#“listen up we need the tank up front and the healer in the back”

[squidolusreads]

[meximango]

Day 15 - portentous - G - Cahsi + Altani + Luvon

Summary: Cahsi, Altani, and Luvon explore some ruins. Luvon feels like a mom wrangling his two children.

--

Luvon had been chattering away to his fairy, tens of yalms in front of his tank and caster, unaware how far they trailed behind. The healer was not supposed to lead the pack, but these ruins were supposed to be void of beasts, so he hadn’t been worried about that. 

The three of them had a simple mission: to reach the final chamber of the temple of Rhalgr to take pictures and aetheric readings for a small group of Sharlayan researchers who did not have the stipend required to travel so far from home to Gyr Abania Also, there was still danger inherent to stepping foot into any ancient dungeon, whether actively infested or not. It was a perfect job for three intrepid adventurers who had retired from saving the world for the time being and had no other pending matters. “Stop.” The lalafell’s light chatter ceased, cutting himself off. It was a command, one of those rare times Luvon took on an authoritative tone. The word snapped out of him with as much force as one of his punches. 

It was enough of a shock to work, Altani and Cahsi freezing mid-step, waving their arms about to keep balance. It seemed like the sort of situation one might whisper for, so Cahsi asked in her smallest voice (better her, as Altani’s whispering was like a standard person’s regular volume): “What’s up?” “I do believe I just heard a most portentous click.” The lalafell at the front of their group stood stock-still apart from the slight swivel of his ears. He did not turn around to address them. Do be quiet, though, as I am listening for more, he did not need to say. Cahsi and Altani shared a knowing look at the back of the group as Luvon continued listening. The red mage and warrior began playing a silent game of rock paper scissors at a rapid pace, best two out of three. Altani lost, as always (Cahsi had faster reactions and always used that to cheat, not that the au ra was aware--and she need not find out anytime soon, either). Well drat. Altani cleared her throat in preparation-- Luvon shushed her, tail swishing agitatedly, but she ignored him. “Lu, I think I know what caused that.” That did make his head swivel around, one eyebrow raised, head tilted to the side. “You do? Please, share with the class, Tani” Answering a question with a question wasn’t likely to earn her any points, especially when he brought out the sarcasm, but they weren’t ready to fess up. “Remember how you told us not to touch anything until we got to the final chamber?” Luvon picked up what she was putting down, if his sigh of restrained exasperation was anything to go by. He probably knew from her tone of voice alone before he asked. He was scarily perceptive like that, the guilt clear as day.

Cahsi, bless her soul, stepped in to help. An attempt was made. “It was a joint effort, really. The statues back there were awfully dusty--” “--we didn’t even take them, honest, just wanted to see them shine! This place is so gloomy--” “--too heavy to be worth stealing, my backpack is way too full for ancient pointy relics--” “Alright, so I dusted a little bit too hard, I think, the head came right off--”

“--was more interested in reading the plaques underneath, it was a matter of education--” “Can’t really blame me for the craftsmanship, can you? Would love to ask the goldsmiths of eld--” “But it turns out the echo doesn’t work with such eroded text. I have no idea what they said. What a waste of effort!”

“The small holes that appeared in the sides of the walls were the perfect size to put the head, so I thought ‘why not’--” Luvon finally cut them off. “Holes? In the walls?” Both of them nodded. “Now that you mention it, Tani, those are new, aren’t they.” “I said what I said, Cas, I can be good at observation just like you!”

Luvon’s face morphed from slight annoyance to a much more familiar emotion for him: nervousness. He had excellent hearing, but visual details often escaped him. The holes had appeared in preparation, but he only noticed the danger after it was already set in motion. At least they knew what kind of trap they were working with. Which they absolutely were--the mechanism was live, and the time wasted on their drawn out confession meant one click turned into multiple as old gears started turning. They only had a few moments before--

“Run. Now!” Luvon yelled. With a quick cast of expedient, they were granted a burst of speed. He shielded them for good measure and tethered the fairy to Altani (the biggest and slowest target), unsure how deadly the projectiles would be. He got esuna ready and flipped and spun his way through the rest of the corridor at top speed, neatly dodging each point that came his way. He wished he could say the other two were as efficient with their dodging. They were further behind than him, to be fair. More chances to be hit. Cahsi yelped and Altani yowled (or maybe the other way around?), shouts of ‘ow ow ow!’ echoing down the hall. The shields broke, and as suspected, the spears were tipped with poison--but they made it through. Unscathed, no, but Luvon had healed worse. One dungeon trap wouldn’t do any of them in, even if he had been a monk at the time. Luvon let his fairy do the rest of the healing once they were out of the danger zone. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot expectantly as Altani pulled a spear tip out of her side scales and Cahsi smoothed down her hair. They were smeared with blood and neutralized poison, looking scruffy but none the worse for wear. This time, Cahsi volunteered to speak up first. “We should have listened to you.” It hurt her pride to admit she’d done something foolish (and likely would do it again, her impulsive nature hadn’t been curbed in all her years of adventuring, and she doubted this minor encounter would change that).

Luvon, pleasantly surprised, should have known better. She wasn’t done. “But…it all worked out! So all’s well that ends well!” To her side, Altani gave a fist bump to the fairy, who reciprocated it jovially. A rather terrible apology, all things considered, but the lack of caution was understandable. This encounter wouldn’t rank in the top hundred of dangerous situations they’d been in. They’d fought and defeated gods--on multiple occasions!--so there was little to fear from some abandoned ruins. Sure, they'd given him a scare, but that's what was expected of his role: mortal fear.

Being a healer could be so stressful, but it was the job he signed up for, especially knowing how those two acted around each other. Barely better than children. Luvon rubbed a hand over his face, clearing his eyes of the dusty grit that pervaded these ruins. “Take care, just a smidge more restraint, that is all that I ask--” When he opened his eyes again, the miqo’te was gone. “Where did she sneak off to?” Altani was playing rock paper scissors with the fairy during that (the fairy was winning 5-1), and the empty spot where Cahsi had been responded with silence. Altani and the fairy shrugged as the score became 6-1, and then he got his answer in the form of a nearby shout that echoed around the corner. “Turns out the ruins are haunted!” The faraway voice got closer. Altani, preoccupied with losing yet another round of rock paper scissors, didn’t bother reaching for their axe yet. “You pull it, you tank it!” she yelled back as Cahsi screamed. Luvon pinched the bridge of his nose and motioned the fairy to follow him. He signed up for this. He did. He wanted to be the healer, insisted on it. “Use vercure until I get there!” He yelled to Cahsi. Then, to Altani, he wordlessly grabbed her wrist and pulled with a strength nobody would expect from his small body. The au ra nearly tripped from the force of it, getting the message loud and clear. 

They grabbed their axe and provoked the ghosts (she’d do a ritual for their passing later, poor things. But right now, it was time to kick ass.)

[yeojaa]

( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween.  What he loves more than that?  You.

pairing.  gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating.   idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded.  it’s just that fluffy.  (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings.  established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower. 

wc.  9.7k

beta reader(s).  the lovely @kerikaaria​​​ read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy.  tysm!  💛  i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif​ gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly.  oops... 

author note.  this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo​‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves.  while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside.  i hope you enjoy it!   

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened.  You remember, faintly, the mention of a party.  Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc.  He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought.  If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway.  Win-win or whatever.  

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge.  Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean. 

“Zarya’s one!  Zarya’s one—“  You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen.  You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too.  There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch.  “Zarya’s actually one!” 

No one cares.  She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map. 

“Jesus—“  Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue.  You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.  

I need healing!  I need healing! 

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way.  Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though.  There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point.  Stupid.  You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support. 

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked.  So infuriating and yet— nope.  Just infuriating. 

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise.  Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise.  He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face.  You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru.  He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team.  A silver lining, you suppose.  

Your second round starts well enough.  Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta.  Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana.  You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn.  Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost.  (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado.  The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong.  Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter. 

“You winning?” 

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction.  You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.  

(It’s not your own fault.  He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!”  You want to be more mad.  Really, you do.  You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long.  Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn. 

“What?”  Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime. 

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves.  All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.  

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder.  You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days.  You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery. 

It’s a little distracting;  he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual.  You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck.  Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see;  it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over.  You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication.  (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.) 

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so.  You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words). 

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet. 

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya?  She has grav.”  Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon.  Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock.  If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game. 

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void.  Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces.  Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next.  Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,”  says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head.  He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match.  It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.  

“Rip is right,”  you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map.  If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms.  Jungkook chuckles at that.  

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well.  There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested.  Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”  

You don’t turn your head.  Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you.  Sometimes, you love it;  other times, you hate it.  Most times, though, he’s right.  He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame). 

“Can we go top left?”  You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main.  Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team.  Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited.  “You should be back right by the stairs.  You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point.  Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav.  She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you.  As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen. 

“Told you,”  he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore. 

“I was going to say thank you.”  Just not right now.  You can’t multitask quite like he can. 

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display.  “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock.  Thank freaking god.  You can win this, you think.  Easy.  No problem. 

“Go Ana on defense.”  At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth.  You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin. 

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time.  He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat. 

“Do you just want to play?”  You don’t mean it seriously.  You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you.  It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship. 

“Nah, I’m snacking.”  He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth.  You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon. 

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions.  He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do.  He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do.  He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t. 

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.  

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair.  You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears. 

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game.  There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back. 

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie.  “We won,”  you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug. 

“Of course you did.”  He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you.  He’d been a great coach. 

“What’re you doing here?”  It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest.  He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair.  (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines.  You don’t care.) 

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.  

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.”  You remember, because you’d been disappointed.  Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,”  he states, like he’s talking to a moron.  You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.  

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen.  Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena.  It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it. 

“Yeah, we,”  Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker.  “Halloween party, baby.  Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises:  (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party?  You didn’t think idols had those.  Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no.  Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.”  It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach.  It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day. 

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face.  It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way.  Why’s he looking at you like that?  Why’s your memory so bad?  Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions? 

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance.  It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage.  A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns. 

“I— don’t remember that.”  You’re lying through your damn teeth.  Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass. 

“But you did!”  He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal.  It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me!  You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate. 

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here.  It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia.  “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular.  You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish. 

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs.  (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs.  You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.)  It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing.  The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames.  Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them;  Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.  

“I don’t think I can pull this off,”  you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious.  (You were, once.  Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.) 

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places.  Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest.  You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it.  (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention.  Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you.  You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp.  A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue.  “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance.  It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway.  “You have to say that.  You’re my boyfriend.” 

“I don’t have to say anything,”  he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten.  It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot.  It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart.  “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then.  He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened.  He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom.  How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure.  All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up;  yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug.  You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.  

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson.  They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay—  that was scary.  I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.”  A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees.  It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?”  You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there.  He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms;  he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh.  His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised;  Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer.  (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.”  Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end.  It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature.  You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee.  Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact.  A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious.  You look—”  You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose.  A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon.  “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it.  Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders.  You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!”  You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself.  All part of his plan, you suppose.  “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.  

“Okay!  Sorry!”  Except he doesn’t look very sorry.  More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you.  You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”  

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie.  You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment.  (Not that you really mind.)  

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip.  It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting.  Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks.  It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love. 

Today, it comes after the fourth count. 

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.”  Well, of course you will.  As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas.  It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams. 

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times.  “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins.  It’s unfairly adorable.  Still, you push.  Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you.  From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted. 

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot.  You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum.  A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to.  You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you;  rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.”  By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful.  The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday. 

It turns out to be the opposite:  one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend.  He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger.  You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another.  For tonight, they’re one and the same. 

“Joker?  Seriously?”  You can’t hide the delight.  It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction.  Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask.  “Don’t sound so excited.”  It’s an actual concern of his.  He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.  

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more.  He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting. 

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky.  You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises.  It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently.  You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared;  you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.”  You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes.  It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes.  It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling.  Bastard.  “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker.  You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter.  He’s dressed this way because you like the character.  

“Oh,”  you say, because there’s not much more to say.  Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it. 

“Yeah,”  he parrots back, a little smug.  

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life.  He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set.  You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better.  (You suppose he is.)  

“Angel, come here!”  He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side.  Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love.  There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).   

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.  

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball.  You don’t mind.  You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.  

“I’m winning,”  he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.  

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh.  Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst.  Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.  

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.”  You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element.  He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some.  It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is).  “How many games have you won?”  Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.”  God, his ego.  You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best.  Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck.  He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you.  To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.  

“Can we play?”  Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks.  You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.  

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs.  Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend.  (How fitting.)  “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch.  “No, you’re just bad at games!”  He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes.  Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink.  In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus.  (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?)  You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily.  Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.”  And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.  

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond.  He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life. 

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”  

“Ahhhhhh, stop!”  It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own.  Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads.  “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!”  You know it isn’t true.  Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines).  But together?  It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.  

You absolutely loved it. 

“Sure, sure,”  the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot.  One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins.  A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour.  You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one.  Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour.  “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.  

“Drink this!”  

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?”  You’re incredulous.  Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl.  It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless.  Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!”  The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too.  “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy?  It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?). 

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it.  Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body.  “Don’t die!”  He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”  

“No, you’re fine.”  He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up.  You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement.  “Your face, oh—  Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane.  You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together.  It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor.  Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms.  You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?”  It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies.  He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile.  “What’re you doing down there?”  

“Just hanging out,”  you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft.  A modern day olive branch.  “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close.  Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like.  It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like.  Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away.  You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness.  “You sound drunk, angel,”  he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek.  It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin.  It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves.  “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,”  comes Jimin from beside you.  There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.  

“That’s the plan,”  Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment.  It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him.  He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation.  When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case.  “Want to head home?”

You do.  You really, really do.   

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are.  Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—”  There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet.  “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway.  “Sorry,”  you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused.  It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.”  He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh.  Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away.  “Here, let me.”  

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time.  (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,”  you tease, clinging to him like a koala.  You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven.  “Or are you the court jester?  That’s what Joker is, right?”  It’s a joke and a bad one at that.  Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.  

“You’re drunk.”  He says it more kindly than you expect.  Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve.  You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded.  There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare.  It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought.  You have to tell him.  Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it.  “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down.  As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands.  (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.)  “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?”  You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon.  You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.”  It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that.  You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style.  You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression.  “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does.  You pout, as you so often do. 

“Okay,”  you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder.  You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings.  “Will you wash my hair?”  You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.”  Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).  

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck.  When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips.  You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat.  Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.”  As if that’s meant to stop you.  He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention.  He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,”  you mumble into the expanse of his chest.  He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable.  You think you could live in the feeling of his arms.  (You’re lucky you get to.)  You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most.  “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation.  You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless.  It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.  

He’d explained it to you once.  Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first.  Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t.  JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm.  Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that.  You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.”  You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon.  You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure.  “Gotta get undressed to shower,”  he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises?  It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”  

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.  

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care.  Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow.  You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep.  He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle.  His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck.  You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight.  You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits.  There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest.  He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.”  The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck. 

“We are, angel,”  Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back.  It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame.  “Just need to get you warmed up first.”    

“The shower’ll be warm,”  you say - or think you say, anyway.  It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).  

“Do you want me to stop?”  It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off.  Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat.  “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.”  Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern.  You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.  

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise.  “I never want you to stop.”  

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair.  He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted.  “I love you,”  he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.  

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment.  He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off.  You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders.  You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.  

“Start the shower.”  

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that.  You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away.  The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,”  he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream.  He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip.  You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does.  You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside.  It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you.  You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.  

“Hair?”  You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder.  It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.  

