like a Shiba after all. It’s just that he’s also a little more manipulative than one would expect of him. Senzou had all but told him not to interfere, to play hero for someone else, so Ichigo had backed off. But he’d figured out what Senzou wanted anyway, and his solution was to offer another way out instead.

Persistent, without disrespecting boundaries, and cunning enough to find another answer. In that regard, he’s nothing like his Shinigami relatives, who are always so loud about their intentions.

Charismatic, but… discreetly, almost insidiously so.

Senzou blinks. And then glances sharply at Ichigo again. His eyes look bronze in the light of the sunset, with the heat of his Hollow just beneath it. He has his head propped up against one loose fist, elbow balanced on one knee.

He smiles, almost guileless if not for the possessive resolve in the curve of that expression, and Senzou thinks, unbidden, ah. That’s how he won their devotion.

He gave his friends and family and allies everything they wanted, everything they needed, threw his heart and soul and body into every fight in their defense, shattered himself and rebuilt himself to protect the ones he’d taken under his wing, and so when the time came, how could any of them have done anything less for him?

It had probably not even been something Ichigo had done consciously from the beginning, it was just how he was built, through a quirk of the genetic fun park Urahara had ensured, or perhaps from the numerous near-death experiences life had forced him into. Ichigo probably hadn’t been aware, at first.

But he definitely is now.

Senzou thinks Ichigo is only just starting with him. Senzou’s already been claimed, because - for whatever reason - Ichigo wants him.

It probably says a lot that even this early on, even having already figured it out, Senzou… can’t say he cares enough to protest.

A Shiba in his bones, but leagues more dangerous by far.

4. The Human world is bigger than he remembers. Size-wise, it’s the same. But there’s a lot more in it than he thought, and he isn’t sure if that’s due to the passage of time or because he’d never spent more time than strictly necessary here when he took missions on the material plane back in the day.

Either way, he’s free to explore it now, even if just a small part of it for the time being. The campus of Ichigo’s school is large and sprawling, and with Urahara’s gigai and fake IDs and some Human money (he trades them for a box of seal traps even Tsukabishi Tessai wouldn’t know of because they’re Senzou’s own creation, and Urahara smiles like he understands and doesn’t object), it’s easy enough to come and go once Ichigo drops him off.

“You bought an apartment?” Senzou asks the first time Ichigo shows him the place and lets him poke around inside. It’s recognizably a living space, but it’s foreign to him all the same, with a generous open floor plan and wide windows, marble countertops in the kitchen and dark wooden cabinets and a bathroom constructed of polished chrome and gleaming tile.

“Kisuke bought me an apartment,” Ichigo corrects, flopping down on the couch where he has papers and books spread all over the coffee table and floor. His hair’s shorter today, barely past his shoulders, tipped black and hanging loose. Senzou is vaguely curious about what the boy’s classmates think of it.

“I wanted my own place,” Ichigo explains. “But Kisuke took one look at the rent I could afford and practically frog-marched me here instead. Then he had Yoruichi-san steal all my stuff and move it here, and then he said I might as well just take it because staying would be less work than moving all my stuff back.” He snorts, but it’s a fond sound. “The asshole. It’s not like I’d want to turn this place down. But it’s a bit much, so I try to help him with his research projects whenever I can in exchange.”

Senzou digests this with briefly raised eyebrows but says nothing. Urahara probably considers this another desperate form of making amends, and Ichigo probably knows it too. He probably wouldn’t have accepted otherwise.

“There’s a guest bedroom,” Ichigo calls after him as Senzou wanders down the hall to investigate exactly that. “Rukia’s stayed overnight, Renji too, and a few of my human friends have as well, but I always clean the place after they leave, so if you wanna stay tonight, feel free.”

That’s all the conversation between them for the rest of the day. Ichigo already showed him the campus the day before, and after tossing him a key to the apartment, Senzou is free to wander off and explore on his own.

Two weeks of regular visits to the Human world, and he still feels a little awkward in one of the shirts and jeans and sweater that that Quincy friend of Ichigo’s had shoved on him before whirlwinding back out again, apparently neck-deep in the middle of his own finals project.

“It’s Ishida, he makes clothes for everyone,” was Ichigo’s unhelpful clarification. “You help by walking around and looking good in them.”

So Senzou does, and part of him feels like he should stand out more, but nobody gives him more than a passing glance at most. Well, some do, but he recognizes shallow attraction well enough to ignore it.

In the end, he finds himself spending the most time in the libraries and lecture halls, slipping into the back of a classroom and listening to lessons he actually has to pay attention to to even understand some of what the professor is talking about. The science lectures mostly go over his head, and he’s never been interested in that field anyway so he doesn’t bother putting much effort into following them. It’s the literature courses he likes the most. There aren’t any at the Academy, not like this, and there are so many more books in so many more languages and genres than Senzou ever thought there existed in the world.

Soul Society suddenly seems so small in comparison.

It’s always an exercise in patience every time he has to return to Seireitei to teach now. After the first two weeks of almost daily trips to the Human world, he orders - on a whim - the students from his upper-year classes to split into groups before assigning each of them a project due at the end of the term on the theoretical creation of three new Kidou spells.

Group projects are not a thing at the Academy. Senzou wonders why.

He tells them that at least two of the research sources have to be from outside the Academy, and he smirks when he follows Fujiwara Asuka to the First Division compound to speak with her cousin, and then the Eighth to speak with her cousin’s former lieutenant, and then even braving the Fourth, straight-backed and stiff with anxiety but marching in anyway with her nervous group members in tow until she manages to wrangle fifteen minutes of time from a few of the healers willing to answer her questions about Kaidou.

Even here, Ichigo’s influence flourishes.

Outside the classroom, Senzou begins collecting copies of Human books. He half-bribes, half-blackmails the librarian into setting aside a section for him, and then he begins his own project of filling it.

“You’ve been busy,” Ichigo remarks when he staggers in from his last exam and collapses into a chair just as Senzou finishes setting the table for dinner.

Senzou arches an eyebrow, smirking when Ichigo just rolls his eyes.

“People tell me things,” Ichigo informs him, barely waiting for Senzou to sit down before falling onto the meal like he hasn’t eaten in a week.

“You would make a poor king if people didn’t,” Senzou murmurs, smiling serenely when Ichigo’s eyes flick up to meet his. It’s not as intimidating when his cheeks are bulging like a chipmunk’s.

Actually, Ichigo in the Human world just seems less… overwhelming in general. It isn’t as if he’s any less powerful. This particular gigai doesn’t restrict him in any way. But there’s a relaxed quality in him here that Senzou’s observed in the past three weeks that’s always absent when he’s the rawest form of himself up in Seireitei.

“Soul Society needs to change,” Ichigo says at last, instead of denying anything. “If that means kicking it in the ass until it stops fucking up the lives it’s supposed to be looking after, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Yes, and Senzou has no doubt he’ll succeed. The majority of those in power have no desire to stop Ichigo. Those who do aren’t strong enough. And Ichigo wants it. He wants it with a conviction Senzou has never seen in anyone, almost obsessive in its unfaltering desire… like the abyssal hunger of a Hollow and the eternal grudge of a Quincy and the timeless pride of a Shinigami all rolled into one.

Ichigo wants it, and he’ll get what he wants.

The Soul King knows the universe owes him that much, and even if it didn’t, Senzou doubts it would make a single bit of difference to their God-Slayer.

He lifts his mug in a toast. “Then I look forward to your endeavours. You’ll need to watch out for Central 46′s spies though. I’m sure they won’t take this lying down.”

Ichigo cocks an eyebrow. “Is that an offer to keep your ear to the ground for me?”