“Patience, baby.”  It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess.  He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue.  (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—”  The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand.  Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it.  It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips.  A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit.  The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump.  Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.  

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair.  “Patience,”  he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist.  He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue. 

“Kook,”  you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess.  There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest.  A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.  

“Relax for me.”  You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.  

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more.  You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish.  (You wish you could see him.) 

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him.  (It was.)  He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense.  Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.  

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures.  With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,”  comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care.  Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls.  He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.  

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard.  Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot;  it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.  

“K-Kook.”  It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.  

“I’ve got you.”  And he does - hook, line, and sinker.  He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave.  It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go.  He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn.  See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service.  Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him.  You should recognise the look on his face.  “Kook?”

“My turn.”  It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward.  There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you.  It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in.  “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.  (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed.  In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine.  It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat.  His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear.  It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure.  “Oh fuck,”  he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.  

“Always so good for me.”  Another thing he says, often and without prompting.  It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet.  “Always so perfect for me.”  

“Because I love you,”  you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.  

“Love you too, angel.”  He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway.  He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted.  He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart.  Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust.  An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision;  it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard.  He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high.  You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings. 

“Kook,”  you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower.  The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm.  You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing.  It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.  

“P-please, Kook.  Please.”  You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his.  He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation.  “Come for me, Kook.  Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars.  Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you.  It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs.  You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.  

“I love you,”  he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.  

“I love you,”  you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours.  “But I still need you to wash my hair.”  It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days.  “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.”  Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements.  He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery.  Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.  

“I thought I was an angel.”  You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks.  Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline.  Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice.  “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”  

You can’t argue with that. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​

[haledamage]

Coming Home

I'm a day late because this thing got much bigger than I expected, but better late than never! This is for @shepherds-of-haven Shepherds Summer 2021! The prompt was Pacific Rim AU!

Some of the backstory stuff is from this post here. Some is just pushing ShoH canon slightly to the left so it fits better in a Pacific Rim setting. Some is the result of reading ShoH and watching PacRim at the same time and then taking a nap to see what seeds got planted. There will be a part 2 to this because I had to split it up in order to finish it on time and then I was late anyway.

Shepherds of Haven/Pacific Rim AU. Iorwen Emroth/Blade Bronwyn (well, hints of it. more in part 2)

---

The Haven Shatterdome looked very small from overhead. Iorwen watched it loom closer with a trepidation somewhere between “being late for an important exam” and “being read her last rites.”

It had been just over two years since she’d last been this close to a Jaeger, half a world away and in a different life, but all the Shatterdomes looked the same after a while. Steel and glass and everything painted in olive drab, black, and safety yellow. 

Part of her felt like it was too soon to walk into those hangar doors again, the empty space at her side where her partner used to be still a raw, open wound. She couldn’t even think xer name yet without feeling like she couldn’t breathe. Returning to work felt like a betrayal of xer memory.

Another part of her, louder with every passing minute, was just so happy to be home again.

"Wen!"

Iorwen had barely stepped out of the helicopter when she heard her name called and turned to see Red jogging toward her. He looked more tired than she remembered him, but his smile was as bright as ever, his hair vivid against their otherwise drab surroundings. She’d known he was here - he’d transferred to Haven shortly after she left Capra - but hearing it and actually seeing him were two very different things.

She dropped her bag carelessly to the tarmac and ran to meet him halfway, throwing herself at him as soon as he was close enough to wrap her arms around his neck. He hugged her back without hesitation. They were making a Hel of a scene in the middle of the landing pad, but neither of them really cared.

"I knew you'd come back," he mumbled into her hair.

"Had to." She finally pulled away, stepping back just enough that she could see him. "You can barely tie your shoes without me, Liefred."

He only laughed before leaving her side just long enough to grab her bag. He slung an arm around her shoulders as he rejoined her, dragging her towards the hangar. "Welcome home."

She stared up at the Shatterdome, hangar doors towering over them. It didn't look nearly as welcoming as Red seemed to think it should, and was much more intimidating than it had been from the air. It still smelled like blood and motor oil - or maybe it was her memory that did.

She tried to put on her best smile anyway, for his sake if not her own, and let him drag her inside.

They stepped into a hive of activity, the sounds of machinery and voices echoing off the walls, laughter and shouting and clanging metal rising up to greet them. She tried to stop and take it in, but Red was still dragging her along with him out of the main hangar and into a labyrinth of hallways; she probably could have escaped him if she tried, but she didn’t really want to.

“Have you met the Marshal yet?” he asked, once they were in a quiet enough place that he didn’t have to yell to be heard.

“Not yet. Mostly talked to his second so far.” Trouble Alder had, in fact, shown up out of the blue one day three months ago, sitting on her front porch with a stick of charch between his lips and looking completely at home. He’d revisited her every day for a month until he’d finally worn her down enough to convince her to come home. Stubborn bastard. “What's he like?”

“Intense,” Red answered almost immediately. “Most of the younger crew are terrified of him. He doesn't like me.”

Iorwen scoffed. “Bullshit. You’re the most exceptionally likeable person I’ve ever met. Everyone likes you.”

“He doesn't.” 

They stopped in front of a door in what was probably the barracks, the walls lined with identical doors on either side. Sure enough, there was a simple bed, a dresser, and not much else inside. Iorwen didn’t mind; she didn’t need much else.

Once she’d dropped off her bag and they started down the next hallway, Red continued, “I don't know if he likes anyone. He barely says two words to anyone but Trouble.”

She was still skeptical, but didn’t push. “Well, he must be doing something right. Look at this place. Capra barely had a skeleton crew compared to this.”

“It’s amazing!” Just like that, Red lit up again. “Some of Blest’s best and brightest are here. Pilots, mechanics, scientists, strategists, you name it.”

“And which of those are you? All of the above?”

“Mostly scientist, I think,” Red rubbed a sheepish hand over his hair. “There’s better pilots. Pan, Neon, and I serve better in the lab than on the field most of the time.” He paused, watching her cautiously, before adding carefully, “And… which will you be?”

“I’ll be working in the clinic,” she said quickly. “As a Healer. I’m not… ready to be around Jaegers again. I might never be.”

“I understand,” he assured her, reaching out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We all do.”

They fell silent after that, and stayed that way until they stopped in front of a door labelled Administration. “This is Shery’s office. She’ll get you all set up.”

“Thanks, Red.”

“Anytime.” With one final quick hug, he turned to leave, only to stop halfway down the hall. “Oh, and Wen?”

“Hmm?”

“Welcome to the Shepherds.”

---

It was two weeks before Iorwen finally met the Marshal, and it happened entirely by accident.

She had just finished a shift in the clinic, patching up minor burns and bruises on unlucky mechanics and restless pilots. The silence between Kaiju attacks left everyone on edge, and that led to carelessness, which inevitably meant stupid injuries. She didn’t mind. All things considered, she’d rather have the silence.

As she turned a corner, she noticed a light was on in the training room, and curiosity led her there without much input on her part.

She recognized the man in the room easily enough. Even if they’d never spoken directly, she’d seen him around enough to know who he was. He commanded the attention of a room like no one she’d ever met before. He was hard to look away from, even here, out of uniform and either unaware or uncaring of her presence.

Magnetic. That’s what he was.

He was also much younger than she expected for a Marshal. He was close to her own age, or at least she assumed he was. She wondered about the story there - obviously there must be one - but knew better than to ask the rumor mill. Gossip was like dust: inevitable, everywhere, and harder to see through the more you stirred it up.

The Marshal’s back stiffened, and Iorwen knew she’d been caught staring even before he glanced over his shoulder in her direction. She stepped into the room as casually as possible. “Hello, Marshal.”

He simply nodded, dark eyes unreadable. “Ranger.” She bit her lip to stop herself from correcting him. “Emroth, right?”

“Yes, sir.” She approached until she could finally see his face. “Iorwen.”

Another nod. “Blade.” She thought he would leave it there, but after a moment, he spoke again. “Antiqua speaks highly of you.”

“Of course he does. He's biased.” She laughed, rolling her eyes at the idea that Red was going around extolling her virtues to anyone who would listen. When the Marshal - Blade, she mentally corrected herself - gave her a look that she interpreted as curiosity, she elaborated. “We trained together as cadets. He was my first Drift partner actually.”

“But you never piloted together?”

“No. It…” Iorwen broke eye contact, the floor suddenly fascinating. “It didn't work out that way.”

“It's not too late,” he said, almost softly.

“Yes it is. I'm not a Ranger anymore. Not after…” Xer name got stuck in her throat, like it always did. She took a couple of deep breaths until she could comfortably breathe around it again, but her smile was still sad. “I'm happier on the ground. I'm a good Healer. It's where I should be.”

She could feel Blade’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look back up to meet them. Eventually, all he said was, “I see.”

He turned his back on her again and it didn’t take long before her gaze was drawn to him again. He was wearing a tank top, like most people did when they came here to train or spar, and standing this close she could clearly see the web of electrical scarring trailing over his arm and shoulder.

She knew those scars well. The scars of someone forced to solo pilot a Jaeger. She should know, she had a matching set.

Blade did an admirable job of pretending he didn’t know he was being observed, but he moved too carefully for it to look entirely casual. Or maybe he just always moved like that. He picked up a bo staff and tested the weight of it.

Iorwen took the opportunity that presented without thought or hesitation. “Looking for a dance partner?”

The briefest flash of surprise crossed his face before his expression smoothed back out. “Are you… sure?” he asked carefully. If she didn’t know better, she might say he almost sounded nervous.

She found it charming. She found him charming, with his not-quite-smile and his cool confidence, this magnetic man who could simultaneously terrify the cadets while inspiring absolute loyalty in them.

But she didn’t tell him that, of course. She just grabbed a staff of her own and grinned as she lifted it in a fencing salute. “On your guard, Marshal.”

---

After that first night, it became a regular thing. Not every day, not even on a set schedule. But sometimes after she was done in the clinic or in the garage, Iorwen would stop by the training room, and sometimes when she did, Blade would already be there. Not waiting for her, not exactly, but never surprised when she arrived.

He never really said much, but she didn't mind talking for the both of them. She could tell he was warming up to her, as the weeks passed; his silence felt much less formal and stiff and more cordial. Eventually, even friendly.

Two things were apparent from the very beginning, though. Well, three things. The first was that Blade, as a fighter, was completely out of her league. She never stopped by with any expectation of beating him; she was content to follow his lead. It was nice to be active again, to feel the familiar burn in muscles left dormant in her self-imposed retirement.

The second was that they were extremely drift compatible. While Iorwen could never beat him, she could consistently predict him. They could both be blindfolded and still know what move the other would make. There was an effortlessness to the way they understood each other that bordered on the supernatural. It was a kind of connection that she hadn’t felt since Zori had been killed.

The third thing was that neither of them were willing, in any way, shape, or form, to admit the second thing.

It was barely a week before Red found out.

He flopped down on the bench next to her in the cafeteria. “I brought those papers you were looking for to your room last night, but you weren’t there.” He didn’t say it as an accusation, but it still managed to feel like one.

“I spent a couple hours in the training room,” she said as casually as possible. “Trying to get back in shape.”

Red blinked a few times, letting that sink in, before smiling wide. “That’s really good. Let me know if you ever need a sparring partner.”

“I kind of… have one?”

“You do?” His smile went from friendly to devious, the look of a man who had four sisters and was willing to tease her as if she was a fifth. “Who?”

Before she could stop herself, she looked across the room at Blade. He sat at a table with Trouble, whose laughter was loud enough to reach them even from the other side of the busy cafeteria. The Marshal’s face remained impassive, looking like he wasn’t even listening, but Iorwen knew him well enough to tell he was amused.

As if he could feel her watching him, his eyes snapped up and locked on hers. She smiled at him; he nodded almost imperceptibly.

Red cleared his throat, and she looked away quickly, turning her attention back to the smugly amused grin of her best friend. “Well, I guess maybe it’s not everyone he doesn’t like.”

“Guess it’s just you.” She nudged his shoulder and he rubbed at it as if she’d hurt him. “He’s not as bad as you made him out to be.” She couldn’t stand his knowing look anymore and turned away, but doing so led her eyes right back to Blade. “He's nicer than he looks. And surprisingly funny. He doesn't treat me like I'm fragile. Like I'll break if someone talks about… Zori.” 

Mentioning her former Drift partner and copilot didn’t hurt as much as she expected it to this time. Less like twisting a knife in her heart and more like being poked in a fresh bruise.

Mentioning xer also stopped whatever comment Red had been about to make right in its tracks. He studied her with obvious curiosity, mouth still half-open in surprise. Whatever he saw on her face had him leaning forward and tapping his forehead against hers, a quick gesture of affection and understanding. She leaned into it until he pulled away.

And then his teasing smile was back as if it had never left. “Plus, he's handsome.”

She eyed him warily, but let him have the subject change. “That too.” She picked up a piece of fruit from her plate and popped it into her mouth. “Please don’t say anything about this to Pan or Neon.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“I mean it, Red. Not a word.”

---

“So I hear you and the Marshal have a thing.”

Iorwen sighed from the very depths of her soul. “I hope Red knows how very dead he’s about to be.”

Panrachus looked legitimately confused at her response. “What? I didn’t hear that from Red, I heard it from Caine.” Then he gasped, eyes widening with sudden, delighted recognition. “What does Red know?”

She only barely bit back a groan. “Why are you even here?”

“Right! We’ve got something you oughta come see.”

She followed him, with more than a little trepidation, out of the clinic, through the office labyrinth, and out into the hangar. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings and realize where exactly they were going. “Why are we going to the Jaeger bays?” He didn’t answer. “Pan?”

Then they turned the corner, and she had her answer.

Looming over her was a Jaeger unlike any she’d seen before. It looked almost lanky, the proportions lean and sleek instead of the more familiar bulky designs. It would be unbelievably fast with the right pilots; she could tell that just from looking at it. From the top of each wrist, a wicked-looking blade extended over the hand, almost long enough to drag the ground. It was painted black, navy, and silver, but its eyes glowed bright blue.

From the ground, it almost looked like iladrin. Like the same blue light that lit Iorwen’s own eyes.

“What’s her name?” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the Jaeger.

“Stellar Enigma.”

“Who’s piloting her?”

“You are.”

She jumped at the unexpected voice behind her and turned to see Blade, Red, and Trouble approaching, along with an entourage of what looked to be equal parts Shatterdome leadership, actual engineers, and nosy onlookers.

“You are,” Blade said again, quieter, softer, “Ranger.”

“Blade, I--” Iorwen started, but she wasn’t sure what she actually intended to say.

He reached up and lightly pinched her cheek, a faint smile on his lips. “You’ll be alright.”

Before she could reply, Trouble gently but pointedly cleared his throat, reminding her of their audience. She glared his way, just for a second; he grinned back, unabashed and unrepentant.

“Who’s my copilot? Sir.” She added the last as an afterthought, trying to act some semblance of professional.

“I get the feeling you already have someone in mind.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Bit early to be reading my thoughts, isn’t it, Marshal?”

---

Iorwen’s suit didn’t fit as well as she remembered. Tight around the shoulders, too loose at the waist. Like it was meant for someone else, no matter how many things tried to tell her otherwise.

Blade’s fit him like a second skin. He looked like a Jaeger cockpit was where he was always meant to be. Like it was the rest of the world that didn’t fit him right instead.

She met his inscrutable gaze before ‘admiring’ could cross the line to ‘ogling’. “You look good.”

He paused for a long time, staring back at her in silence, before finally clearing his throat. “You too.”

She grinned, both at the compliment and at the sight of the Marshal so off-balance, but she took pity on him and changed the subject. “Do you want the left or right?”