Senzou attempts an innocent face, which works about as well as he expects when Ichigo snorts. “A mere Academy teacher like me probably can’t help much, but…” He thinks of the seals he’d planted throughout the entire Central 46 compound every time he’d had to report in, slowly but surely sneaking invisible ears into the heart of Soul Society’s government. “I might hear things now and then. I’ll pass it on if it happens to be interesting.”

Ichigo grins and tips his own mug at Senzou like they aren’t talking treason.

5. “So.”

Senzou almost rolls his eyes. The Shibas’ commitment to their theatrics clearly hasn’t changed.

“Kuukaku-chan,” He says instead as he strides into his office and smothers the urge to draw his blade on the woman sitting on his desk like she’s posing for Most Dramatic. He smiles instead, hiding the teeth of it behind his lips. “What a pleasure.”

Kuukaku grins back without any of the same courtesy. Of course. “None at all, I’m sure, so I’ll get straight to the point. What are you doing with Ichigo?”

Senzou does roll his eyes this time. “You’ll have to be more specific. As of yesterday, he’s teaching me how to drive a car.” His lip curls. “It’s a mode of transportation Humans have developed.”

“I know what a car is,” Kuukaku snaps, finally hopping down from the desk to prowl across the room. “Why is he teaching you? What do you want with him?”

Senzou pauses halfway through setting down a stack of essays to be marked. “…If I said vengeance on the Shiba Clan once I’ve convinced him to side with me, would that be about what you were expecting?”

Kuukaku glares and crosses her arms. “Ichigo would never.”

Senzou smirks. “Then you have nothing to worry about, do you? You’ve wasted a trip.”

He brushes past her to flip through the paperwork on his desk. End-of-term reports are coming up, and that’s always a waste of his time, so the sooner he gets them done the better.

“I know you resent us for what happened to Miyako,” Kuukaku says from behind him, and Senzou wonders if he can just walk out. Probably, but there’s no way this woman won’t cause a scene. “But Ichigo wasn’t part of any of that.”

Senzou heaves a sigh and turns back around. “Kuukaku-chan, I thought we just established that we both know that using Ichigo against your family won’t work.”

“No,” Kuukaku nods. “But you could hurt him to get back at us.”

They eye each other for a long moment, not quite hostile but far from amicable.

“…My vengeance for Miyako was not lifting a finger when your clan was all but massacred,” Senzou finally says, ignoring the way Kuukaku’s expression pinches. “And so long as contact with you and yours is kept at an absolute minimum in the future, I don’t care anymore. Besides, there is no point in targeting Ichigo to get to you.” He sneers. “He’s a Shiba, but it would be an insult to consider him one of you.”

Kuukaku bristles but doesn’t explode in anger the way some of her even more hot-tempered relatives would. She stares at him instead, and when she doesn’t speak right away, Senzou goes back to organizing the contents of his desk.

“Say I believe that,” Kuukaku finally says, ignoring Senzou’s scoff. “Maybe you are hanging out with Ichigo with no ulterior motives. The gods know he makes that easy. But if that’s what you’re doing, there’s no way you won’t be seeing more of the rest of us eventually. He wasn’t raised the way a Shiba should’ve been, with none of our traditions and only a fraction of the family he should’ve had. That’s on us. But he’s still family, and so long as he doesn’t say no, we’re going to be a part of his life. You’re going to have to accept that if you plan on marrying in.”

The shelf closes with a resounding thud under his hand, and judging by the give, he’s probably cracked the back of it too. He barely notices as his gaze snaps back up to stare incredulously at his uninvited visitor. “I beg your pardon?”

Kuukaku smiles thinly, and this time she looks more amused than anything else. “Something to consider. But you’re more like Miyako than most people would think.” Her arms drop to her sides as she turns abruptly towards the window. “That’s all I had to say. You’re a smart man, Senzou. I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you fuck up.”

And before Senzou can demand an explanation or - more likely - set her on fire for cracking such an abysmal joke, she’s gone, disappearing through the window in a rush of Shunpo.

Senzou stares after her, then at the books he’d carried in earlier, then at the paperwork he’s putting off for the weekend because he has dinner with Ichigo tonight… just as he does almost every night nowadays.

He runs a hand over his face.

Shibas.

6. He says nothing. He’s self-aware enough to know (now, damn Kuukaku) that there’s something there, a spark, a connection, a pull Senzou has never felt towards anyone. He isn’t going to call it love or whatever Kuukaku thinks is happening because it isn’t. He finds Ichigo fascinating and endlessly entertaining, and anyone willing to face down Central 46 is worthy of some admiration in Senzou’s opinion. That Ichigo plans on turning the whole system upside-down and actually has the power to achieve it only raises Senzou’s esteem for him.

But he says nothing because Ichigo knows all this already. The day Senzou’s first instinct, when an assassin sent by Central 46 attempts to take Ichigo’s head, is to slit the hapless woman’s throat - even though he knows full well that she wouldn’t have come anywhere near to succeeding - is the moment Ichigo gets irrefutable proof that Koyonagi Senzou is willing to kill for him.

Ichigo doesn’t gloat of course, he isn’t the type. Senzou half-expects it anyway, breath caught in his lungs for a moment with something disgracefully close to fear twisting in his gut as he turns to check Ichigo’s reaction.

But Ichigo only wrinkles his nose and toes the fresh corpse at his feet, and then he glances at the blood splatter dotting Senzou’s shirt and offers to get him a new one.

He also reaches out to touch the hilt of Senzou’s Zanpakutou before nodding once, deliberately, solemnly, the weight of it as much a thanks as it is an acknowledgement.

And that was that. Senzou relaxes, doesn’t bat an eye when shadows surge up and swallow the body whole, and goes to change into another shirt. The incident passes, and it will be longer still before Ichigo’s enemies realize they probably should’ve tried harder to get rid of Senzou years ago. They’d thought themselves safe enough though: they would never earn Senzou’s allegiance, but at the same time, nobody - including Senzou - ever thought anybody else would earn it either.

But the point is, Ichigo knows. Senzou has no need to speak of it, and both of them are content with that. If something more comes of it down the road, Senzou doesn’t think he’d fight it. He lost this battle a good while ago, and he never even cared.

In the meantime though, he spies on Central 46 and enjoys what time he can spare in the Human world and continues reconstructing Seireitei’s education system brick by stubborn brick. There’s a kingdom to conquer and a god Senzou has pledged himself to, and for now, that is enough.

#headcanon meme: answered #bleach #koyoichi #koyonagi senzou #kurosaki ichigo #kyouraku shunsui #shiba kuukaku #post canon au #headcanon #hi brain #wtaf happened

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theseathatsparkles · 3 years

Text

faraway (pt.3) (feat. time traveling byakuya)

Part One Part Two

@fish-talk @let-us-color-in-this-gray-world

I live! Hi! Here’s part 3. No luck on cross-posting...I do have a ffnet, though nothing’s posted there. Same username!

This...isn’t really edited. Call out mistakes as you see fit.

If ya want me to tag you in future updates let me know!

Kisuke is thinking.

This, of course, is nothing new; Kisuke is always thinking, sometimes so engrossed in his thoughts that he forgets about the outside world. What makes this particular occasion unusual is the fact that Kisuke has been thinking for hours now, and hasn't been able to come up with any reasonable conclusion about the evidence provided.

The scientist in Kisuke wants to make a hypothesis, wants to nudge Kurosaki in a direction that will get Kisuke results. The part of Kisuke that's never been able to stand seeing those in his care hurt or upset wants to track down Kuchiki Byakuya and scream at him.

Kisuke sighs, and collapses unceremoniously on his futon, Yoruichi watching him with wary yellow eyes. She's in her cat form, sitting small and inconspicuous in the corner. Tessai is with Kurosaki, tending to the wounds Byakuya had left. The wounds, which are causing this whole mess in the first place.

Looking back, Byakuya had been acting odd during his entire encounter with Kurosaki and Kuchiki. From the vacant, haunted look in his eyes to his sudden decision to leave Kurosaki alive, Kisuke should have known that there was something wrong with Byakuya.