“Right.”

“Good. I prefer left.”

They didn’t speak anymore as they connected to their harnesses and their suits started interfacing with the Jaeger, the computerized voice talking them through system checks. It took longer than Iorwen remembered, but it had been a long time since she last Drifted with anyone, let alone with someone new.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, once their helmets were in place and they’d run out of checks to do. “I’m not--”

“Yes,” he interrupted sharply. “You’re ready. We both are.”

There were a lot of things she wanted to say. To thank him, mostly, for a list of things that seemed to be growing bigger by the hour. She kept quiet; he’d hear it in her thoughts soon enough.

“Initiating neural handshake in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… neural interface drift initiated.”

Between one breath and the next, she was somewhere else. Images flowed over her, some familiar, some new. She did her best to let them pass, to not cling too hard to any of them.

The destruction of Drummond's Point, the first attack the day the Kaiju came. Iorwen, dragging Zori's unconscious body out of town as fast as thirteen-year-old legs could carry her. Blade, stern and silent even as a child, a soldier from the day he was born. Zori, tears at the corners of xer eyes as xe laughs at a joke Pan told, Red and Neon joining in, the three of them always together even then. Blade's older brother, startlingly similar to him in appearance and demeanor, the two of them either sparring or fighting; for them, there had never been much difference.

Zori's scream as xe's ripped out of the cockpit. Gladius didn't make a sound as he met the same fate.

Iorwen's grief washed up against Blade's, soothing in it's familiarity. A gentle reminder that they weren't alone anymore, that thanks to the Drift they'd never be entirely alone again.

She saw him in her memory of their first meeting. Stern, aloof, but warm underneath, like a fire behind frosted glass. Captivating her before he even so much as looked at her. 

And then herself through his eyes at that same introduction. Sad, withdrawn, but still burning bright. The embodiment of stubborn hope, like a flower blooming in a snowy field.

And then they broke through the surface, both gasping as they came up for air. Below them, Stellar Enigma came to life. The rush of memories and emotions settled into the background, present but no longer demanding attention.

“Pilot connection stabilized.” It wasn’t the computer’s voice this time, but Shery over the intercom. “How do you feel?”

Moving as one, Blade and Iorwen lifted their hands, right fist resting on left palm, and bowed. Stellar Enigma did the same, moving as smoothly as her pilots did. Iorwen couldn’t tell which of them the wave of elation came from, but it burst out of her in a laugh.

“It feels like coming home.”

[geodax]

Hi, I know, there are many works on this topic, but still. Can Obi get hurt after the Rako Hardin Arc? Thank you!

Story is under the cut. Warnings for depression/suicidal thoughts since Obi-wan is really not in a good place right now. But there is a hopeful ending. 

This takes place after the Rako Hardeen Arc. 

Cody is yelling at him. Obi-wan should be paying attention, but he’s so tired of being yelled at. He’s tired of anger and hurt battering against his mind. He’s tired of being told the exact same things that have been going through his head since he came back.

Selfish. Unfeeling. Cruel.

“Are you even listening to me?” Cody says. He sounds just like Anakin.

Obi-wan can’t speak around the lump in his throat. He isn’t sure what he would say if he could. He’s already offered every explanation, every reason, for his actions. He had thought Cody had understood. Cody was a soldier, after all. He knew what it meant to follow orders and to be a part of need-to-know missions.

“Obi-wan!” Cody says.

Obi-wan finally manages to drag his eyes away from his battered and broken body. It’s kept him confined to the medical bed as he waits for his turn in the bacta tank. He can’t flee to his room and avoid the hurt and betrayal that hangs in the air wherever he goes.

“What do you want me to say?” Obi-wan asks.

“I want you to say you aren’t going to throw yourself at Grievous without your fucking lightsaber! I want you to stop taking stupid risks! I know Skywalker is still making you feel like shit, but I don’t care. Our lives are at stake. You don’t get to just throw yours away!”

Obi-wan looks down. He doesn’t have the strength to say anything else. Cody is right. It doesn’t matter what Obi-wan wants. It doesn’t matter how much it hurts to keep going, to pretend the constant glares he gets from Anakin aren’t breaking him.

“Obi-wan,” Cody says, much softer now. “I’m sorry.” Cody falls back into the chair beside Obi-wan’s medical bed. “I just—You almost died. And you didn’t even seem to care.” Cody sighs and lets his head fall into his hands. “We need you, Obi-wan. And I know it sucks and you don’t want to be here, but—”

“I do,” Obi-wan says, but he can’t get out the rest of the words. He can’t tell Cody how much he cares about him and the 212th or how much of a thrill he gets on the battlefield when he’s leaping in front of canon blasts and saving lives. He can’t tell Cody that he would never choose to be anywhere else. His place is with the clones.

Cody’s head snaps up. “Then why?” Cody asks.

“It hurts,” Obi-wan says and its all he has to offer. War is breaking him. Anakin’s cold rage has left him empty. The indifference from many of his civilian friends is only making it harder to bear. He’s just so tired.

“I think you should see a mind healer,” Cody says. Obi-wan wants to tell him no, but he won’t. Cody’s right. He shouldn’t be out in the field like this. He shouldn’t even be in command when he could barely even take care of himself.

“You’re right,” Obi-wan says. He bows his head. His whole body still aches with guilt, but Cody is no longer bleeding anger and rage into the Force. His presence is softer now, almost regretful. They had their difficulties like any commanding team did, but usually they were worked out via discussion and debate. Not like this.

“I’m sorry,” Cody says. “For yelling.”

“It’s fine, Cody.”

“No, it’s not fine. But we’re going to figure this out. We’ll get you the help you need and we’ll find a way to be okay again.”

[glitxhwayventeen]

Lonely Hearts Club

Seokmin: Chapter 3 (I Wanna Know)

Characters: Seokmin x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, angst, fluff, genocide mentions, runaways, mental illness (depression implied), sexual mentions, crying, mentions of death, mentions of violence. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: Your girl is in some serious fucking pain but she managed to get another chapter out because she couldn’t sleep! So low and behold, I give you a decent chapter for DK

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

🥀 & ☁️

Lonely Hearts Club Master List

Chapter 3: I Wanna Know

You were in heat for a few more days. Seokmin stayed with you the whole time and took care of… your every need. Though he looked worn out, he didn’t complain once. He liked that you let him help you. And he was hoping now that your heat was over, you’d let him in a bit more.

Your legs felt like jello, your hair looked like a birds nest, your skin was covered in variously healed bruises. You were a mess. But it was still time to go back to the pack. You made a promise and you always followed through with your promises, even if you were in a horny induced daze when you made it. You were just hoping they wouldn’t know, or at least, wouldn’t make a big deal out of what had happened.

Seokmin helped get you back to your feet and get dressed, putting your arms through your tank top and putting you in your shorts one leg at a time. He had already managed to get himself together as he had woken up earlier than you had. He figured you’d be in worse shape than him after everything… everything you’d been through and he wanted to be sure you were as okay as possible before you started your journey back home.

“There we go, all done!” He chirped after finally buttoning the last button on your jean shorts.

He took a step back to look at you. Aside from the bruises, you physically looked pretty normal now that he had helped you tame your ridiculously tangled hair. But he knew the pack was gonna smell you. You smelled like him from the week of animalistic sex sessions you two had been having due to your heat. It was unavoidable. He knew they’d all know you two slept together the second you walked through the door. He just wasn’t sure how you’d react to their inevitable and unavoidable teasing.

You quickly looked down after you had seen your reflection in one of your buckets of water, “I look like a walking disaster.” You muttered.

“It’s not THAT bad…,” He failed miserably at reassuring you, “But it doesn’t matter anyways, we’re mates. It doesn’t matter if we slept together or not. We would have eventually anyways” Seokmin tried to reason, bringing himself to walk up to you and hold your small hands in his large ones hesitantly.

“They’re all gonna make fun of me.” You pouted at him, looking down at your feet and smiling a bit in embarrassment.

You had never really taken the time to look at him before your whole mating fiasco happened. You had done literally everything in your power to avoid him at all costs so you wouldn’t catch feelings for him. But now that you had spent a good portion of time alone with him, you realized just how much bigger than you Seokmin was. He always seemed so… subservient around the pack that you never really gave his physical appearance much thought when it came to size. He must’ve been almost a foot taller than you, and now that you had seen him shirtless and naked, you also knew just how much muscle he actually had. He was MUCH larger than you had thought. Even his feet looked like they could crush yours with one fast stomp.

He held back a giggle at your cuteness before he spoke up, “They won’t make fun of yoooou. Especially because you could EASILY beat most of them to a bloody pulp with your special wolfie powers and all.”

“Aya! They’re not special ‘wolfie powers.’ They’re just my normal powers. And it’s not my fault you guys are more diluted forms than me.” You chuckled, playfully smacking his toned chest with your hand.

He cocked his head to the side at your statement, “Is that how it works? The longer the line the less of a wolf you are?” He asked curiously while bringing the back of your hand up to his lips and giving it a chaste kiss.

You almost laughed out loud at his question before you remembered that he didn’t grow up with other werewolves. He was a bitten wolf, not genetically a wolf. You remembered that Seungcheol had told you that no one in his family had ever been a wolf before him. He probably had no clue how it all worked, especially since his pack wasn’t always the best help when it came to educating each other on important matters. You felt a little guilty for thinking he was just being sort of dumb. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know anything about it. So you held back your little outburst and nodded instead.

“Yeah basically. I mean, most genetic lines now can still obviously transform, but they’re still not…” You tapped your chin with your index finger for a moment while thinking of the correct words to explain what you meant, “As much of a wolf as me.” You decided.

Your mate was watching you intensely, listening to every word you said closely, as if he was learning the most important information he’d ever need to know,“I’m honestly probably more wolf than I am human. But most modern day wolves are more human than wolf, that’s why it’s relatively easy for them to assimilate into human societies and blend in.” You informed him, the both of you gathering the rest of your things and making your way out the cave to the path leading back to the forest.

“But hiding our eyes isn’t always easy!” He interjected with enthusiasm you found oddly cute, “If we get too emotional, the potions disintegrate and our real eye color shows. So it’s not really SUPER simple with us.” Seokmin responded, grabbing your hand closest to him and interlocking your fingers.

For a moment, you wanted to pull away from him and push him for initiating the sudden contact. But you also promised him that you’d give him a chance and that you’d try to be the best mate to him that you could be. Plus, the warmth of his hand felt… kind of nice on yours. So you kept your hands together, giving his fingers an involuntary squeeze that made Seokmin’s face light up.

“I suppose you’re right. But really, as long as a wolf can keep their shit together, they can seem very human. When my people were still around, we were very obviously NOT human. We couldn’t be even if we had tried.” You casually let out, skipping over a large rock in your way.

“What were your people like?” He questioned, genuinely wanting to know what your life was like before you lost everything. His pack had tried to ask you before, but you’d always clam up and make up some excuse to leave the conversations. He was hoping with it just being the two of you, you might actually be okay with sharing some more personal information with him.

You waited a moment before you spoke up. What WERE your people like? It had been so long that you hardly even remembered anythings about them. You usually tried to push away all the thoughts of them because remembering all you lost hurt too much. But when he asked you the question, it was like everything came rushing back to you all at once.

Your family, your tribe, your traditions. You remembered how the tribal elders used to let you sit in on council meetings because your father insisted you needed to know everything there was to know about running the tribe. It made you feel so important when he did that, like you were his pride and joy. You thought about all the times you had sat next to your mom as she cooked up potions and remedies in her old stone cauldron for the healer to use on the sick and injured. She always cared so much about everything and everyone around her, you always loved to help her help people. And you could all but see your 11 big goofball brothers running up to you holding their latest hunting prizes with the most giant toothy grins they could muster. Those dumbasses, they always made the most of life. You missed them so fucking much.

Everything started swirling around your head and it made a huge smile appear on your face with watery eyes at the thought of your early life. Seokmin took notice and felt a bit proud of himself that he had made you that happy, you had never beamed a smile that big before in front of him or his pack.

“My people… they were… they were just-” You paused, “They were just the most amazing family a person could ever ask for.” You started, wiping away a sudden tear that had fallen down the side of your face from the memory of them, hopefully before your mate could notice. Of course, he still saw, but he said nothing because he knew it would upset you.

“They were always just sooooo happy. I remember every night was basically like a huge party. We’d all dance and sing around the campfire, there’d be elders telling stories and offering the young words of wisdom while the parents would scold us for interrupting anytime anything got cool or surprising.” You sadly laughed, “We were all just… one big happy family. Even if I wasn’t actually related to all of them. I can’t really explain the connection I felt to them… it was just as strong as the one I had to my biological family.” You sighed, finally reaching the edge of the forest and finding the proper trail for the both of you to set towards home.

He could hear the pain in your voice as you spoke of your past life. You must’ve really missed them. But there were so many questions he still had. What about your actual family? Did you have brothers or sisters? What kind of life did you have? How did you sleep or eat? Where did you come from? But he knew he shouldn’t ask so many at once, he didn’t want to overwhelm you or hound you with his thoughts all at once. So instead, he asked just one question he knew he should probably know the answer to: “What- What happened to them?”

His words made you halt your movements for a second. Remembering that day wasn’t something you liked to do. In fact, you went to great lengths to avoid the memory. It haunted everything you did. Every minute of everyday was plagued with the thought of their demise. You had nightmares every night. You saw their hallowed faces in every person you met. You smelt ash and burnt flesh more than you smelt anything else. Their screams were still stuck to your mind like gum on the bottom of a shoe. It tore you apart to think of it. But still, you knew he deserved to know. You’d want to know if you were him.

“They were… they were massacred.” You sadly shrugged, biting your lip to keep yourself from letting sobs out. He stroked your hand in his in an effort to soothe your sad soul. You took comfort in his small affectionate touch, it grounded you and pulled your tortured mind back down to the conversation you were having.

You took in a deep breath, “It was just any other day, at least, to me it was,” you gulped before you continued, “I was helping my mom with some new herbal remedies for some of our sick warriors when suddenly we heard this loud BANG. My mom wasn’t a wolf, in fact, back then no female was. Well, no female but me that is, but that’s beside the point,” you shook your head and tried to get yourself back on the topic at hand.

“I could feel the vibration under my feet. It was a cannon, but we didn’t know that then. They weren’t really used in our part of the world, they’d freeze in the cold weather and couldn’t always light at the altitude that my village was set on. But somehow, the Cossacks found a way to make them work… they always found a way…” you stated flatly, looking up to the sky out of respect for your fallen family.

“They were upset that my pack had killed some of their soldiers that had hurt a group of women in a neighboring tribe. So they punished us the only way they knew how: by brutally murdering everyone and setting everything they could on fire. Fire’s one of the few ways Icyan wolves can actually be killed. They killed almost everybody. As far as I know, Cyrus and me were the only ones who got out.” You swallowed back the lump stuck in your throat as you and Seokmin continued onward to your destination.

Now this question really worried him, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted answers to it. But he, again, wanted to know more about you and how you got to him. He’d figure it out eventually, might as well try to get it out of you today while he had you going already.

“Can you- can you tell me a bit about him…?” He almost whispered, afraid to say it any louder as he didn’t want to upset you.

“W-What?” You asked for clarification.

“I- I Wanna Know more about… him… Can you tell me about him?” Seokmin stuttered out. He was still unsure if he should’ve said it to begin with, but he couldn’t help it. He had to know more about the man who had you crying constantly over him.

You turned your head to look at him, “About who? Cyrus?” A bit of fear crossed your face as you attempted to confirm what he asked.