Only some serious sort of knock to the head - or manipulation by Aizen, more likely - could have driven Byakuya to carve the word ALLY into Kurosaki's chest.

***

Byakuya's senkaimon opens inside the Kuchiki Manor courtyard. In the original timeline, he'd taken Rukia straight to Central 46, but now Byakuya knows that he really ought to comfort his baby sister. Besides, Byakuya's home is warded to the Soul King's Realm and back, and not even Aizen's camera-flies would be able to spy on him right now.

"Alright," he says, slumping a little at the relief of not having to worry about being watched by Aizen. "Rukia, we have a little while before you're expected. I'd like to...to talk with you, if you don't mind." He smiles thinly and turns to Renji. "You're welcome too, of course, but anything you hear should stay within these walls."

Rukia opens her mouth, and closes it again. She doesn't seem to be comprehending any of what Byakuya says, though Byakuya had expected this. His little sister is terrified, he can see it in her eyes, and he doesn't want to push her too hard.

He doesn't have any qualms about pushing Renji, though. Renji can take anything Byakuya throws at him and more.

***

"A change of heart," says Renji incredulously, giving Byakuya a look. Byakuya distantly notes that Renji isn't really taking this well at all. "And now you want to...what, go against the Central 46 and literally all of Soul Society?"

The Central 46 are dead, is what Byakuya wants to say, but he settles with shrugging a shoulder. "I made Hisana a promise. And I'm not going against the 46," he says, hoping Renji will leave the conversation at that. "But that isn't the point, Renji. There's a traitor in Soul Society."

Renji, looking studiously determined to ignore Byakuya's use of his given name, sighs and leans back on the couch Byakuya had ordered a pair of servants to prepare. "Kuchiki-taicho," he says, looking pained. "You're acting unlike yourself. Would you like for me to send for Unohana-taicho?"

Byakuya clenches his fists, fingernails digging into the palm of his hand. The sudden, stinging pain is grounding, and he takes a deep breath. He keeps forgetting that this isn't his Renji, that this Renji still views Byakuya as nothing more than an obstacle between him and power. This Renji would have no reason to trust him. This Renji has never seen Byakuya cry, still views Byakuya as an emotionless statue, and the vulnerability Byakuya is showing must be incredibly unnerving.

Still, the idea of seeing Unohana is...tempting. He knows he can trust her; Unohana is no traitor, and she was the one to discover Aizen's deceit in the original timeline. She's smart, too. Smart enough that she would believe him. It's tempting, incredibly tempting. But Byakuya knows that telling Unohana could change the timeline more than he can afford. Byakuya's knowledge of the future will become less and less valuable the more he changes things, and he needs for everything to remain at least close to the original events.

Until the day of Rukia's execution, that is. That is the best time for Byakuya to take action - he's reasonably sure he can take on Aizen, so long as Aizen doesn't have the hogyoku and Byakuya has the might of Kyoraku and Ukitake backing him. And Gin, too - Ichimaru had died in the first timeline, even before Rukia had. A traitor to Aizen's cause, Ichimaru had revealed the secret of his Bankai, only to die by Aizen's own blade. Byakuya knows it wouldn't take much to convince Ichimaru to turn on Aizen earlier than planned. Tosen Kaname had been truly dedicated to the cause, but Byakuya had killed him before, and would kill him again.

Byakuya sighs, looks at Renji. "Don't get Unohana-taicho," he says softly, reaching up to adjust the weight of his kenseikan. "I apologize for worrying you, Abari-fukutaicho." He needs Renji on his side for this. "I have been...out of sorts since my sister's arrest."

Somehow, this manages to convince Renji. "So you don't think she broke the law?"

"She did break the law," says Byakuya, and Renji's face spasms. "But I believe that the measures Central is taking is far too drastic. 'The punishment must fit the crime', as people say."

Renji blinks, opens his mouth, closes it again. "I'm..." He trails off uncertainly, eyes not meeting Byakuya's. "Taicho, as your fukutaicho, it is my job to support and stand behind you. I will do what you think is right."

Byakuya...doesn't quite think that's what Renji was originally going to say, but he's still able to parse the meaning behind the reconstructed sentence: I'm here for you. It's a nice feeling; even if this Renji isn't his in the way he was before Byakuya traveled back in time (and it still almost hurts Byakuya's head to think that), it's still Renji, and Renji's support had always meant the world.)

"Then we must plan," says Byakuya, after a pause to think through his response. He wants to say 'I understand' and 'thank you', but that's too far out of character for his past self. "I would like to meditate. Tomorrow, we will deliver Rukia to Central 46. For now, I believe the Kuchiki compound is capable of holding her."

Renji cracks a smile, and Byakuya has to fight back the grin that tugs at his lips in return.

(It helps that he's pretty sure smiling in this body would give him some sort of facial cramp; Byakuya doesn't think his previous self had smiled in...over seventy years, now.)

"I'll leave ya to it, Taicho," Renji says, and Byakuya bites the inside of his cheek when he hears Renji's accent surface. That's...new. Both Renji and Rukia had always taken steps to ensure that they spoke at least relatively properly in Byakuya's presence before, and Byakuya's shook by how quickly Renji opens up.

Then again, Byakuya hasn't truly become Renji's enemy yet. He hasn't sentenced Rukia to death. It's no wonder that Renji's walls are crumbling so much faster than they'd originally.

Byakuya sighs, turns away. Distantly, he hears Renji leave the room, and Byakuya's left with only his thoughts to distract him.

***

And that is a wrap! Next up: Byakuya and Senbonzakura have a talk. I’ll be posting some more faraway verse info too, so keep an eye out for that! =D

#Byakuya Kuchiki #Kuchiki Byakuya #time travel #faraway verse #Sparkles writes #Bleach #ByaRen #RenBya #renji abari #abari renji

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carnivorousmossbeast · 3 years

Text

Have a smol flavorshot. Couldn’t sleep last night so I did the mech suit/dystopia/sci-fi thing. Enjoy!!

2000 tons of carbon fiber enforced steel and titanium plates stand before him, staring down at him. Somewhere in there, he knows, is a beating heart keeping the eyes so alert and posture straight. There is a conscience in there. An awareness. Intelligent life. 80 meters tall, five meters wide encased in enough protective material to build four underground shelters. And even then, sometimes the pilots die. Normally he’d have some qualms about enslaving living beings but since no one really knows what the Weidmanns are, only that after they arrived everything started going to shit, he’s hard pressed to find anything more serious and founded to say against it.

Zoro pilots one of the older ones, one that came with a name and wasn’t grown in a lab. The swirly heart on the chest plate and weird face-thingy on the back shield and DEATH spelled across its heavily armored knuckles apparently came with the Weidmann and it didn’t work until someone thought to transfer the weird designs onto the armor. Sometimes it’s a bit touchy, Trafalgar D. Water Law, but it’s yet to fail Zoro. Or earth and humanity, for that matter. And Torao, how Zoro’s predecessor Luffy liked to call the Weidmann, seems to be oddly fixated on the green-haired pilot.

For example it won’t shut down if Zoro is close by.

The World Defense Council would rather play it as though the Weidmanns are machines, not creatures forced into submission by running so much electricity through their brains that they became effectively zombies, because obviously that is seven kinds of wrong, but Torao ruined that notion when Zoro entered the picture.

The first time Zoro’s in the command panel there’s abnormally high latent brain activity. Back then the technicians called it a power surge but to Zoro it had felt different from the power surges during sims. Because the pilots are put through what essentially is torture to be sure that they have it in them to steer a Weidmann. Some bullshit about neurological overstimulation. Now he knows that sometimes, the Weidmanns wake up and devour the humans that enter their spinal canal. And fighting Kaiju while keeping, essentially other Kaiju, under control, is a task in and of itself. That explains why the command panel is designed the same way landing modules are. They’re nigh impossible to break. As though the massive armoring wasn’t protection enough. Zoro soon learns the hard way that, only because the Weidmanns help, they are not allies. Not even close. He watches a pilot lose control over the neural bridge, watches the Weidmann gain its consciousness through the eyes of Torao. It’s quick, but ugly. Sometimes he still hears the screams of his comrade turning into static as he watches helplessly how Mihawk tears the control panel out of his spinal canal and crushes it in his massive fist before dropping it into the ocean carelessly. He remembers a rumbling purr of satisfaction coming from Torao’s conscience. The next two Kaiju attacks he doesn’t let himself sink as deep into the neural bridge as he normally does, even if the soft, warm whisper of Torao is oddly comforting normally. Not then.

Primal fear dictates he remain at the surface, barely submerged enough to feel the long, insanely strong limbs. These Kaiju he doesn't slice apart with the ridiculously long sword Torao's been outfitted with. He brawls, because so close to the surface, so barely there, he lacks the fine motor control to properly wield a 70-meter longs word with electrical currents running down the blade that has teeth running up and down like a chainsaw.

Kikoku is a masterpiece of engineering. Someone really did their research for effective weaponry - and ended up choosing Texas Chainsaw Massacre as reference. Sharknado as well. Perhaps Sharknado is more fitting, since the Kaiju appear from somewhere deep within the Pacific Ocean. They're not sharks, nowhere close, with their huge legs and claws and less than aerodynamic bodies, but a terror from the ocean none the less.

The next Kaiju is one of the strongest yet.

Zoro knows without Kikoku he hasn't the slightest chance to get past its long, leathery winged arms that sport massive claws, or the insanely long tail that has a bone structure at the end of it that Zoro takes one short look at and knows, painfully aware of the implications for his neural bridge - he'll have to go in deep this time - that one hit will smash through Torao's armor like a wrecking ball through a massive wall of reinforced concrete. It will take the entire Weidmann down and damage it beyond repair.

There are two other Weidmanns running point, "got your six, Zoro" crackles Ace's voice through the comms. Boa Hancock is arguably the prettiest out of all the Weidmann, and Ace is definitely the prettiest pilot. And the fucker knows it. But Ace also knows his stuff and is one of most well known pilots. Most drops, but not the most kills. Ace is happy to run point and let others take the kill. Boa Hancock isn't strong, it heavily relies on others and teamwork isn't quite Zoro's strength. Especially not in the Weidmann. But then again, few people are good at teamwork when their attack and defense is directly tied to a 70-meter monstrosity of titanium with a serrated running blade and coated in 4000 Volts of electricity. The other Weidmann is Sir Crocodile, among the heaviest defense humanity has, and the pilot is the most cryptic bitch ever.

In her presence Zoro always gets a distinct feeling like he's the butt of a joke that only she understands. Nico Robin the strangest out of the bunch. Except she really isn't. They're all weird in the Tokyo Shatterdome.

But then again you have to be somewhat messed up in the head to even be considered for pilot training.

He takes a deep breath before sinking into the neural bridge. Torao's consciousness envelopes him like warm, summer air, smelling softly like heat and sweat and sleepiness in the shade of a tree. He's in deeper than he was with the last two Kaiju, deeper than the WDC says is green, but not where he used to go. Torao and him, they used to synch. Zoro would leave the dock being submerged at the green levels and slowly slip in deeper once the control and directing electrodes were off.

He'd be pulled from Torao the instant he crossed over the yellow into the orange line, and where he goes is deep, dark red.

Rumor has it that once you're past yellow, you start becoming part of the Weidmann. The general public is fed a pretty tale of too much neurological input and synaptic overload but the ugly truth is - you're waking the beast. You're lending your tiny, insignificant brain for them to regain their consciousness and that fries you. Only Torao has never truly been gone. It's the one Weidmann they couldn't really tame and eventually it burned through all its pilots.

Zoro sees the charts stabilizing, the brainwaves lining up sort of on top of each other, enough that he'll be able to move Torao without getting consumed. Or overpowered, torn out and crushed. He relays his data to command and gets the go. Transfer out to the ocean is oddly silent. Torao is unusually still and Zoro doesn't like it. Something is off.

They land, knees slightly bent and hands at the hilt of Kikoku, and then they wait. The Kaiju is moving towards Tokyo, but it's taking its time. While its predecessors have always taken the most direct approach, this one circles around, tests their patience. Tense silence rules between the three monsters humanity tamed to defeat their unknown enemy, with only crackling updates on how far away the monster lurks. Little crackles of static in the silence. Zoro could probably hear a pin drop if he were to unlock his helmet. Even the ocean is deceptively calm.

Zoro thinks he can see movement at the horizon, thinks he can feel a tingle of excitement, adrenaline, rushing through his veins, but he's too deep in the Weidmann to still feel his body like that. Zoro frowns. Now is not the time.

The Kaiju rears out of the water like a monster straight out of old Japanese Kaiju-movies. It's ugly, with thick leathery skin and glowing green eyes, a maw full of crooked teeth, and the leathery skin flaps attached to its arms make a good imitation of wings. He draws Kikoku and readies himself, only to be hopelessly overpowered by the monstrous creature. He forgets about the tail, sees it a moment too late and can only narrowly avoid being hit by the bone club at the end of it. The long appendage hits the Weidmann around the middle and topples him over into the ocean. Alarmed red lights blink in his peripheral vision, damage assessment is still running when the Kaiju descends on the downed Weidmann again. Zoro can hear himself growl - something isn't right he shouldn't be able to hear himself - and yanks up his arm to protect the face.

A new alarm starts blaring when the neural bridge starts to disconnect. Zoro curses up a storm and tries to disengage the neural input dampening systems that are supposed to keep the pilot from experiencing the damage. The pain of being torn apart. The Kaiju shrieks over the still body, the sound shattering through the Weidmann's massive body armor and the command pod and Zoro hears a massive growl in return. And then Torao moves. Zoro isn't in deep enough to be initiating the movement, so this is all the consciousness he's been hijacking for the last two years. Zoro slams his hands against the emergency eject panel, the weapons panels, anything really, that he can reach without disengaging the pilot safety straps. A whole lot of nothing.

He growls. It's not that he's afraid to die, because he dropped that particular piece of humanity the first time he stepped foot in a drop sim, and thoroughly erased the idea of fear when he made his first kill as the backup pilot for Mihawk, it's just that Zoro really hates the idea of not being able to put up a fight.

There's a click and a whirring noise and Zoro finally feels himself sinking deeper into the neural bridge. He stops where he is comfortable, where he went before he witnessed Mihawk tearing the command pod out of his spinal canal. There's a growl rumbling in his - no, in Torao's chest - and a very sudden yank on his mind. Zoro feels like he stumbles and for a second everything is numb and dead, and then it feels like he slips into his body, only that his body is suddenly unfathomably huge and strong. He can feel the bruised organs and muscles of his - Torao's - abdomen, the tingling in the fingertips where the insulating coat doesn't quite manage to keep 4000 Volts on their side of Kikoku's blade.

Zoro hesitates for a moment and suddenly there's a voice echoing through his mind: "Zoro-ya... Didn't take you for a coward."

#ZoLaw #AU #dystopian AU #sort of pacific rim and NGE #there’s Kaiju #because I’m too tired to make up any other names #also Kaiju literally means big unknown monster or something so sue me #I could have named them Godzilla just be happy I didn't do that #fanfiction #will update as i go #can’t promise this’ll ever be anything close to an actual story #I just had some pretty ideas and couldn’t sleep so here we are #YOU GUYS PLEEEEAAAASE ADD ANY EDITS OK?!#I’m hyperfocusing on this rn so really #you’d be doing yourselves (and me let’s not kid anyone) a huuuge favor

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tenshiscientia · 3 years

Text

This is part of a story that I'm writing, but it's going to be a long ass time before I can get the full thing posted on here, so I thought I'd put a tease of a fight scene out. (Due to this being a dream of one of the characters, certain people are TOTALLY NOT acting like they should be.) Also a number of trigger warnings. Character death, mention of torture, violence, slightly graphic violence (we're gonna call this R rated peeps)

Also imo I suck at fight scenes, but hey read at your own risk!