“Y-Yeah. He was your mate. And Jun kind of explained what you told him had happened to him the other day, but I don’t know much about him. Like how you two got out. Or why he died…” He looked you in the eyes and say that tears and immense sadness had began to pool in them, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to! I just figured… that it would be better to get it out in the open now…” Seokmin bit his lip as he waited for your reaction/response.

“Cyrus was… Cyrus. He is- was… my best friend.” You sighed defeatedly out loud before you continued, “He always took care of me. He imprinted on me right after I was born, so he was always there for me.” You started, still trying to find the right words to emphasize what he meant to you. But it was hard, you weren’t very touchy feely like Seokmin was. Feelings were all new to you, so you weren’t sure how to share them aloud.

You didn’t want to upset Seokmin by speaking too fondly about your past mate, but you also couldn’t help the pang in your heart you felt Everytime you heard Cyrus’s name. Part of you wanted to never speak of him again, another part of you wanted to never shut up about him. Your mind was full of conflict but your heart was full of sorrow. How could you possibly ever forget Cyrus enough to have a new mate? How could you ever emphasize how important he was to you when Seokmin, your current lover, was holding your hand? How were you supposed to pick and choose such things when your heart was pleading for a break?

“Wait- he imprinted on you right when you were born? I didn’t know that was possible…” he lost steam towards the end of his sentence and started to mumble while rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Oh no! It wasn’t like that!” You stopped him before he could get any further, “See, Icyan wolves start to shift really soon after birth, like only a month or two after. So it basically means that we’re able to phase our entire life. Cyrus was only five years older than me. He acted like an older brother to me until I hit 16 ish. But that’s when it all went wrong…” You held back a whimper that was threatening to spill past your lips.

“But the day everyone was killed, my dad and the other wolves came to defend out den. I was hiding in the hut while my mom was trying to do a protection spell. But they had killed most of our warriors already when they tried to save their families. We’re very protective of the ones we love” you sniffled slightly, still trying to hold your emotions back but obviously failing miserably.

“Cyrus came to find me after his family was killed. It was his instinct to protect me first, even though he loved his parents, they had each other still. And I was his mate, that’s how we work, mates and children before anyone else. He came into our home and tried to comfort me. We all thought we were gonna die. They had already killed my brothers by the river bank, it broke my parents. They saw red. But they knew I was still alive. So, before the Russians stormed our hut, my dad told Cyrus to take me and run as far as possible for as long as possible, so he did. After that, we were alone, but we had each other. It was like that for a few years. But then… I turned 16 and everything went to hell.” Your lip trembled and quivered with guilt.

Your current mate whined at your sadness, he wanted to help you, but he knew there was nothing he could say or do to make you feel better. So he just kept rubbing the back of your petite hand and giving you his full undivided attention. You had heard his whine, but you knew it was just because you were upset, so you gave him a small depressed smile before you kept speaking.

“Well you know that he- well that he’s obviously dead. Otherwise we couldn’t have imprinted on each other. But I’m sure you want to know… why he died” you mustered up all the courage you could before finally explaining it all to him, “He saved me. I fucked up. I was spotted by some towns people and he took the fall so they wouldn’t take me instead. Our wolf forms were similar. All Icyan wolves are white, we can just have different patterns to us. The villager that spotted me didn’t see the black spot on my head, he just saw a huge white wolf. They followed me back to our den and they were met with him. He refused to let me go. He was a telepath and he was an alpha. He ordered me to hide and he told me he loved me before he gave himself up to the angry mob.” You stopped walking and let the tears brimming your eyes freely fall.

Seokmin stood in front of you playing with your hair sweetly, trying to give you something to ground yourself and distract you from your heartache. It killed him to see you that way.

“I couldn’t- I couldn’t refuse his order. He was- he was my alpha. So I had to stay and watch them take him back to their town. I left after that to try and find him, he never told me that I couldn’t. But by the time I got there- they- they-” you sobbed out while bringing your shakey hands to your face, “They had already started torturing him. There had been reports of two huge wolves in the area and they thought he would lead them to me if they hurt him enough. But he never did.” Seokmin pulled you into his chest as you cried, barely able to breathe as you convulsed into loud whimpers and wails.

“I- I felt everything. Every cut they made, every punch, every hit. Because I’m of my shaman bloodline, I felt everything he felt, I- I’m an empath. He figured out I was in the crowd and just kept telling me that he loved me telepathically. That it wasn’t my fault. But- But how could it not be- be my fault?” You stuttered as you gripped onto Seokmin’s shirt for dear life, “I got him killed!” You all but screamed, crying into your mate’s chest so hard he was worried you’d pass out.

Seokmin just let you cry. He couldn’t imagine the guilt and pain you must have been feeling. He just held you and shushed you and told you that everything would be okay. But how could you be okay? You lost everyone in the most awful ways possible. No wonder you didn’t want him around before. If he were you, he wouldn’t either. He wouldn’t have wanted to risk losing MORE people.

He knew you thought it was your fault, but it wasn’t. If the roles were reversed, he knew you would’ve done the same thing as Cyrus. Just like he always knew that if push came to shove, he’d do the same exact thing your past mate had done to save you. You were his whole world, he’d never let anything or anybody hurt you if he could help it. He’d defend you with his very last breath if it meant you got even a second longer to live.

-

After a while, your breathing evened out and your sobs became just tears. Seokmin pulled you back up from his torso to look you in the glistening eyes. He quickly wiped away any water that had streamed down your face in the process. He really wanted to just kiss all your tears away, but now wasn’t the time for that.

“I’m so sorry (Y/N). I wish I could take away your pain. But I can’t. The best I can do is promise you that I’ll always be here for you.” He assured you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears.

“Even if I start crying over my dead mate?” You tried to sound sarcastic, but you honestly felt too weak to. It probably came out as more of a whine to him.

“Even if you start crying over him. Or if you miss him. Or even if you just want to talk about him. Or any of them. It’s okay. I understand and I’m here for you, no matter what.” He pecked your nose softly and gave you the most loving eyes you had ever seen.

You couldn’t help but pull him into a sweet, thankful kiss, attempting to show him how grateful you were for him with your actions rather than your words that always seemed to fail you. Once you pulled back, you realized just how tired you were. Seokmin seemed to pick up on it to because, suddenly, you were in his arms being carried through the woods bridal style. You gave him a look of uncertainty, he just nodded at you and gave you a loving smile, signaling that he would be okay to walk back the rest of the way to the house with you in his arms.

You wanted to protest it all for his sake, but your eyelids felt too heavy. So instead, you just snuggled your now swollen face into his chest and let the darkness take over, feeling safe in his arms and knowing he would never let anything bad happen to you. For the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe everything would be okay.

(Updated 9/17)

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump day 3

Prompt: imprisonment

Warnings: medical trauma

read on AO3!

A Long Way Down

Bright lights pass in quick variables, and it takes Obi-Wan a moment longer than it should to realize he's lying on a stretcher, oxygen mask strapped to his face and wires and cuffs on every available piece of skin. He groans, catching the attention of Commander Cody who is running beside the stretcher.

"Not to worry, General, we are almost at the med bay."

That is exactly why I am worried.

He reaches up slowly to pull the mask off his face as the stretcher slows, looking up at his Marshall Commander. "Cody... what happened?"

"An explosion, sir. Tunnel collapsed," he pauses. Cody already knows his follow up question. "The men are okay. You... Force-pushed them out of the way."

Well, that explains why my body feels like it has been crushed under a ton of rocks... supposedly it has. 

Obi-Wan has no memory of this, but from the grim looks on the faces of all the troopers surrounding him he suspects he 1. doesn't look good and 2. is as bad as he looks.

"How bad?" he asks as they guide the stretcher into the med bay and stop it next to a bed.

Cody looks at Helix, the medical clone who seems to be trying hard not to make eye contact with him. With the penetrating stare of both his Commander and General, Helix finally looks up from the datapad.

"We're gonna have to dunk you, General."

He blinks, letting the words slowly settle into his discombobulated brain. Usually, he would protest. Make a fuss about being fine, because usually, he is, and medical can put their resources elsewhere. Usually, they would lock the doors as soon as he enters-- he glances over and yes, they did. What am I going to do, run? Obi-Wan is fairly sure both of his legs are crushed judging from the odd angles they are at, so he isn't sure how they expect him to make a break for it.

But today, Obi-Wan just lets his head fall back and he stares at the ceiling. He cannot protest because the tightness in his throat won't let him. He's afraid to open his mouth again because if he does his words will turn into sobs and his men do not deserve to see their General cry.

He can feel Cody and Helix's surprise. He doesn't have to look at them to know they are now even more concerned for him now that he hasn't tried to raise hell about being taken to medical. But they also seem to be relieved, so at least he can give them that respite.

He stares at the ceiling as movement begins to happen around him. Medical troopers pulling at the needles and sensors, inserting new ones. It all fades into a blur of hands touching him gently but firmly, frequent pinches and jolts of sharp pain, and the cool stickiness of applicators against his skin. Obi-Wan just stares at the ceiling.

He is fairly convinced that every medical facility has the same designer. Even the Jedi Halls of Healing have walls that are stark white. Sterile white. So bright they rival the glow of the iridescent lights, which is a design flaw in his opinion. Obi-Wan has spent a lot of time seeing these ceilings-- but not because he has spent a lot of time in medical. There is a reason he doesn't like to end up in the med bay, and the reason haunts him every time there is even a prospect of him having to go to see a healer.

Seven-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi had feet too big for his body. It's like he began to hit a spurt, but only his feet realized that growth was the plan and the rest of his body was still figuring out how to stretch his small stature a few inches taller. It gave him the unfortunate nickname of Oafy-Wan, coined by his age-mates who he didn't exactly consider his friends. His clumsiness wasn't horrible, but it was distinctive enough to cause him a bit of trouble when practicing lightsaber katas and doing his physical activity tests.

On this particular day, seven-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi had already had a very bad day. He fell in the middle of a practice spar in front of everyone. He wasn't even doing an acrobatic move or anything, he just fell over his own feet. The roar of “Oafy-Wan” was the only thing he could hear as he stared at the floor in shock of how quickly everything had transpired. Despite Bant's sympathetic reassurance and his other friends trying to overpower the chant, he spent the rest of the lesson trying to make himself as small as possible.

His pouting continued through the day, even to their long-awaited field trip to the Senate Rotunda. He walked with his creche mates, tuning out of their excited conversation of seeing the massive Galactic Senate chambers and instead focusing on the speeders rushing past just meters away from them. He wished to just jump into one and speed away from it all. Despite his prior excitement for this journey out of the Temple, he now wants nothing more than to go back to his dorm and curl up in his bed.

"Don't trip, Oafy-Wan," a familiar snide voice rings in his ear. He turns to see Bruck Chun, one of his age-mates that often leads the cause against him, sneering at him. "It's a long way down."

They're walking along a more narrow section of the street. Just a few meters to the left there is a deep chasm that goes into the lower depths of Coruscant. So deep he cannot see the bottom.

Obi-Wan brushes him away, in no mood to deal with him. "Get lost, Bruck." His arm presses into Bruck's side, pushing him away, which is not to the pleasure of his age-mate. Bruck's eyes narrow, and he jabs his elbow into Obi-Wan's back.

"Don't push me."

Anger surges in Obi-Wan's chest as he staggers forward. He whirls around and uses both hands to push Bruck into the wall of the building they are passing. A few initiates have stopped now to watch them, but as they stand at the back of the group the mass have not noticed their tussle.

"Funny, it seems I'm doing just that."

Bruck runs at him this time, his anger potent in the Force, and Obi-Wan suddenly has the clarity that maybe this isn't a good idea. He jumps out of the way of Bruck's charge, vaguely aware he is standing at the edge of the street now. Bruck skids to a stop.

"Coward," he spits, just as the Master leading their field trip calls for them to stop lagging.

Obi-Wan avoids Bruck's gaze as he passes by him, pointedly smacking his shoulder into his. Obi-Wan sighs, and turns to join the group.

As he turns, he finds himself suddenly caught in the air stream of a speeder that is too close to the sidewalk. He feels his small body lifted off the ground, and he flails in fear at the lack of anything for him to grab onto. A chorus of yelling erupts, most of them either calling his name or Master Vant. Obi-Wan can see the ground, and he tries to position his feet to land there, but another passing speeder sends him into a tailspin.

And Obi-Wan falls.

Even years later as a Jedi Master, Obi-Wan remembers falling down that speeder shaft. When he thinks about it he can hear the screams of his friends as they watched him fall. He can see them peering over the side. Master Vant running up and raising her hand to reach for him in the Force.

Had she reached him a moment earlier she probably could have saved him. But his downward momentum was suddenly ceased as he crashed against a speeder before she had the chance to cushion his descent. And he was met with horrendous pain and the taste of blood. Much like how he feels laying in the med bay now. Everything afterward was a blur.

"Are you ready, General?" Helix asks. Obi-Wan looks past him to see the bacta tank is all set up. Obi-Wan swallows hard, and he says nothing, but Helix takes that as a yes. His stretcher starts to float toward the tank, and he squeezes his eyes shut as the horrible memories come rushing back.

Choking. Obi-Wan expected to wake up in a reality beyond life-- he truly believed he would be returned to the Force, but instead, he woke up choking. He started to panic before he opened his eyes, and when he finally tried to find the reason for his restrictive breathing the initiate realized he can't see either.

He tries to thrash around, but his movements seem to be restricted somehow. Like he is tied up, but he can't feel bounds. His body just isn’t listening to him, which is even more terrifying. He tries to blink through the thick goo that seems to be covering his eyes, but it won't clear. It burns instead. He's trapped in a senseless prison, and he lets his panic radiate outward into the Force. He needs someone to hear him. Find him. Anything.

The Force responds with a collective feeling of shock. He repeats his plea for freedom, and finally, he hears something. Distant talking. Yelling, actually. Frantic. There is the deafening sound of suction, and then Obi-Wan is falling again. Slower than before but in his mind's eye he sees his friends staring down at him. Laughing at him. Oafy-Wan! They cackle. It's a long way down.

He hits the floor. The gel material that once encased him sloshes everywhere. His body curls into a ball and he feels many pairs of hands grabbing him and positioning him onto his back despite his protests. The touches are not comforting. Their goal seems to be to push him right back into the place he just escaped, and he begins to sob in terror. The voices are blending together as his vision begins to tunnel again.

"...sedative wasn't enough."

"How did he wake..."

"Get him back under!"

It was explained to him by one healer that his IV fell out of his arm. Another told him that the dosage was too light. A third said the adrenaline caused his metabolism to spike, making the correct dosage go quicker. Obi-Wan isn't sure why he woke up while in the bacta tank that day, but he suspects knowing the reason wouldn't have changed the panic he feels every time he has to take a dunk.

Obi-Wan grabs Helix's arm as he is about to inject his IV. The medic freezes and looks down at him.

"You have my correct doses from the Temple, correct? For the general anesthetic?"

Helix blinks before nodding. "Of course, General."

"And you know Jedi tend to metabolize quicker as well? You will have someone monitoring my consciousness?"

"Yes sir, we have detailed training from your healers on Jedi care. We will ensure you receive the right dose and don't get too much anesthetic."

He nods with wide eyes. His medic is slightly off in the reason for his inquiries, but it is comforting enough.

Even so, as the drugs begin to take him under he can't help but feel like he is seven again. Faded conversations of the medical troopers become the hushed words between Jedi Healers. The same fear of waking up within the tank again grips him with an iron fist around his already-intubated throat.

Never again could he look at a bacta tank and see it as an innovative medical advance. To Obi-Wan, it is a torturous prison that causes his fear to shamefully make an appearance.

He is positioned into the tank. The transperisteel doors close around him, and already he can feel his heart rate elevating. Why am I not asleep yet? Why am I still awake for this? Am I to do this conscious?

The bacta starts to fill at his feet slowly. He feels the urge to lift his legs and climb away from the rising gel, but his body has already separated from his mind. He cannot slam his fists against the doors and beg to be let free. Cannot scream with the tube down his throat.

As the bacta reaches his knees, he finally feels the heaviness reach his eyes, and Obi-Wan says a last plea to the Force to let him stay asleep for the entirety of his imprisonment.

[inviouswriting]

Critical Engagement Au - Feel

Warnings: Nothing extreme like the last one. But hints to an assault made on Kivera. This will mostly be women to women pairings. 

I’ll explore some other themes in a few days as I develop this. For now enjoy some development?

Kivera stands to the side of a room, she had fell another behemoth. Her stance was loose after she was certain the creature was dead. This was her third one for the day. She had been fighting all day, being tested all day in her endurance and strength alone. She retains her former valor where she was hardly defeated in battles. 

Such strengths Misija wonders how Kivera even fell to the beasts from the start if she possessed this much power. Perhaps her echo faltered, perhaps she slipped up, or a healer in the same instance did not aid her when she needed it. She heard that the engagement that Kivera was in, everyone had fallen to the behemoth. Unlucky for the rest of them, Misija did not take interest in them as she has Kivera.

The woman approaches Kivera with praise and encouragement. Kivera lowering her head to let her head be petted. She liked the feeling it gave her. Before she was suspended again in her enclosure, to rest and heal from the claws that marred her skin, they would heal soon thanks to powerful elixirs in the air for her. 

They had began to infuse other abilities to her, finding she has a natural inclination for fire, none would be surprised as she was a black mage as well as dancer. 

“Why in the seven hells do you treat her so gentle?” One of the soldiers asks Misija as they walked. Misija looks to them.

“Tell me, how do you keep a coeurl tame after it has grown? It has enough strength to turn on its owner, it can easily run away once it is powerful enough. So how does one keep it from attacking?” Misija looks into one of the other tanks further down from Kivera. An auri, she had a soft spot for this one in her stark white appearance compared to Kivera’s dark. She was bought from the black markets, her scales proving to be highly sought after for the way they shimmer, perhaps other properties could be found once she had matured enough for experimentations. 

“Most keep them fed and content. How does this relate to Kivera?” Misija raises her head.

“Precisely the reason I treat her nicely. Keeping her content. She has enough power to escape at any point. Specially after todays tests with the anti-matter. She can break the neurolinks any time, she has done so in the past when she wanted them off. So what keeps her from doing so? She could run freely in Bozjan, to be another threat to the forces against us.” A quick tap on the enclosure gains the auran girls attention, she merely regards them with a stare before ignoring them. Misija notes the inside is cold.

“Turn the heat up for her.”  This girl was different than Kivera, they had gotten her before Kivera, but with the miqo’te’s untimely collapse in battle they hadn’t gotten around to anything with her. Their attention on the project they were anticipating to be successful.

“Keeping Kivera content is vital for us. As with any creature in this facility. You keep yourself at bay while handing something that can kill you praise, yet keep their safety in mind. It would have been a different story if she had been more docile during the wing implantation. She could have accepted what could have happened. But the fact she fought against unwanted touch to the extent everyone in that room died. She needs one face and pair of hands she doesn’t find offensive in this whole place.”

“You in other words.” They turn to head back to Kivera’s enclosure, after seeing the auri relax more once heat was being poured into the enclosure. They had given this one more things to be comfortable, with a bed to lay on and things to entertain herself with. Easier to interact with compared to the other one. Stark contrasts. 

Misija approaches Kivera in her sphere where she had been suspended towards the top. Kivera uses her feet to propel herself down behind the roegadyn first then rounding around to her front, Misija offering an arm for her to hold onto. Kivera barely holds onto her, keeping in place.

“You came back early.” Kivera regards her with a simple stare, wider green eyes, Misija notes her in a good mood. She removes the neurolink off of her.

“I was visiting another. You are on the same floor, I had to visit you too, before I head off for a while. The results of your tests came back. You’re almost ready for deployment.” Misija knows not to lie to her, she can pick them out.  It amazed her the first time she caught her in a lie. So she made a mental note to never lie to her.

“Another? Who?” Kivera feels Misija run a hand through her hair ending on an ear. She tilts her head to the hand, allowing her to pet the soft fur on the ear. Misija had removed her gloves for this.

“You might be able to meet her. If you keep improving. For now, not important. No lasting effects from the behemoth venom?” Misija checks, she recalls her getting bit and clawed good on the one they paired her to fight against.

“None, one of the scientists gave me an antidote.” The soft glow of yellow eyes regard her, the aura around them seemed to shift to a mild purple hue, Misija understands this as her feeling very content in her presence. Her manipulation over energy is what they were so enthralled in pitting her against stronger monsters. Kivera is able to manipulate the very aether in the air at her will.

All the more to keep her content. Misija lets Kivera hover in front of her, she looks her over, for scarring, for anything that would need to be fixed. She inspects her waist, and Kivera moves closer. Letting Misija check the “tail” the chain had kinked together.

“We will replace this with a better one soon.  Even have one similar to your old one you lost.” Misija muses aloud, she had been jabbed with the metal point alot when Kivera thrashed it at her when she lies.

“Old one?” Kivera’s memories had slipped from how long she has spent in their confinement. Barely remembers her former life as an adventurer.

“You had a softer tail once. Like a Chimera’s lion tail.” Misija explains. She kneels down and lets Kivera sit down in front of her. She hardly even believes she was at war with this woman. How compliant she has become to their side. She hopes she can get her to remember the echo and help her own cause for unlocking more secrets. 

Misija had drifted in her thoughts to the extent she barely realizes Kivera had moved closer, till her face was right before hers. There was something unnerving about her eyes, when Misija realized her own eyes were being stared into, like her very soul was being looked at.

“Why so close?” Misija leans back seeing how she is hovering.

“You were staring at me.” She had been staring at her, her mind drifted to another thought. Misija had grown to like her alot more now, than when she was her former warrior of light self. She retained her wild self, she can see that well in how she half drapes herself onto her.

“What manner are you doing here? I haven’t seen you like this before.” Kivera ignores her for a moment as she focuses on pressing an ear to her chest. Listening to her heart beating. She flicks an ear and her tail.

“Curious.” Kivera finally answers. 

“Curious of what?” Misija rests a hand on top of the dark hair to tilt her head back away from her heart.

“Feeling is different.” Kivera moves away in favor of sitting across from Misija again. Knees tucked underneath herself. It is here Misija notices the fidgeting, very brief she sees her eyes dim to a purple color. The roe gets up after a few more notices of the fidgeting. Kivera moving to stand, with a sigh as she expects the neurolink to be placed again. Misija waves her hand.

“No neurolink today. You’ve been behaving, if you go without giving my staff trouble. I’ll let you keep it off for a few days.” Misija sees her eyes light up in regard to this. She had to check something about her, 

“I’ll return soon. With a meal like I always do.” Misija raises an arm for her, and Kivera takes it, she brings her alot closer and under a short show of affection brushes the side of her face to Kivera’s. She feels it returned, a simple touch, yet she feels Kivera push herself to her entire being.

Kivera soon lets go to return to the top of the enclosure, curling into a spot she likes. Misija after she leaves her and takes one of the staff members with her.

“When was the last cycle she had? I thought we had removed the ovaries” The woman looks up at her.

“We did remove them, but the last cycle she would have had, was before that. It is still possible for one even after. But she won’t be able to have children if you mean that. She was an adult miqo’te before she came here.” Misija sighs as this could delay a day of tests.

“What can be done to relieve her?” She glances back to the enclosure that houses Kivera.

“We either ride it out, or you could assist her. She’s less likely to maim you. She is repulsed by men, per the wing incident. So I don’t think we can toss a random male to her.” There is a silence in the air.

“Fine, I’ll take care of her. The cages can be blacked out?” There is a nod. Misija walks off to go attend other things.

“I’ll return in a while, make sure the wing is clear around her meal time.” 

“You intend to do that tonight?! What about the other projects?”

“They clearly are less important than the bigger matter in that sphere. Best to take care of her now. As you said, she will most likely kill anything that offends her by touch. So again, make sure no one else is around for it.” The tone came off for an order. She did wonder how receptive she would be to it.

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) ner aliit STAR WARS

(belated) Whumptober no.29 - I Think I Need A Doctor

Comfortember no.8 - Lashing Out

Jango had never imagined getting his sister back. He had thought, for over a decade, that his ori’vod was dead, that she had died all those years ago with their buire when Kyr’tsad had burned their family’s farm. He had spent years with Arla’s name at the top of his Remembrances, unknowing that she was alive and that Kyr’tsad had her in their grasp. He had left his ori’vod to be tortured and twisted until she was a chained pet to be released whenever Vizsla wanted someone dead.

Vizsla had probably taken some sort of sick enjoyment out of sending his own sister after him, most likely looking to get the Darksaber back but was not willing to face Jango or his Foundling in combat himself. So he had sent Jango’s own family to kill them and bring the dha’kad to him instead of doing anything himself, and Arla had tried. They had been docked and resupplying, and she must have snuck on board while they had been busy - likely the blood she shared with Jango had let her slip past the security.

Manda, Jango had nearly killed her. He hadn’t known it at the time, all he had seen was a Kyr’tsad ramikad pinning Ben and ready to slit his throat, and Jango had thrown himself forward to defend his son. It had been Ben - Ben who had never let go of the morals he had been raised with, despite declaring his quest for cin vhetin upon earning his beskar’gam and passing his verd’goten - who had stopped Jango from killing his attacker. It was Ben, the boy who refused to kill unless absolutely necessary, even with all the evils in the Galaxy and everything he had been through, who had pulled Jango off of the limp Kyr’tsadii and removed the woman’s helmet.

Jango had nearly lost what little remained of his cool in that moment, stiffening in shock and horror. Arla was almost identical to their mother, though Jango could see himself in her jaw and nose and the shape of her eyes, and her colouring had been their father’s. He remembers that, as a teenager, Arla had idolized their retired ori’ramikad mother, and had wanted to be just like her, to the point she had dyed her brown hair blonde and spent an hour every morning straightening her curls. When he had been eight he had found it annoying to be locked out of the bathroom while his di’kutla ori’vod did di’kutla things, but after the farm had burned, he had guarded even the most annoying memories of his family jealousy. Now though, there’s not a hint of blonde in Arla’s thick curls, and where her skin had once been golden-brown, it was now pale and ashen and covered in scars from torture and cruelty that he had gotten a peek of while Shmi had been tending to her injuries.

Jango had been able to experience love and family after their Buire had been murdered, but Arla had only known pain and torment.

He had spent the last few days sitting beside his sister’s bacta tank, watching her float limply in the thick liquid and reacquainting himself with her face. It had made him painfully aware of the fact that he couldn’t remember her voice, that he could barely remember her. She’s in her thirties now, and she was so very different from the fourteen year old girl preparing for her verd’goten that he could remember. All the baby fat was gone from her face, and there’s a scar across the bridge of her nose that Jango couldn’t remember being there - so many thick, ropey scars stretched across any part of her body that he could see. He hadn’t seen her since he was eight - he’s twenty-three now, and he likes to think that he looks like his father, but finding Arla has made him painfully aware of the fact that he can barely remember them anymore.

What kind of ad and vod is he that he can’t remember his familys’ faces? Would Arla hate him for moving on, for finding a new aliit while she had been tortured?

Arla had been pulled out of bacta just that morning, and it had been painful for Jango to cuff his sister to the medical cot, but he didn’t really have much of a choice. He has two non-combatants on the ship, and a son that Arla had already once tried to kill. As much as Jango hates it, his sister is a prisoner and an assassin, and he has no idea what Death Watch had done to her over the years, or what kind of state her mind is in.

Even so, knowing all of that didn’t mean it hadn’t torn something in him when his sister had immediately tried to throw herself at him, intent to harm, the moment she had opened her eyes. Arla had snarled, twisting against the restraints, teeth bared in fury, and a firm Shmi had ordered Jango out of the room as she’d given his sister a sedative. So Jango had left, trusting Shmi to look after herself and Arla.

“Traitor!” Arla had screamed at him, and the words had struck deep.

He finds himself feeling lost, staring at the wall, and wondering what he could possibly do to fix this. He hadn’t thought his hatred of Kyr’tsad could grow any hotter and yet here he is, with a sister he had believed dead for most of his life, twisted and broken and turned into an assassin for the very people who had murdered their Buire and who he hated more than anything, even the Jetiise. Kyr’tsad had taken everything from him; his parents, his Buir, his aliit, his sister, his honour. He could reach out to the others; he knows that there are Haat’ade still out there, people who had followed Jaster, who had followed Jango, and people who would come the moment he called. Roz had given him a list of contacts of Mando’ade who were still loyal to the Mand’alor. There were people with the right sort of training who could help him help Arla. He hadn’t considered calling them before - he’s unworthy of their loyalty, but for his aliit , he’d be willing to do anything.

Jango lets out a heavy breath, turning on his heel to march towards his room - Jaster’s old room - in search of the comm codes, thoughts dark. His people didn’t deserve Jango dragging them back into his problems, but Arla also doesn’t deserve what happened to her and needs help. He doesn’t trust a hospital to protect her from Kyr’tsad should they come for her, but he does trust the True Mandalorians.

The disgraced Mand’alor pauses in front of his door, tightening his hand around his buy’ce and tapping his fingers against the visor. He sighs slowly, closing his eyes and muttering a quick prayer to the Manda for courage and to the Ka’ra for luck, before gathering himself and typing in the code to the door and stepping into his room. He strides over to the storage chest at the base of his bunk, opening it to rifle through the belongings until he finds the datapad Roz had handed him back when he and Ben had first gone to her for work after escaping the spice freighter.

He staring at one name on the list, an open expression of pain on his face - there’s so few of them, compared to what they had once been, and that’s on him. Mij Gilamar - he remembers the man. Or more accurately he remembers his riduur; Tani Gilamar had been on Galidraan, she had been one of his ramikade. Mij had been a dedicated baar’ur, and while he had married a Mando’ad, he had never worn beskar’gam, preferring to heal rather than fight, but Jango had seen him spar with Tani enough to know that he could.

Mij would be his best choice to help Arla, but would he want to do anything for Jango after he had gotten his riduur killed.

He looks up when the door hisses open, letting Ben peer into his room. His son cut an impressive figure in Jango’s old beskar’gam, the one that he wore after passing his own verdgotten but painted dark red and white, and his buy’ce tucked under his arm - he looks like a true Mando’ad, and Jango wonders if this is what Jaster felt every time he saw him in his armour. He watches Jango with worried eyes.

“Are you alright, Buir?” The teenager asks, stepping into Jango’s room and letting the door slide shut behind him. “Shmi told me our guest woke up.” Blue eyes study him intently, and Jango’s shoulders slump at the reminder, Arla’s words rattling in his head. “I can sense that you’re upset.” Ben lowers himself to his knees next to him with the unnatural grace of a Jedi, head tilting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jango huffs out a laugh, “You do know I’m supposed to be the buir, right, Ben’ika?”

His ad ’s eyes sparkle, and Jango can already feel the weight of his past easing with the boy’s small smile. “So you are.” Ben says cheerfully, “I’m afraid I hadn’t noticed.”