Genesis opened his eyes to find himself in a large, well lit room. His azure eyes scanned around and noted Hojo standing in front of several people talking to them.

'That's not right, Hojo's dead...' he thought to himself.

He then realized who he was talking to. It was his two best friends Angeal and Sephiroth, along with Zack. Although there were others Genesis didn't know, but they all had silver hair just like Sephiroth. Perhaps they were related to him in some way...

'No that's not possible, Sephiroth has no family relations. He's all alone.' Genesis told himself.

Hojo turned around and noticed Genesis.

"Well, well, Rhapsodos. It's so nice of you to join us. We all were waiting for you, weren't we, gentlemen?" Hojo sneered at him.

"Angeal, Sephiroth, Zack...why are you working with him?" Genesis asked, greatly confused.

Hojo laughed a high, annoying, nasally laugh.

"They've told me that they are tired of your constant complaining, and I told them that I could help stop that. By the way what do you think of my newest creations?" Hojo asked, waving his hand at the three silver haired boys.

Genesis looked over at them. The youngest looked at him and flicked some hair out from in front of his eyes.

"Names Kadaj." he said flatly, then looked away, obviously bored.

The second oldest turned around from playing with something and flicked shoulder-blade length silver hair over his black clad shoulder.

"Yazoo." he purred silkily.

The oldest and most burly looked up from sitting on the floor and chuckled deeply.

"Loz." was all he said.

Hojo cackled madly.

"Very good. You see Rhapsodos, to come up with these creations of mine, I had to do a lot of work. Genetically modifying cells to match and become compatible with a certain others. For you see, these creations are clones of Sephiroth!" he said triumphantly, madness glittering in his eyes.

A shocked look firmly settled itself into place on Genesis' face as he looked over at Sephiroth.

"Sephiroth, why did you let him do that to you? I know for a fact you would never willingly allow that to happen. Did he drug you to coerce you into allowing him to do it?" Genesis asked, appalled at what he had just heard.

"No drugs, Genesis..." Sephiroth replied, "...I've always wanted a sparring partner that could challenge me. And while you and Angeal do push me slightly, it's not enough. So Hojo told me that he could create a sparring partner that would keep me working if I helped him. And low and behold, he delivers three sparring partners that can keep me busy when we spar."

Hurt crossed Genesis' face as he heard those words.

"Poor Rhapsodos. No longer needed. But wait! She might need you..." Hojo cackled, gesturing over to where Yazoo was standing.

The young teen looked over his shoulder then stepped to the side, revealing someone chained up, hanging against the wall. Taking a better look at the person, he realized who it was.

"Ami!" he yelled, then rounded on back on Hojo, "Why do you have her chained up like that?"

Yazoo laughed and Genesis' attention was drawn back to him and Amaterasu. Taking better notice of Amaterasu's state, he realized her clothes were shredded and barely hanging on her body. She was also riddled with cuts and horrible bruises. They had obviously been torturing her. Her usual bright auburn hair was dark with the blood that saturated it.

Yazoo moved back over to Amaterasu and lifted her head so Genesis could see her face and he noted that not even that had been spared from the beatings. Then with sadistic pleasure on his face, Yazoo wrenched Amaterasu's head towards him and crashed his lips hard against hers in a brutal kiss. Amaterasu didn't fight against him, didn't move at all, as if she had given up on getting away. Yazoo pulled away from Amaterasu with satisfaction plastered on his face. Sephiroth looked up from his place a little ways away and smiled.

"Excellent Yazoo. She's not fighting back anymore. You've finally broken her spirit. Very impressive." he laughed.

Yazoo smiled and threw a "thank you" in his direction. Hot rage coursed through Genesis' veins and he called Rapier to his hand and flew forward at all of them. Suddenly, there was a loud crack, and Genesis stopped in his tracks, a bullet hole where his next footstep would have been. Genesis studied the bullet in the ground for a second then looked up to see where it had come from. He noticed the one named Yazoo with a gun in his hand.

Yazoo waved the gun back and forth in the air carelessly for a moment, teasing Genesis. Then he lowered the gun to the side of Amaterasu's head.

"Now if I were you, Rhapsodos, I wouldn't come any closer, or I'll blow her brains out all over the wall." he threatened.

Genesis held his ground and glared at Yazoo. Everyone else laughed at him. Zack then decided to come forward and fight him.

"If you can beat me, You will be one step closer to saving Amaterasu. Although it's not like you''re going to make it." he said, raising the training sword all SOLDIERs were given when they joined, in a threatening manner.

"I don't want to fight you, Zack. We don't need to fight." Genesis replied.

Zack laughed, "Oh yes we do!"

He then charged at Genesis his sword held high, and brought it down in a overhead strike. Genesis brought up Rapier to block it, then kicked Zack in the stomach, sending him flying backwards. Genesis perused him, but Zack was back up onto his feet in seconds and met Genesis' strike and tried to sweep Genesis' feet out from under him by dropping to the ground and swiping his leg towards Genesis' feet. Genesis saw what he was doing and jumped over his leg and landed. Zack used the momentum to spin himself back up so he was standing again.

He brought his sword up in the air in a lower slash and Genesis leaned backwards to avoid it and charged a fireball in his hand. Releasing it, the fireball engulfed Zack's hand and he quickly dropped his sword with a loud cry. Genesis saw his opening and even though he didn't want to do it, he knew he had to. Genesis lunged forward and slashed his sword, and a large gash appeared in Zack's throat. Zack's eyes grew wide as the burn on his hand was forgotten and his hands rose to his throat.

He tried in vain to stem the bleeding, but it was no use and he quickly bled out, the life leaving his eyes as his body bonelessly hit the ground. Genesis slowly walked to him and kneeled down. He ran his hand over Zack's face, gently closing his wide open eyes before picking the boy up and walking him over to the wall far away from the others. Gently propping him up against the wall, Genesis ruffled his black spikes softly.

"Sorry, pup..." he whispered softly, "...I didn't want to do it, but you left me little choice, I have to save Amaterasu..."

Sea foam green swirls began to surround Zack's body.

"May the Goddess keep you safe pup..." Genesis whispered softly.

He watched Zack's body disappear and noticed a single tear run down the boys cheek just before he fully disappeared. The hand not holding Rapier clenched into a fist. That boy still had so much more to live for, so much more of a life to live. And he had been forced to cut it short. Genesis stood and turned back to the others.

Angeal stood and gave a large stretch, before reaching over beside him and picking up the large and heavy Buster sword. Propping it on his shoulder, he walked out in front of the others and raised his hand palm up then made a "come here" sign with two of his finger. That has always been the motion that he and Genesis had used to mark the start of their fights. However Genesis did not return the gesture and charge toward him. He simply shook his head and lowered Rapier, showing he wasn't going to fight him.

Angeal made a annoyed noise, then chuckled darkly, "Fine, if you won't come for me, then I'll come for you."

He shot forward, surprisingly fast and agile for a man of his size and stature as well as the weapon he carried with him. Once Angeal reached Genesis, he brought the Buster sword up over his head, like it weighed no more than a feather, and brought it down hard. Not wanting to face the brute force and power behind that attack, Genesis dodged to the side, quickly dancing out of the way of the heavy blade.