“Brat.” Jango murmurs fondly, flicking the fourteen year old across the forehead. Still, Ben had passed his verd’goten and was considered an adult by Old Mandalorian law, even if he is still young and inexperienced and still needed guidance. Jas’buir had allowed Jango to lead his own squad at fourteen, and Mandalorians knew better than anyone that ade were just as competent as those who were fully grown. He sighs again, “Arla needs special care right now.” Jango tells Ben, who listens attentively. “Things we can’t get her without help.”

Ben’s head tilts again, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “Like a mind healer?”

Jango taps Mij’s name on the list, “Baar’ur Gilamar is a doctor, and a very good one. All Mandalorian doctors are trained in mirjahaal for wounded verde.”

“One cannot heal physically if they don’t also heal spiritually.” Ben states knowingly, and Jango ruffles his hair.

“Learn that from your fancy Core Temple, did you, ad’ika?”

Ben grins crookedly, “We were all expected to attend minor healing classes.” He shrugs, “I wasn’t very good at it.” Then his blue eyes grow sharp in the way that makes Jango feel like the boy was looking into his soul. “Arla will be fine, Buir.” Ben states, “We’ll help her; she’s aliit.”

Aliit, it’s a nice thought.

[greyfongschemmenti]

Hesitate 8|15

FryeArcana

Chapter 8

Republic City Is At War

Summary:

The aftermath after that evening at the park. How will you and the chief continue on at work. will it interfere and how will you handle the chaos of the Equalists during the pro-bending match.

Avatar Korra and task force bust down on underground equalist gym last night.

You read the article in the newspaper while you drink some tea during dinner at a diner nearby your apartment. You put the newspaper down and pay for your meal before heading to the station for a late shift. You and Lin haven’t spoken to each other since that time at the park. You figured it be best to just give her space, you’re not going to be the one to bring your private matters into the workplace.

You sit at your desk finishing up some reports then check on the holding cell “Hey Lee, how’s it going down here?” you look over at the somewhat young officer.

“nothing much, just a few drunkies, but hey you hear what’s on the radio?” he turns up the volume on his radio and you can hear the voice of Tarrlok and Korra as well as a few reporters.

“Amon is hiding in the shadows like a coward. Amon, I challenge you to a deal…just the two of us, midnight. If you’re man enough to face me.”

Lee let’s out a low whistle “damn, a challenge, you think Amon will take her bait?” he looks up at you. You’re standing there in disbelief as if you were trying to decide whether Korra was brave to take Amon on or incredibly stupid to do so. “Honestly, I don’t know….Avatar Korra is just trying to get in the good graces of the public so who is she really trying to prove. The citizens of Republic City or herself? So will Amon show up, yeah I think so. Amon doesn’t seem like the person who can be scared off, but I don’t think a fight will happen.”

“well who knows, maybe there might be a report of the challenge afterwards. Wanna make a bet?” Lee smirked as he leaned back in his chair

“I just said no one is going to fight, that’s my guess.” You smile as you lean against the wall

“ahh you’re no fun” he groaned

You laugh then kick yourself off the wall and walk away waving Lee off as you head back to your desk. “Is Korra really that stupid to take on a real danger like Amon by herself?” you mutter under your breath as you walk up the stairs and head towards your desk.

*

Even though you were in the late night shift. All officers were to report for mandatory spar training. You get paired up with officer Long, he promises to take it easy on you and you just scoff at him and start to spar. You catch a glimpse of Lin at the corner of the room looking at everyone’s progress as she holds a clipboard. She looks at everyone but you, you’re distracted that you don’t notice that Long has sent a piece of metal to you and you get knocked to the ground.

“ah shit, sorry y/n.” Long runs over and helps you up. You take his hand and get back up on your feet.

“this is what occurs when you’re distracted and not focused on your opponent, officers. One second is all it takes for a perp to overtake you.” Lin calls out to the whole room while she walks up towards you and Long. Her arms crossed behind her back as she gives the both of you a stern look.  You don’t look at her and have your back facing her and you can’t help but get upset.

“good job using that opening to attack, Long.” Lin walks away, you look over your shoulder and get mad.

“Switch partners” Lin barks out. Everyone walks and grabs different partners; you were going to partnered up with Lee before Pak stops you and said that Chief partnered him with you. You scoff and roll your eyes but shrug it off.

This time the task was to try to break free from a grasp, without using the need bending, just pure physical power. You look over at Pak, he is easily the strongest guy on the force, there’s no way you’ll be able to take this guy down. You look over at Lin and wonder what her deal is, before you look back at Pak and get into position.

*

“again”

You hit the mat hard time and time again on your back and silently groan. You’re getting tired of this training, no matter how hard you try Pak is just too strong for you to break from his grasp.

There is a time for a short water break, and you get a chance to rinse your mouth and drink.

You watch over and notice Lin, by herself and take the opportunity to walk over to her and talk.

“what’s your problem Lin” you whisper to her.

“officer y/n, do I need to remind you that I am your Chief” she talks but has her attention at her clipboard.

“well “Chief”, I wasn’t sure if who I’m seeing is really Chief Beifong or Lin.” you angrily mutter at her.

“what is that supposed to mean, officer?” she quickly interjects as she writes down some notes on her paper still not giving you any attention.

“come on, you know better than I do that, you put me against Pak. For some personal vendetta.”

“Let me stop you right there. I partnered you with Officer Pak, because you don’t know who your offender will be. You need to experience all types of people. Pak is no exception” Lin shrugged you off not really giving you a care. “now if you really think you can’t handle the way I do things in my force, there’s the door” she finally looks up at you and gives you a stern look.

You look at her eyes and don’t stand down, giving her the same look of intensity back before you give her a nod and walk back to the mat.

“alright, positions and do that task again” Lin barked out as she watched everyone work on their stances.

You and Pak get in position, you’re crouched down with Pak having his arm around you in a headlock. You have all this anger and rage from your conversation with Lin. All this pent up rage, you bring your arm behind you and grab Pak’s collar and the helm of his armor and with all your strength you’re able to swing him over your shoulder and slam him to the ground.

Your power caused his body to indent into the ground and you can hear Pak groaning in pain. Everyone stops what they’re doing and are surprised of the scene. You breathe deeply and stand up running your hand thru your hair. “sorry, Pak” you walk by him as you grab your bag and start walking out the room not before giving Lin a look as you head to the showers.

“alright, training is over. Hit the showers” Lin barks out “someone help that poor boy to the infirmary” two officers run over and pick Pak up and start walking him out the training room and take him to see a healer while the rest of the officers go and hit the men’s shower room.

Even though you were the first one in the shower, most of the other women have finished and left. Leaving you by yourself to collect your thoughts. That is you thought you were by yourself.

You turn the water off and wrap a towel around you and start getting dressed. Right when you put your tank on you notice someone in the corner of your eye and look over and see Lin looking at you.

“yea, Chief?” you look back at your stuff

“you did quite some damage to Pak”

“well, the task was to take down your opponent by whatever means necessary without bending, right” you spat out.

“without killing them”

“Pak’s fine, just got a bruised back” you shrug off as you pack up your bag closing it then swing it on your back. You look up at Lin “so you want to tell me what that was about?”

“what do you mean, officer?” Lin looks at you, not changing her tone. She’s giving you the same Chief persona.

You groan, getting tired of the bullshit, “come on, quit the garbage, Lin. You and I both know that whole training session wasn’t anything work related. You consciously or even subconsciously did all that to hurt me or get some sort of control.” You walk towards her getting angry again and stand in front of her.

“nothing happened” Lin stated

“exactly, nothing happened! Yet, your actions are saying otherwise.” Your voice raises in frustration, but you stop yourself, take a deep breath then take a step back. “look I don’t like talking about my personal life at work, and quite frankly I’m pretty sure there are some guys trying to hear in on the conversation.” You look at her, your eyes slowly soften when you really look at her. Her eyes tired as if she hasn’t slept well, but she keeps quiet and rolls her eyes.

“I better have reports at my desk by the time I leave this room” Lin barked out and you can hear feet shuffling as they run away from the door. “idiots” she growled. There is short silence between the two of you before you speak again.

“I can keep things separate; my question is can you? Or will our professional relationship hindered?” you stand up straight and offer her a hand. Lin look at you, down at your hand, then turns around and heads for the door

“just don’t break any more of my officers” Lin groans as she opens the door. Though she didn’t take your hand you could feel like the Lin you know was still there and smile softly before walking out and getting back to work.

*

It’s been a couple days since that talk at the shower and it seemed to go back to whatever normal you had with Lin. You got partnered with her trying to find some sort of control over the triads when you get interrupted by an officer busting in her office.

“Amon is on the radio!”  You and Lin exchange a look and Lin turns on her radio just enough to listen to his message. “…I hoped you enjoyed last night’s pro-bending match, because it will be the last. It’s time for this city to stop worshipping bending athletes as if they were heroes. I am calling on the council to shut down the bending arena and cancel the finals or else…there will be severe consequences.” The radio statics and the transmission is over.

“that guy’s got some nerve” you mutter “you think the council will listen?” you look over at Lin.

“I don’t know but we can’t let the city give in to fear” Lin sneered as she gets up and walks out of her office, you look around and decide to follow her. “wait, where you are going Chief?” you jog up after her.  “Council meeting” Lin gets in the car, sitting in the passenger seat and you jump in, start the car and speed off to City Hall.

*

“stay in the car, I’ll go talk to the council” Lin gets out and starts running up the stairs and goes inside the building. You look around and frown, after a couple of minutes you get bored. I mean no one is going to ticket the Chief’s car. You get out and run up the steps and go inside wondering if you’ll be able to catch some of what’s going on. You stand right by the door not saying anything hoping not to get any attention from the council.

“if you keep the arena open, my metalbenders and I will provide extra security during the championship match. There’s no better force to deal with the chi-blockers. Our armor is impervious to their attacks.” Lin states to the council, her arms behind her back.

Tarrlok gives her an eyeing look and there is a sly smile on his face. “are you saying that you will personally take responsibility for the safety of the spectators in the arena?” it seems like only you and Tenzin noticed the tone in Tarrlok’s voice as he asked that question, Tenzin shifts his body over at Tarrlok and you eye him with suspicion.

“I guarantee it” Lin says confidently

“it is hard to argue with Chief Beifong’s track record. If she is confident her elite officers can protect the arena, then she has my support. I am changing my vote—who else is with me?” slowly one by one each member on the council raises their hand except for Tenzin.

“the arena stays open. Good luck in the finals. And good luck to you, Chief Beifong.” Tarrlok looks over at the Fire Ferrets and Chief Beifong. Tenzin looks over in defeat while the Fire Ferrets exchange cheers. Tenzin walk over to Lin and he quietly exchanges some words to her. Lin looks back over her shoulder at him before noticing you standing in the back of the room.

She groans as she walks over to you “I thought I told you to wait in the car” she sneered before you could say anything “I have to exchange some words with councilman Tenzin.” She said annoyingly and walks out of the room and goes to meet with him.

As the Fire Ferrets walk out the room Mako meets your eyes and calls out to you. “oh hey, y/n! what are you doing here?” you glance at everyone before answering to Mako “I came here with Chief Beifong, what about you?”

“oh we came here to stop the council from ending the pro-bending match.” Mako looks sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“yeah, I caught a bit of the meeting. Do you really think letting the match go on is the best for the city?” you look over at Korra, crossing your arms on your chest.

“We can’t let Amon win by scaring us. We’ll be giving him what he wants. Fear.” Korra looks at you with a slight annoyance in her voice.

“hey, I get it. I agree to not give in to fear, but you’re about to put thousands of innocent lives at stake just so you three can play a game. Are you ready to take that chance?” you rebutted getting annoyed at Korra but you look over at Mako and Bolin who have been just staring between the two of you. You look over at the two bothers and raise a soft hand to them “no offence, I’m a fan of the team”.

“Always nice to meet a fan” Bolin awkwardly smiles and gives you a wave. Korra rolls her eyes

“Chief Beifong is on my side and she seems confident enough to think so. At least she has faith in her force” Korra crosses her arms and sneers at you.

“I have faith on the force!” you raise your voice your cheeks reddening “I just think this is all an unnecessary risk to take. Even if it is for the Avatar” you sneer back and Korra huffs and walks away. You rub your face then notice the boys are still there and inhale deeply “just be careful out there alright? I’ll handle the security; you guys try to pull a win” you bring yourself to give them a soft smile and they shake your hand. Mako introduces you to Bolin “nice to meet you Bolin”

“likewise” Bolin smiles and energetically takes your hand. “do you really think keeping the match open is a bad idea?” Bolin looks over at you as you three head outside the building.

“Spirits, I hope not.” You mutter as you look down.

“well, we got a match to prepare for” Mako calls for Bolin and they wave goodbye to you as you wait by the car. You get in then notice Lin walk out the building and gets in the car. You start it and without saying anything and head to the arena to start the security sweep. “I know you and I have different opinions on tonight, if you think this is a good idea. Then I’ll follow whatever order you command, Chief.”

“it’s not like you have a choice” Lin looks at you and you smile “that’s true”

“alright well let’s start securing the perimeter. I don’t want any dark corners”

“you got it, chief”

*

The officers all search the area making sure there is nothing wired or hiding in any nook and cranny. You’re walking around the arena while the officers work on the stands. You glance up and see Lin with Tenzin, you wonder what they are talking about, but you focus back on your sweep. You catch Lin glance over at you as you walk by but don’t acknowledge it since Tenzin is right beside her.

You walk another round before walking over to Lin and Tenzin. “Councilman Tenzin, nice to see you. Chief, the area is clear. As well as outside of the arena and concession stands. Should we start letting the spectators in?” you speak in your most professional tone.

“Let them in but sweep everyone. We don’t want anything to slip in. I won’t allow anything, or anyone sneak through the cracks.” Lin orders you and you give her a salute before walking down the corridor Lin looks over her shoulder and watches you walk away then notices Tenzin looking at her.

“she’s new, saw her a couple of times at the gala then at today at the meeting.” Tenzin spoke out

“Came from Zaofu a month ago, she’s a good addition to the team, has proven herself valuable. Has a lot of experience with security.” Lin says abrasively as she puts her hand on her hip.  

“huh…Zaofu, so that means…” Tenzin slowly speaks until Lin cut’s him off “yes” she rolls her eyes when Tenzin tries to mention her sister.

“Right, well you and Officer y/n seem to be getting along nicely” Tenzin look straight as he looks over at the stands and watches the spectators starting to take their seats.

“Tenzin, let me focus on my job” Lin groans as she watches over her officers.

“come on Lin, we just said we would try to get along like old times.” Tenzin sighs as he looks at Lin

“We’re just colleagues.” Lin sneered

“Sure… I don’t see you looking at your officers like you do with her” Tenzin shrugs and raises an eyebrow.

“what are you talking about!” Lin stiffens and turns her head to him her eyes widening but tries to regain her composure. “quit your yapping or I’ll have you out. I told you we’re just colleagues. If you want to gossip. Gossip with your wife.” Lin barked out.

Tenzin sighs and stays quiet waiting for everyone to settle and the match to begin.

*

As the match starts off, you make your rounds inside and out of the arena. You come back to the stands and walk by as you can hear Tenzin’s shouting out “Oh, come on, refs! There was some funny business in that last play!” he smacks the back of his hand onto his other palm. You see Lin give him some words and he quickly changes his demeanor as if embarrassed and it causes you to laugh softly.

You hear the plays going on from the announcer and you start to realize the refs have been bribed to let the wolf-bats win. Soon you hear the announcer call a knockout “seems like the wolf-bats have won for the fourth year in a—hold on a second, folks! Scratch that. The ferrets are still alive!” you look over and see Korra and Mako barely hanging on at the edge of the ring. You watch intently on how they are going to get back on. Korra swings Mako onto the platform giving them the time to make it to round two.