"Angeal, stop this. I don't want to fight you. I need your help to get Ami out of here. Hojo has poisoned Sephiroth's mind. I know I killed the puppy, and I'm sorry about that. But he gave me no choice. Hojo must have poisoned his mind too..." Genesis dove onto the ground and rolled to the left then back up onto his feet.

"Zackery doesn't matter to me. If he was a true SOLDIER, he would have been able to hold his own against you. He was 1st class material, he just hadn't been promoted or gotten the Mako yet. He's better off dead." Angeal growled, making another slash at Genesis.

This one Genesis blocked. It was one thing to say that a SOLDIER was weak or inexperienced. But to say they were better off dead because of that inexperience was unacceptable. This was not his friend Angeal, and Genesis knew that now. He no longer had any qualms about fighting him.

Pulling Rapier back, he lashed it forward with as much power as he could. Angeal was not expecting the strength of the retaliation and was momentarily stunned. After stumbling back a couple of steps, he grinned and lept back into the battle. He swung the Buster sword at Genesis' stomach, and Genesis launched himself into the air, landed with his hand firmly on the Buster sword, then launched himself even higher. As he came down, Genesis swung Rapier in a two handed strike and Angeal's head was cut cleanly from his shoulders.

Genesis landed in a crouch on the ground and not a second later, Angeal's head landed behind him. Genesis turned and looked at the head.

"You always spoke of honor, dreams, and pride Angeal. It was Zack's dream to become a 1st like his mentor, like you. And you always spoke of him with such pride because he was your best student. But then you go and dishonor him by saying that he was so weak that he was better off dead. Where is your honor, Angeal?

I certainly don't see it. Zack was a hard working young man. Yes, he had a bad tendency to get in trouble and play some bad pranks. But when Ami entered into our lives, he took top her like an older brother would to a sister. She never would have been able to learn how to get around the halls of the ShinRa building without him. Don't you remember.

She's been working hard and he asked to help out and that's what she wanted help with. Zack was an honorable young man, and you threw that away along with his life." he hissed.

There was clapping from over where Amaterasu was chained and Genesis looked there. Sephiroth was clapping his gloved hands together with a mocking smile on his face.

"A beautiful speech Genesis. Too bad he couldn't hear it. You already killed him and he's halfway to the Life Stream now." he laughed, pointing at Angeal's body.

Genesis looked down at where Angeal's body was to see the last swirls of sea foam fading away.

"Shut it Sephiroth. You have no more honor than he did..." Genesis snapped, his gaze locking on him once more.

"Oh, ho, so now you're the one preaching about honor. Please, spare me. I don't need a lesson in honor from you." Sephiroth chuckled.

"Maybe you do, considering you're letting Hojo control you. All because of the promise for a better sparring partner. You know you could have asked me to try and push you harder. How do you know that I haven't holding back. That I don't have something that could have challenged you more?" Genesis spat back.

Sephiroth shook his head as he pushed off the wall and summoned Masumune to his hand.

"I know you Genesis. I know how you fight. You always go all out and you never hold back. That's why I know you haven't been holding back." Sephiroth practically grinned, "Now come and let me kill you so that I can start sparring with some actual adversaries."

Sephiroth raised Masumune over his left shoulder and darted forward. Genesis barely blocked the thrust, then twirled to the side.

'Sephiroth is faster than he normally is. Did Hojo give him something to help him fight?' Genesis asked himself, blocking another stab from Masumune.

Dashing to the left, he tried to get behind Sephiroth to attack him, but at the last second, Sephiroth spun around and blocked the attack and launched one of his own. Genesis dodged to the side, but was unable to fully get away from the attack. He lifted his hand to his upper arm and checked it. The leather had been split open and a line of blood rested just under the cut leather.

"First blood Genesis, just like always." Sephiroth laughed.

Genesis just glared at him darkly.

"My coat, you ass!" Genesis hissed.

"Oh so what, your precious leather duster got a cut in it. Whatever shall we do?" Sephiroth taunted him, trying to get him to lose his cool.

A warrior who doesn't keep their cool while they fight will make mistakes, and mistakes can cost a warrior their life. Genesis realized what Sephiroth was trying to do and pushed the fact that that his duster got cut out of his mind. His first priority was to defeat and kill Sephiroth, as it seemed it was the only way to win. Then to get past Sephiroth's three clones. Then get past Hojo.

Then get Ami and himself out of here. Turning his thoughts back to Sephiroth, he twisted away just before Masumune would have sliced into his throat. Dropping down, Genesis kicked Sephiroth in the stomach, then rolled backwards as Masumune stabbed down where he had just been crouching. Stumbling a little from the momentum he created he created when he rolled backwards, Genesis made it back to his feet and slashed at Sephiroth. A chunk of silver hair fluttered to the ground between them as Genesis pulled Rapier back.

Sephiroth reached up and fingered the shortened the chunk of hair then glared at Genesis.

"Low blow, Genesis, low blow." he growled at him.

"Aw, the Great Silver Demon of Wutai lost a piece of his precious, pretty silver hair! Oh no, the world is going to end!" Genesis mocked him, trying to use the same tactic Sephiroth had used on him.

It seemed to work as Sephiroth let out a yell and charged him. Dodging nimbly out of the way, Genesis smiled at the job he had done. It was Sephiroth himself that always said to keep a level head in battle. However, when it came to Sephiroth's hair, everything went out the door. Sephiroth was not a vain man by any means, but his hair meant a lot to him.

It was his only way to rebel against the control that Hojo had over him. Genesis dodged another sloppy lunge from Sephiroth. This time, Genesis stuck his foot out and tripped Sephiroth as he went by. Sephiroth's foot caught Genesis' and he went down face first into the floor, his hair fanning out around him. Genesis knew better than to laugh at him.

Sephiroth was well enough pissed as it was, he didn't need to do anything more. He prepared himself for Sephiroth's next attack. Genesis knew when Sephiroth became angry he also fought irrationally. Sephiroth levered himself off the floor and turned to face Genesis.

"You're going to regret that!" he growled raising Masumune again and charging him once more.

Sephiroth must have been beyond furious to have left the openings that Genesis noticed. He charged a powerful fireball, considering Sephiroth had a high tolerance to magic and fired it at his right hip. Masumune dipped down to block it and diffuse it and then Rapier lashed out and the right shoulder guard to Sephiroth's coat was missing and he had a deep gash in that shoulder, rendering that arm useless. Sephiroth jumped back away from the battle hissing and holding his shoulder.

"Nice hit, Rhapsodos. It's been a while since anyone has been able to wound me. Maybe you are a bit more of a challenge than I thought you were." he laughed.

Genesis gave a hollow laugh.

"I told you that I've been holding back. I didn't want to truly hurt you or Angeal, so I've been stopping myself." he said.

Sephiroth released his shoulder.

"Well then, no more holding back. Doesn't matter that I've been injured. Come at me full force. Even if it kills me, Rhapsodos. I want to see what you're made of. What you can really do." Sephiroth laughed loudly.

Genesis hung his head and whispered something.

"What was that, Rhapsodos?" Sephiroth asked.

"I said, if I do that then I'll end up killing you. But it seems I have no choice. If I want to get Ami out of here, I have to get rid of all of you..." Genesis clarified, "...Then so be it. I'll kill all of you. Even if it means Ami might not be happy with me for it. At least she'll be out of here and away from Hojo's clutches once more. She'll be free once more, like she deserves to be."

Genesis brought Rapier up in front of him so that the blade was flat in front of his face, the blue piece of Materia even with his eyes.

"I'm sorry Sephiroth..." he whispered.

Lowering the blade, he charged forward. Sephiroth readied himself for the coming assault, but just as Genesis reached him and Sephiroth brought Masumune down on his head, Genesis disappeared, leaving only his leather duster behind. Sephiroth looked around in confusion, trying to figure out where Genesis had gone. Turning around, Sephiroth was about to call out a taunt when Genesis appeared in front of him. Genesis grabbed the hilt of Masumune and yanked it out of Sephiroth's hands.