Each round is getting intense with more illegal shots and plays that the refs are just not calling out for. You walk outside the stands and make sure everything is in order. Nothing catches your attention and you hear from the speakers that Korra wins the tiebreaker and gets a point for the Fire Ferrets. “well will you look at that” you mutter as you continue surveilling the area.

Round three gets even more intense as the wolf-bats get more aggressive with their shots. You walk down the corridor and see Lin and Tenzin then look up at the ring to see the wolf-bats have won the round in a knockout. You hear Tenzin screaming out nonsense about the refs not calling for the illegal headshots the wolf-bats did. It makes you laugh watching someone level-headed as Tenzin getting heated by a pro-bending match. You start walking down the steps towards them and notice something on the corner of your eye as you step down closer. You glance over at Tenzin and Lin. Tenzin has glanced over to where you just looked at. Then look back and see someone pulling something out of their popcorn container and make a run for it.

“Look out!” you yell out and push Lin out of the way, Lin falls forward, but you have your hand on her arm as you get blasted with electricity. Everything happened so fast. You scream out as you feel a million needles and an intense burning and piercing sensation going throughout your body. You hear Lin scream out too and you try your hardest to let go of her arm. She falls down knocked out by the hit, you get hit by the full shock but even the current she got caused some damage. Tenzin air punches the guy knocking him out before he gets hit from behind shocking him in his back and he gets knocked out. You and Tenzin are knocked out cold both on your back. Lin wakes up in a couple of moments, rubbing her eyes as she tries to gather what is going on. Pure chaos happening around as the spectators are running at the nearest entry to leave as the equalist make their attacks.

Lin moans out as she gets up then sees Tenzin “Tenzin!” she looks around and sees you still out cold. “y/n!” Lin hurries over and looks you over, she runs her hand up your arm then places her palm on the side of your neck, checking a pulse. It’s weak but constant. She breathes out in relief then looks over and sees Amon and his men starting to leave from the roof. She gets mad gritting her teeth, Lin looks back at you and gets up with Tenzin before a large explosion happens in the middle of the ring. That explosion seems to wake your spirits as you groan out, waking up. Lin looks over at you after covering her eyes from the blast and kneels down beside you as you start to lean up. You open your eyes and see the outline of Lin. “get him” you groan out. Lin nods, looks over and sees Korra blast from the water trying to go after Amon but doesn’t make it and Lin quickly runs off the stands and metalbends her cable and swings around the arena, grabbing Korra with her other cable and starts building momentum to launch Korra up to the roof.

You get up and started gaining control of your body, looking around assessing the damage. The fighting platform is destroyed, and the explosion caused the bottom corridors to cave in. I guess Amon and his men didn’t plan on letting the pro-benders leaving. You run over towards the ring and see Mako and Bolin in the bottom platform by the water and you metalbend your cables and go down.

“come on, hold on to me” you yell out at them they run over and grab a hold of your shoulders and you launch the three of you up to the stands. You look up at the roof and watch Lin and Korra fighting with some of the equalists. You try to escort the crowd and fight off the equalists that are still here in the arena.

You’re about to launch yourself up to the roof when an equalist comes by with their baton and electrocute you in the back. You groan out falling on your knees then grit your teeth and do a low spin kick knocking them off the edge and into the water. You hear screaming coming from the roof and look up to see Korra falling, the roof must’ve cracked under her feet. Lin launches herself from the roof to catch up to Korra and grabs her then swings them to the stands. Mako and Bolin rush over to Korra and hug her “I’m so glad you’re okay” Mako says to Korra “Me too” Bolin butted in. You and Tenzin walk up to Lin with Tenzin putting a hand on her shoulder. Lin looks over defeated and upset with herself “I can’t believe Amon did this. I played right into his hand”

“he played us all. Republic City is at war.” Tenzin speaks out and all of you look up at the roof. Wondering the future of the city. Only you look down and look over at Lin.

*

“you should get yourself checked out with a healer” Lin calls out as you get on your cycle.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, Chief” you call out back at her, you look down thinking back at the events that occurred at the arena. Putting on your helmet and about to start your bike.

“why’d you step in front of me?” Lin asked, back to that soft Lin that you rarely get to see. It’s been the first time since that time at the park. 

you took your helmet off of you as you run your hand through your hair and sigh softly “is that really a question? I saw you in danger, saving you was instinct. Rather I get hit with the brunt of the hit than see you do.” You look down not really looking at her.

“plus, what kind of officer would I be if I let the chief get harmed” you smirked

“that was reckless and stupid but... thanks y/n, seriously get yourself checked out tomorrow. That’s an order from your chief” Lin looks over at you sternly, but you see her eyes are mostly from concern. You give her a comforting smile “okay, chief, if it’ll give you some rest. I’ll get myself checked out first thing in the morning.”  If putting yourself in the line of fire was what needed for you to see that Lin still cared about you, you would do it again.

[msbluebell]

Bayleth the Unintentional Matchmaker AU While I was spending so much time carefully making sure everyone's support grew just the way I wanted, I imagined Bayleth deciding to encourage certain relationships strictly on the basis that they'll keep one another mostly out of trouble. To the point where all of their class is nicely matched up in a happy, healthy relationship. All of them. That and their relationship with Dimitri convinces everyone they know EXACTLY what they're doing. They do not.

Now, I’m not certain what pairings you want, so don’t blame me when it ends up being things I ship (also keeping it BLs for now because I’m assuming BLs only for now)

But, yes, Byleth WOULD be the person who somehow accidentally matchmaking every single one of their students, probably some co-workers, and maybe even all the cats and dogs at Garreg Mach.

In reality, Byleth is just trying to maximize the efficiency of their battle party. 

Byleth just thought that Dimitri’s tendency to throw himself at the opponent and jump in front of attacks for other people was something that needed to be addressed personally, so they often had him with them. Simple.

It just seemed like a good idea to pair up Dedue and Mercedes. Dedue was a heavy hitter that took to the front lines a lot, and while his defenses were good, he still took more damage than anyone. Mercedes, being a healer, could take care of that. And she knows enough Reason skills to follow up on Dedue’s attacks.

It’s not BYLETH’S fault that Mercedes started becoming interested in Duscan culture right after. They had no idea that she started approaching Dedue about it because she gained enough confidence to ask him after their battles together. And Byleth certainly couldn’t be reasonably expected to predict that they’d start swapping recipes. Byleth was JUST trying to keep their tank from dying.

Byleth also didn’t mean to send Felix spiraling into a bisexual crisis over two red-heads. They just had Sylvain grouped with Felix to stop him breaking formation and help take on the waves of enemies the swordsman seemed to attracted, and Annette was there to back them up with more long ranged attacks. Byleth had NO reason to think that Felix liked red-heads. Byleth also could not be expected to calculate that Felix has a thing for singers and would catch Annette singing. Any crisis he’s having about the two of them is self-inflicted. 

And it just seemed like a good idea to have Ashe backing up Ingrid’s attacks. She can focus on ground troops while Ashe snipes other archers. It makes sense and increases their effectiveness. Byleth knew they both loved knights, of course, and they suspected the two would get along well, but that was good for teamwork and would just motivate them to take care of each other. Byleth had no reason to suspect they would end up discussing their dreams to such an extent and that they would end up finding comfort and renewed determination to succeed in their dreams after the world tried to beat them down so much.

Listen, Byleth really had NO intention of somehow accidentally setting up every person in their class together. It just so happens that they all have compatible personalities and skills. 

Catherine, however, does not believe this at all, “Sorry professor, but that’d be easier to believe if Dimitri didn’t look at you like you hung the moon in the sky.”

Byleth assures them that they did NOT do that on purpose either. There were various, unforeseen, outside circumstances that lead to their relationship. Things just ended up working out that way. 

“I don’t believe you.” Manuela places down her tea. It’s just the three of them right now, because Manuela wants Byleth’s “Matchmaking prowess” and Catherine wants to know HOW this all happened. “You’re too smart to NOT realize what you’ve been doing. Just admit it professor, you’ve had this all planed out from the start, didn’t you?”

Byleth assures them, again, that there was nothing intentional. They simply wanted the most effective fighting force possible while also improving whatever from whatever weaknesses they suffered. Any romantic tension that subsequently came from their formations was PURELY of the students own volition and nothing to do with their teacher.

“That is a bold faced lie.” Manuela accuses, “There is simply no way this could all have been an accident. Your entire former class is now made up of happy, health, loving and thriving couples and I’ll not stand for your excuses! You need to help me! I thought we were best friends professor!”

Byleth can only despair as Manuela insists they help her find a husband.

[of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog]

Snippets In Time

Commission for the great @auspiciousagape! I hope I did your characters justice! Commission info is here!

~

The only sounds in the library were the rustle of book pages, the scratch of a pen on paper, and the faint hum of the heating vents.

Marcus, ruler of Antartets, was hiding from his master of ceremonies under the pretext of studying the books of diplomacy he hadn’t gotten to before being crowned. In reality, he was taking notes from a book on chemistry assigned by his tutor about a year ago. He was very aware that this was not something most rulers concerned themselves with. But he was determined to learn anyway.

His ears twitched upright, and he paused writing to listen closely, tail moving in slow, uneasy lashes. No, the footsteps outside the library continued on; not someone intent on disturbing him, then. He sighed quietly, relaxed a little, and got on with his work.

It was hard to work when he was so tense, and also just hated the subject material. But this was good practice, for if he ever had to talk to a chemist and know what the hell they were going on about, or take notes of things like military reports. There were currently no reports he couldn’t leave to his generals and spymaster, and then get the gist of later, but what if something really bad did come up?

He was worrying too much about different things. He had to focus.

If Rosaline were here, she could help him study…

No.

Marcus’s grip on his pen tightened so hard the stylus creaked, and he clenched his teeth. No. He would not think of her right now. Focus on molecules, Marcus.

But then he turned a page, and saw a piece of paper, flattened by the weight of the pages. He picked it up, frowning, and turned it over to read it.

Marcus!

I hope you haven’t given up taking proper notes in this dry tome. If you want some help, there’s a book in the section for when we were kids that has really good explanations; it helped me a lot, it might help you. If you’re doing fine with the note-taking, good! I’m so proud of you, Marcus! Love, Rose

The paper was very old. Probably several years.

Marcus stared at the paper, and considered ripping it to pieces and throwing it in the trash. But… this was the first note he’d found from her in about a year. They used to leave notes in books for each other all the time. Her cruel words rang in his head—had they been cruel? The more time passed, the more uncertain he became. But he’d cut contact already, there was no going back. And even if she hadn’t meant to hurt him, she still had. Surely that counted as something he had a right to be angry about.

His lip trembled, but he bit it, hard. No, it had been for the best. He shouldn’t worry about this right now. He was fine.

He stood up, his intention being to throw the note in the trash—but instead, he found himself walking to the section of children’s learning-books, and kneeling down to look at the ones on the bottom shelf. His ears flattened as he realized that Rosaline’s note was right; there was a children’s book on chemistry. He tucked the note in his jacket and opened the book.

Again, Rosaline was correct. This was much more accessible; a bit simple, but simple was good when he needed to rest his brain. He took the book back to the desk and read it, and took notes, and compared the information to the bigger, wordier, drier book. He carefully did not dwell on this piece of Rosaline that had survived so long, just to reach forward and help him gently.

Of course, he had to stop eventually, if only because his upper body ached from being hunched over writing. He  stretched carefully, yawning widely, and closed his books, setting aside his journal as he capped his pen. Time for more royal work. He grimaced, but there was really no help for it.

As he stood, the front of his jacket crinkled, reminding him that he still had Rosaline’s note. Should he throw it away? It was just making him feel guilty. But would destroying it be selfish?

Okay, yes. He missed her.

Marcus scrubbed his eyes on the back of his hand. Damn it. All this work to keep up his father’s legacy and he still had bouts of misery over an old friend. If only he could forget without resorting to highly illegal but highly effective magic.

“Marcus? You in here?”

He hastily plastered on a fake smile and turned to see his friend Jayson padding towards him, ears and tail alert. “Hello,” Marcus said with false cheer. “What brings you here?”

“Just checking on you,” Jayson replied blithely, but there was the faintest look of worry on his face. “Are you alright?”

Marcus really wished Jayson didn’t know him so well, or that he wasn’t so bad at hiding his feelings. “I’m fine, Jayson, truly. Just… tired from notes-taking.”

“Mm-hm,” Jayson replied skeptically, then came forward more to put his hand on Marcus’s arm. “Come on, the master of ceremonies was being dramatic about how he’ll die of apoplexy if you don’t show up and let him tell you his glorious plans for the next banquet.”

Marcus made a face and Jayson grinned. “I hate that fusspot,” Marcus muttered. “Can’t I just get on with ruling and someone else can do the socializing?”

“Socializing is part of ruling, you know that,” Jayson told him, and tucked his arm through Marcus’s elbow. As usual, Marcus had to swallow hard to force down the butterflies in his stomach. Jayson was very free with affectionate touch with Marcus, which usually made other people frown, but Marcus… well, he liked it. For some odd reason that he didn’t like looking too closely at.

Jayson led him out of the library, but when they reached the hall, they separated; reluctantly, Marcus thought. Then Jayson smiled and said, “Come on, let’s go make that fusspot quiet down. He’s driving everyone else up the wall too.”

“Fine,” Marcus sighed, and resigned himself to his fate as a captive of the master of ceremonies.

~

He only remembered the note when he was undressing for bed.

He had asked to do his own undressing—well, he’d ordered it. His footmen had been surprised, but left him to it. And therefore none of them saw the way his face crumpled and his body tensed and his ears flattened. He just… wanted to see Rosaline again. Say sorry. Ask for clarification.

But he also really didn’t want to, not just because of shame, but the lingering, burning anger that hissed in the back of his mind that he didn’t need her, he didn’t need that kind of casual insults to his own father, when said father was dead and unable to defend himself. It was wrong of her to say she was glad of his death.

Marcus wiped his eyes on his sleeve, set his chin stubbornly, and got ready for bed.

And then he tucked the note in the drawer of his nightstand, and turned on his side away from it, and pretended it wasn’t there.

~

Jayson was working the next day, but Marcus had a free few hours, so he slipped away from the palace and headed to the House of Healing where Jayson worked. He wouldn’t distract his friend—just watch. Jayson was a joy to watch, so calm with his patients, with that little frown when he was concentrating, his eyes gleaming just so in the sunlight that came from the multitude of windows… Marcus shook his head and kept jogging through the streets of the capital until he reached the House. Silly thoughts.

The House was quiet when he got there; many patients were sleeping, and the Healer at the desk greeted Marcus softly, with a genuine smile.

“Jayson is just finishing his rounds,” she told him. “I’ll let him know you’re here, though.”

Marcus nodded and said “Thank you!” and sat down in the waiting room. Houses of Healing were almost like hospitals, but much… softer. There was magic here, to calm patients, to soothe, to help medicines and Healing take better. And they certainly didn’t look like hospitals, or smell like them. Marcus very much preferred the gentle touch of a Healer and their noxious but effective teas, over a doctor or nurse and their injections. It wasn’t distrust of science, just preference for something that felt safer.

And he preferred Jayson’s touch and his teas over any other Healer.

Marcus kicked his feet a little and fingered the buttons of his jacket nervously. He’d come here to visit, but also to ask Jayson’s opinion. So he should probably stop lingering over memories of Jayson’s soft hands and start thinking of what to say.

It wasn’t long before Jayson ducked into the waiting room, looking around alertly; Marcus jumped up, and Jayson spotted him, and grinned. They met halfway across the space between them, and Jayson offered, “It’s a bit snoozy today, do you want to go out in the garden to talk?”