This put him off balance, pitching him forward. Genesis dropped Masumune and slashed with Rapier. Blood sprayed on the ground in front of him from Sephiroth's throat. Genesis sent Rapier away and caught Sephiroth as he fell. He gently turned Sephiroth over on his back and laid him on the ground.

Genesis watched the light leave Sephiroth's eyes, then the sea foam green swirls encase his body till nothing was left.

"Sorry Seph. It had to be done. You're my best friend, but I will do anything I have to to keep Ami safe. And if my friends turn against me and force me to fight them. Then I will cut them down to get to her." he whispered softly.

Genesis heard a scoff from the corner of the room. Genesis stood up and spun around, his eyes zeroing in on where the scoff had come from. It had been Kadaj.

"You think this is funny, you brat? Funny that I've been forced to kill the only friends I've had all my life. Sure, I said I had to do it, but that doesn't mean that I liked it. Those three men are all I've had since I joined SOLDIER. More like my family than the actual family I had back where I come from." he yelled.

Kadaj stood and scoffed again.

"Like I care. I never had any family except for my two older brothers. And even then, we're not that close. Who cares that you had to kill those guys. The point is that you're still alive.

That is the only point of battle. It doesn't matter who your opponent is so long as you defeat and kill them. That is all that matters in battle. Who cares if they're your friends or family. They are your enemy and need to be destroyed." the young man proclaimed, walking forward.

Hot anger coursed through Genesis' veins, but he forced it down. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes.

"I'm fighting you now, right? Then get your ass out here and lets fight. I'm tired of you already, and I don't want to hear any more of your mouth." Genesis snapped.

Kadaj gave a sharp laugh then reached behind him.

"Fine but remember, you asked for it."

Pulling out a double-bladed katana, he held it so the blade was facing backwards. Genesis studied how the boy held his weapon and figured out a plan to take him down. With how young he was, there was no way that he had properly mastered how to wield his blade in the way he was holding it. Kadaj shot forward and swung his katana swiftly. Genesis was not ready for the speed that the boy had.

Though he shouldn't have been surprised, seeing as how small the boy was. Genesis brought Rapier up to block the attack and was immediately assaulted with a second attack. Kadaj pushed away a little and kicked Genesis in the stomach, sending him flying back into the wall far across the other side of the room. Kadaj followed quickly with another strike and Genesis was barely able to bring Rapier up to block it. He then activated a piece of Materia and directed a gust of wind at Kadaj blowing him away from him and back across the room.

Kadaj landed on the ground a few meters away and cracked his head against it. It stunned him for the precious few seconds that Genesis needed to right himself and send a fireball in Kadaj' direction. As Genesis launched himself behind the fireball, the fireball was extinguished in front of him and Kadaj' katana was being slashed in front of his face.

Rapier came up and blocked the slash, but Genesis felt a small boot plant itself firmly in his sternum and kick upwards, knocking the air out of him. Genesis swung an arm down and wrapped it around the foot and twisted as he gasped for air. There was a sicking crack and Genesis let go of the boys foot. That was assuredly a broken ankle if not a leg. It was a step in the right direction to getting rid of the boy.

Genesis rolled to the side, trying to get air back into his lungs as he watched Kadaj clutch at his leg.

'It's a start.' Genesis thought to himself.

As Genesis was finally able to get air back into his lungs and stand up, Kadaj was able to stand up on his uninjured leg as well.

"That was a dirty trick, Rhapsodos." he hissed.

Genesis shrugged.

"Sephiroth always taught his SOLDIERs that nothing is a "dirty trick" when you are trying to survive. You best be ready for worse than that if you keep fighting me." Genesis sighed.

Kadaj growled loudly and threw his sword at Genesis. He easily dodged it and followed it as it lodged itself into the wall. Genesis stared at it for a moment then slowly looked back at Kadaj.

"Is this you surrendering to me or what?" he asked.

Kadaj just looked at the ground and closed his eyes, then looked back up at him with a glare that rivaled Sephiroth's.

"Never!" he yelled, launching himself forward on his one good leg.

Genesis swiftly moved out of the way. Kadaj' hands hit the wall to stop himself, then he pulled his katana out of the wall then turned to face Genesis.

"I never surrender!" he cried, launching himself forward again.

His blade clashed with Genesis' and even though Kadaj had a broken leg, there was still power behind his strike. Genesis shoved him back again and Kadaj stumbled back onto his broken leg. It collapsed under his weight, and Kadaj dropped his katana and held onto his knee. Seeing the only chance he knew he would get with this kid, he charged a powerful fireball and launched it at him. The flames engulfed him and Kadaj cried out.

Before Kadaj could do anything to defend himself, Genesis shot forward and lashed out with Rapier. Mint green eyes shot open wide as their owners head flew off its shoulders and landed on the ground. Kadaj' head rolled away as Genesis watched it. It was sad. Another young life lost before it was properly lived.

Didn't matter that the boy had been in Hojo's clutches. If he had been freed from Hojo, Kadaj probably could have learned so much, and may have had a different outlook on life. But now was not the time to be worried about that anymore. The silverette named Loz stood up in a rage, trying to stifle a couple of sobs as a few tears streaked down his face.

"H-how dare you kill my b-brother. We m-may not have been very close, b-but he was still my brother, you big meanie!" he yelled, pulling out his weapon, which looked to be a fancy arm shield of some sort.

Genesis took a step back from this show of emotion. All of the others hadn't cared one shit about what happened to the one before them. Where was this show of anger and concern for his so called "brother" coming from. However, Genesis couldn't concentrate on that. He had to get to Amaterasu.

There was only this teen, the gunner named Yazoo, and Hojo in his way. He was so close!

"It seems strange that you would care about your so called "brother", but it doesn't matter to me. You are all in my way of getting to Ami, that includes you Hojo." Genesis yelled, pointing Rapier at Hojo threateningly, "And I will slay you all to get to her if I have to."

Loz' stance wavered a little then strengthened once more.

"You won't kill me Rhapsodos!" he yelled, all signs of the previous tears gone.

Loz shot forward, leaving traces of blue light in his wake. Before Genesis knew it, Loz was in front of him. He let lose with a sharp, swift punch to the ground. The ground underneath his fist cracked and broke, sending huge pieces of it flying up into the air, along with Genesis. This surprised him for a moment but he quickly righted himself and began to lightly jump from rock to rock to rock, flitting back and forth almost like he was a butterfly, his foot never touching the rock for more than a second until he reached the ground.

Genesis had to admit, that move was impressive. However, right after Genesis had landed, Loz was right on top of him with another devastating punch to the ground, once again sending chunks of the ground flying up into the air. This time as Genesis tried to make his way back to the ground, Loz met him in mid air and tried to land a hit. Thanks to quick reflexes on Genesis' part, he missed. Landing on the ground again, Genesis turned and charged a fireball and searched for Loz but he was no where to be found.

Suddenly a falling piece of the floor in front of him shattered and Loz came flying at him through the debris and cloud of dust that was left. Genesis did the first thing that his body thought of: launch the fireball. Loz lifted his arm and the contraption on it flared to life and electricity appeared around it. The fireball hit it and fought with the electricity for a second then the fireball was redirected and smashed into the wall across on the other side of the room. Shock was clearly written all over Genesis' face.

Loz grinned, "Do you like Duel Hound's power. Your magic is useless against me Rhapsodos."

Genesis looked down at his bangle. Almost all of the Materia in his bangle were magic Materia. He only had a few pieces that weren't. Genesis then looked down at Rapier. His sword mostly relied on magic to do its heaviest amount of damage.

Genesis, shrugged, he would be at a huge disadvantage this way, but if he couldn't win with magic, he would use brute force. Genesis sent Rapier away and slammed a fist into an open palm.

"Well..." Genesis grimaced, "...if I can't use my magic, then I guess it's hand to hand combat. I'm not very good at this and considering your size, I'll be at a disadvantage, but I used to hand to hand spar with both Sephiroth and Angeal. I don't think fighting with you will be too different from fighting Angeal, but I know you won't give me the chance to recover if you get a good hit in. Though you must realize, the same goes for you. I'm not going to hold back on your ass.

You will go down."

Loz laughed as he cracked his knuckles then pulled off Duel Hound.

"Well Rhapsodos, I didn't think you had the balls to throw away your precious magic. After all, you depend on it so much. Oh well, if you say you've done hand to hand before, this should be interesting. But realize this, by the end of this fight, you'll be in a ShinRa body bag, headed back to your hometown for your parents to cry over your dead body. Or perhaps Hojo will take your body and make it useful, stranger things have happened in that lab of his." Loz sneered.

Genesis just shook his head and fell into his favorite hand to hand fighting stance.

"Let's just get this over with." he hissed.

"My pleasure." replied Loz, launching himself forward.

Loz made the first offensive move to hit Genesis' shoulder and Genesis brought up his hand and simply guided it away lashing in with his other hand and striking Loz squarely in the chest. The air was forced out of Loz' lungs and he stumbled back. Genesis didn't give him a chance to recover and shot forward to hit Loz in the shoulder. There was a loud pop and Loz cried out. He jumped back and away from Genesis holding his shoulder and glaring at him.

Tenderly feeling his shoulder, Loz pulled on his lower arm sharply, and there was another loud pop.

"Damn, one hit and you dislocated my shoulder. And you said you weren't good at this. I call bull shit, Rhapsodos." Loz huffed, still holding his arm and gently massaging it.

"I never said how good I was. It's just my opinion that I'm not very good. Others have told me I'm good. Now can we continue?" Genesis shrugged.

Launching himself forward, Genesis swung a kick at Loz' chest, but Loz caught his foot. Loz was about to twist his foot to break Genesis' leg, when Genesis swung his other leg up and scored a kick across the side of Loz' head. Managing to land from the kick, Genesis crouched down and swung his leg out again connecting with Loz' knee. There was a loud crack, and Genesis knew that leg was now useless.

If he could do the same thing to the other leg, Loz wouldn't be able to fight anymore. Loz lurched up on his one good leg and swung a fist at Genesis' face and Genesis leaned back to avoid it then grabbed his forearm and yanked him forward. Dodging around him so that Loz was in front of him, Genesis wrapped one arm around Loz' throat and used his other hand to grip Loz' chin.

"Never had to use this move on someone, and I don't like it, not my style. But to get rid of you, I'll use it." Genesis growled in Loz' ear.

Genesis pulled with his hands and Loz' head snapped to the side severing his spinal cord. Genesis opened his arms and allowed Loz' body to fall away from his own.

"Sorry man..." Genesis whispered, another life cut short in his eyes.

Genesis then turned and looked at what seemed to be the only threat left. He didn't see Hojo as a threat.

"You're the last one left. I suggest you give up and spare yourself from being killed." Genesis hissed at Yazoo.

Yazoo took a step back and closer to Amaterasu. Genesis knew that movement. That was wariness and a desire to keep what doesn't belong to you. Yazoo looked over to Hojo and Hojo became irate.

"You lose that girl you rat, and I'll kill you, not him!" he screeched.

Yazoo paled and looked back over at Amaterasu. Then confidence poured itself back into his body and he gave one last sneer at Amaterasu and lifted her face for one last kiss, before sauntering forward. Yazoo raised his gun and took aim at Genesis. He took three quick shots then flashed out of sight. There were three high pitched pings as the bullets were deflected off of Rapier, which had been re-summoned after the battle with Loz, and Genesis tracked Yazoo as he ran.

Yazoo was fast, however he was not as fast as Sephiroth so he was having an easy time tracking him. Yazoo fired off two more bullets before leaping in the air over Genesis and firing off four more. Genesis blocked all six and waited for Yazoo to land. Once he did, Genesis charged him and lashed out with Rapier. Yazoo ducked under Rapier, came up and kicked Genesis in the chest hard.

However just before the kick hit, Genesis threw up a shield which reduced some of the impact but he was still sent flying back. Flipping backwards, Genesis touching his hand to the ground to slow himself down, then regained his footing.

Two bullets came flying Genesis' way and he ducked under them, not bothering to block them with Rapier. Raising Rapier to eye level, Genesis ran his hand down it, activating the runes on it.

With the red runes glowing on it like molten fire, Genesis shot forward and before Yazoo could react, his gun was cut to pieces and rendered useless.

Yazoo leapt back, putting some distance between them.

"Damn it, Rhapsodos! You destroyed my Velvet Nightmare!" he yelled.

Genesis shrugged.

"So does that mean this fight is over? Probably not, but I can always hope." Genesis asked.

"Far from it!" Yazoo yelled, sinking into a fighting stance. '

Damn it, I don't have time for this. I have to get to Ami.' Genesis thought to himself.

He sighed then raised Rapier.

"Sorry 'bout this..." he whispered.

Disappearing seemingly into thin air, Genesis reappeared behind Yazoo with his sword to his throat, "...But you never should have touched Ami..." he hissed in Yazoo's ear dangerously, "...You never should have touched what is mine."

Pulling Rapier back sharply, the razor sharp edge of the sword slashed into Yazoo's throat and sliced it open. Blood sprayed out of the fatal wound as Yazoo fell to the ground, however Genesis felt no remorse for this kill. Yazoo had touched Amaterasu, and only he was allowed to do that. Genesis almost felt a sort of sick satisfaction as he watched the blood pour from Yazoo's throat.

'He deserved it...' he told himself.

Genesis then turned his attention to Hojo. As soon as Yazoo had been killed, Hojo had started to back away from Amaterasu, realizing there was no one to protect him from Genesis anymore. Dark hatred fueled Genesis on as he approached Hojo. He raised Rapier high above his head and an angry growl left his lips.

"This is for Ami, you bastard!" he hissed, before bringing Rapier down as hard as he could.

With the runes burning brightly on the blade, it cut through Hojo's body like a hot knife through butter. His body was split in half and blood sprayed all over, soaking Genesis' front and splattering all over his face. Though it should have disgusted him, Genesis made no move to wipe the blood away. Turning away from the fading body, Genesis walked to Amaterasu then sent Rapier away.

"Ami?" he asked softly, reaching out and gently touching an arm.

She made no reaction at his touch or voice. Genesis slowly and gently lifted her face so he could look at it, but as he did, sea foam green swirls began to surround her body. Realizing what was happening, tears began flowing down his face. He was too late...

"Goddess...please, please no...not this. Anything but this..." he begged, "Don't take her away...from me. Don't take away...what I love...so much. Please Goddess...please, don't take her. I beg of you...Don't take her from me..."

But the Goddess was not listening to him as the sea foam green continued to swirl around Amaterasu's body.

"Goddess please...no..." Genesis begged again in a whisper, kissing Amaterasu's lips softly.

Then the last swirls of sea foam took over Amaterasu's body and a few seconds later she was gone. Genesis fell to his knees crying, then threw his head back and screamed a soul-wrenching cry to the heavens.

"Minerva, how could you do this to me? How could you take away my heart, my soul, my life? Goddess, how could you take away the one thing that helps me live in this forsaken life of mine?!" he yelled to the skies above.

Then the room around him began to grow darker and darker. Genesis looked around frantically, putting his hands to the sides of his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

"No please...no darkness...I hate the darkness...please no..." he yelled curling in on himself.

#final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii crisis core #genesis rhapsodos #dream setting #genesis dreams #au #oc #part of a story I have yet to post #I'll get it up soon peeps #until then enjoy the crap I call a fight scene

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