“Yeah!”

The garden was beautiful. A large expanse of wandering paths, many benches, spaces for wheelchair-users to sit in sun or shade as they preferred, and lots of beautiful flowers and trees. There were a few children racing each other and laughing; one had an oxygen mask and tank, and the others often slowed to make sure she was alright and keeping up. Marcus smiled at them, then remembered why he was here.

“Let’s sit in the shade,” Jayson suggested, his ears twitching. “I was dealing with a patient with a fever and we had to heat the room. I’m a bit over all this sunlight right now.”

“Fair enough,” Marcus replied, and they wandered to the first shady spot they could get.

Jayson sighed gratefully as he flopped down on a bench, stretching his arms along the back. Marcus sat just a little bit closer than custom dictated. There was no one to see, after all.

“I really hope that patient gets better soon,” Jayson commented, frowning worriedly. “He’s had a fever for three days, and nothing has been able to break it. We’ll have to use the more powerful magic, but he’s already delicate.”

“Why didn’t you use magic in the first place?” Marcus asked, surprised.

“Because it was in his papers that he wished for magic to be the last resort.” Jayson rubbed the side of his head, wincing. He probably had a killer headache. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, though. He was getting better, that’s why it was safe to leave him. Maybe he’s not as delicate as we feared.” Then he shook his head and smiled at Marcus. “Sorry, I know you didn’t come here to hear me complain. Is everything alright?”

Marcus shrugged. “Yes, but… well, I would like your input with a small matter.”

The smile vanished, and Jayson sat up straighter. “Marcus, you’re only that formal when something’s wrong. Are you okay?”

Marcus felt a rush of warmth that Jayson was worried, and a tightening of shame in his gut. Wordlessly, he took out some of the book-notes he’d been collecting, and held them out to Jayson. The Healer took them and read them quickly, beginning to frown. Marcus just looked at him while he did.

Jayson was handsome. That was just a fact. Marcus had heard others their age saying that his fangs were too sharp, or that his ears were too horsey, or that you could never trust a cat with a face so sly. But that was, in Marcus’s opinion, bullshit. Even just his eyes, golden as honey and gleaming in the sun, were enough to make up for any of these so-called “cons”.

And sweet. Jayson was sweet, too. Kind and gentle and cheerful. Marcus could spend hours waxing rhapsodic about Jayson.

Which was a little frightening.

Finally, Jayson looked up. “Rose,” he said, “Rosaline?”

Marcus nodded.

“How old are these?”

“A few years,” Marcus answered quietly. “I just… don’t know how to feel about them.”

Jayson’s face softened, and he put his hand gently on Marcus’s forearm. Marcus only then realized that his fists were clenched tightly.

“It’s alright to be confused,” Jayson replied. “You were friends for a while, and now you’re not. It’s normal to not know how to feel about that.”

“I’m angry, Jayson,” Marcus whispered, staring at his fists. “I’m so angry, but… I miss her, too. She was my best friend. And I drove her away.”

Jayson let go of his arm, but only to wrap his own around Marcus and pull him closer, into a firm hug. Marcus let him, feeling… safe.

“I can see that,” Jayson murmured. “It’s not every day that kind of thing happens.” He hesitated, then asked gently, “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Marcus shook his head. He was too ashamed.

“Alright.”

They sat there silently for a few minutes, watching the breeze ruffle the small pond across from them. Marcus finally relaxed, his ear pressed to Jayson’s shoulder, listening to his heartbeat. It was soothing, as was the warm arm around him, telling him he was safe and it was going to be okay. The faint scent of herbs and sweat drifted off of Jayson.

Marcus never wanted this moment to end.

And that, of course, was what made his half-closed eyes fly wide open, and stiffen his entire body. Oh. Oh no. Oh no.

“Marcus? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” he replied automatically, beginning to tremble, his face turning red. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Jayson asked, “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“I’m fine.”

Jayson shushed him softly and let go. “Alright. Okay. Do you want to go back? I can walk with you—”

“No, it’s fine.” Marcus snatched the papers and jumped to his feet, trying not to meet Jayson’s worried eyes. “I’ll walk back on my own, it’ll be okay, promise.”

Jayson stood too. “Alright. If you want to talk about it some more, I have noon free all week.”

“I’ll remember that,” Marcus replied, and scurried away.

By the time he was halfway to the palace, he’d calmed down, and decided that the best course of action was to stifle this… crush. It would go away. It had to. He’d spent too long on this friendship for a crush to add complications.

What if it was more than a crush? What if it was actually, really—

No. Marcus shook his head firmly. It was just a crush. And he would push it away.

[littlesweetchurro]

New to heroes Pt 2

After a month, Xochi tried again, but this time with a small paper cut on her lap. She noticed that she wasn’t healing. Then she ran up to her brother and cut him with the paper “What the fuck is your problem hair ball!” 

“Shut it, I want to practice using my quirk” 

Xochi’s brother didn’t say anything because he had seen how much this meant to her. He saw the day she accidentally killed the dove. He saw his little sister feel like the most distinguishing vile thing to walk the earth. He knew he had to be careful with what he said to her, he didn’t show it but he loved her and he didn’t want his words to hurt her. He knew the power words had over a person, a philosophy that all his family followed.

“Ugh-- fine,but make it quick, I have a date” He said.

So Xochi looked at the small cut on her brother’s arm, the small tinkling of blood, almost inspired her to make sure her brother stayed as handsome as he was. With a deep breath, she brought her hands up to her brother’s skin and let out a diamond colored light. The light was almost holographic, but in that second, her brother’s cut was gone. Both of their golden eyes were open in astonishment, the cut was really gone. “Not bad, hair ball” he said, but they both knew that he was proud of her.  

This is how Xochi began to progress, she would spend months working on paper cuts. Then after getting a handle on how much energy she needed to use and thinking of what she was healing, her quirk began to bloom. She realized that she needed to know how much energy to use and to do that she needed to heal, she needed to recall her mother’s anatomy lessons. Instead of reading story books or watching TV, she would lose herself in medical textbooks. 

One of the few things she enjoyed doing with her brother was exercising. She found out that after she started running with him, she was able to use her quirk longer and the light was usually lighter. (The lighter the color the more effective it is). “ Get lost fur ball, you are so annoying” he would say to her as he slowed his pace so she could keep up with him. 

“Fuck, why are you always following me around, go read a book, you nerd” - brother

“ Yeah, yeah, so where are we going?” -Xochi

“That’s none of your fucken business, now get lost” said his brother as they stopped at the local health center. “Hair ball, go and ask about the gymnastic classes” 

“HUH?! I don’t think splandex looks good on you and your big ego”

“Shut the fuck up and go ask” Xochi just kept looking at her brother, she thought he had a screw loose since his quirk is X-ray vision like dad’s except he is able to amplify his vision rage. Curiosity got the best of her, her brother always had a foul mouth,but today he was extra pissy--which meant he was nervous. Xochi opened the door, and in that instant she saw her. A beautiful girl with short purple hair. She had such an amazing smile, she seemed so nice. But then she realized why her brother was nervous, this girl had an amazing body. She was tall and well-built. She was wearing a tank with some spandex shorts that showed her toned muscles. 

Now it made sense why her brother was suddenly interested in gymnastics. 

“ Well, like you said I should go home and read that book, since you know I am such a nerd”- Xochi

“Where the fuck do you think you are going, I told you to go ask about the classes, and be sure to bring back a flyer”

“HAHA, oh yeah, what do I get out of it?” she asked with a smirk on her face

“ I swear hair ball if you don’t go and ask I am going to---”

“Going to what, huh, big guy, oh yeah I am so scared of you and your threats when you can’t even go talk to a girl” Xochi waved her hands in the air in a mocking way. 

“ Fine,  what do you want?”

A triumph smile decorated Xochi’s face.

“ I want you to pay for my gymnastic classes”

“The fuck you mean--- I ain’t paying for your stupid classes”

With that said Xochi started to walk away, when she felt a tug on her arm, “Fine hair ball, just go and get her info” 

“That’s what I thought, Mr. ‘I am going to-’, pshh take your empty threats elsewhere”

With that said, Xochi walked into the community center and ever since then she’s been in love with gymnastics. 

 Like her older brother Xochi displayed exceptional memory, although with her she could remember a great amount of information using musical mnemonic devices.  For example when her mother was teaching her the names of the bones of the wrist Xochi would sing “Sally Left The Party To Take Cathy Home”.That way she was able to remember the eight bones very quickly. She loved to listen to music dance along while trying to remember all the bones of the body. At some point she even made a silly dance to help her remember the leg bones. It look like a weird version of a shamee. 

Since they lived in a small coastal town, no one questioned when the couple wanted to home-school their daughter. With their eldest going to University, the three of them focused much of their time finishing Xochi’s education. With exceptional memory and the time spent educating her, she was finished with her high school education by the time she was 15. Her father thought it would be a good idea to get her started with her university education. Since Xochi knew she wanted to be a doctor, she enrolled in the medical program. To her surprise she had already learned most of the material they taught in the introduction courses. Her father was able to pull some strings so she could take an exam that would demonstrate where she was academically. After the results came back, they placed her in her third year of undergraduate degree.  

Living with her family in a small town was an adventure. Although she spent most of her time studying, Xochi loved having fun. She had a very adventurous spirit, unlike her parents who liked to stay home. She loved to experience life. So when she had time the young girl would bargain with her neighbors.

“ If you teach me how to ride a motorcycle, I’ll get rid of your skin rash” she negotiated with her biker neighbor.

“ Pshh-- fine” he said without putting up a fight. Although they both knew that she was going to heal that nasty rash either way. And like that Xochi was able to learn all kinds of things, from driving to singing.

The next year flew by, Xochi was able to complete her bachelor’s when she was 16.

 As she prepared to enter her master’s program, her parents told her it would be a good idea to spend some time with her grandma in the mountains. Xochi was thrilled with the idea. She loved her grandma, and she was always open to the idea of learning something new. 

Xochi’s grandma was a well-known herbalist, using her quirk she was able to identify the property of plants and flowers. Using her knowledge of chi channels, she was able to cure most ailments. The townsfolk from around the town where Xochi lived and the villagers from her grandma’s village all agreed that it would be best to keep the women’s abilities secret. You sorta needed to know someone to get in, kinda thing. Xochi thought how it was kinda like a secret society (think White Lotus from Avatar) where exclusivity and privacy were most honored. The locals knew that if others were to know of their abilities, it wouldn’t take too long for ill-willed people to come look for the healers.

The next month Xochi set out to live with her grandmother. The way there was arduous, but it may have been due to the fact the Xochi had zero map awareness. She was not only clumsy, she was easily distracted and got lost frequently. Once her brother had to go look for her in town because she got lost. If it hadn’t been for the nice older gentleman, she would have been bear food by now. Once they got to the secluded village, Xochi thought she would be living with her grandmother, but to her surprise she had her own European-looking cottage. Looking around she noticed how out of style everything was. Her cottage looked like it belonged in Italy, not in the middle of nowhere in Mexico. The whole village had a…. Unique style. Everything was uncoordinated, with unique shaped buildings and odd pairings of colors. She thought she had stepped in a Dr. Seus book. Apparently there was a man whose quirk let him build anything he imagined (as long as he had the materials). 

As her life began to settle down, she appreciated how calm everything was. The life here was more quiet, not that it was loud in her town, but here everything seemed to move slower. She studied under her grandmother. Her grandmother was her inspiration, she thought all the good this woman has done for so many people only using plants and flowers. Xochi never really thought much about herbology. Her focus was on medicine, it wasn’t until she saw her grandmother heal a man’s pulmonary embolism (a condition in which one or more arteries in the lungs become blocked by a blood clot) by using a combination of turmeric and ginger to help act as blood thinners which help break up the clog. Then applying pressure to the femoral vein in the infraction of the lung. Xochi’s world opened up, she realized how much she needed to learn. She burnt up the midnight oil learning about plants and herbs. She learned that by applying a little of her energy to the herbal medicines or teas, it seems to increase their efficiency and potency.

 The most nerve racking part was treating patients. At first she was nervous, but she remembered what her mother had said and she found a new confidence in herself. One by one she started to treat patients with all sorts of ailments. Her confidence began to skyrocket, she naively thought she was ready for anything. It wasn’t until she met a little girl that had a congenital heart problem. Xochi knew she wouldn’t be able to cure the child, but she could try to ease her pain by blocking the nerves around the heart.  Everyday she would spend around an hour in the morning and afternoon trying to ease the little girl’s pain. She would place her hands at the back and front of her chest and send a miniscule amount of energy to the nerves.

Having more experience with her quirk, she was now able to use it as a form of an echocardiogram. She could tell that the heart was chronically damaged and she wouldn’t simply be able to use her quirk to go in and fix the damaged tissue. For her quirk to work she needed at least some healthy tissue. It was useless to use her quirk on something that could not regenerate itself naturally. She thought of her quirk as cell restoration, she in a way helps cells restore or build themselves with the use of her energy. She sat in her chair going through all her medical books, thinking of a way to help this little girl. But alas she found nothing, at least not without a hospital and a cardiologist. The longer she wrapped her head around it the more she thought that she needed to push herself. “ I can’t completely heal the heart, but if I am at least able to heal the aortic valve, the left ventricle should have more blood flow”. With that in mind, she made a plan, she set out everything she needed. She gathered the plants that would help the little girl relax. Xochi had also learned how to block the nerve signals from the body to the brain-- a sort of anesthesia. With that she practiced over and over how to block the nerves with one hand. Now that she had mastered it, she was ready. She would block the nerve signals with her left hand while her right hand would go in to fix the valve. One of the ways she had learned to use her quirk was projecting her quirk on her finger tips, making them look like spiderwebs shooting out of her finger tips. She was able go directly into the organ without having to cut the patient. Doing this was extremely exhausting, it drained her energy so quickly, so she had to work fast.  When the day came, everything was going according to plan, she was right on schedule. As she began to relax one of the arteries in the valve erupted, causing the blood to block the passage to other parts of the heart. Already exhausted Xochi had to find the bleeding artery and cauterized it as soon as possible. Her breathing became intermittent, she felt herself drained. She kept trying to find the artery, but then she felt a hard strong grip on her shoulder. It was her grandmother. She ignored her and kept looking for the artery, now there was blood everywhere, making it harder for her to see. Sweat was dripping off her by liters, she started to lose sensation in her legs and her finger tips. Then she was yanked off the lifeless body of the little girl. She couldn’t register what had happened. She knew the girl had died, and there it was,  feeling like a monster. 

The next few days Xochi kept going over and over what had happened, she still couldn’t process it. The more she thought about it the more she felt like a monster. Once again her quirk had killed. Nothing passed through her mind except that. Days turned into weeks, she didn’t leave her cottage, she wouldn’t eat. The life in her eyes was gone. Every time she closed her eyes she could see the little girl smiling and laughing, thanking her for making her better. The sound of her thanks resonated in her head like a heavy drum. “ She thank me for saving her and I killed her”. It wasn’t until one sunny afternoon she heard a knock at her door, she had learned that if she ignored them, they would go away. “Who wants to be with a monster?”, I am only going to hurt them”. The knocking did stop “thank god she thought”, looking at the ceiling she didn’t realize someone had opened her door. She left herself being pulled into a hug. It was the little girl’s mother. Xochi couldn’t believe it, to the point that her mind went blank “MONSTER, MONSTER”. Then she felt a soft hand on her cheek, with a broken voice the mother said “ Thank you, you don’t know how happy you made us” without sound Xochi opened her mouth to say “What?”. Her heart felt like it was going to break, but the mother continued “for the last weeks that Lucia was with you, she was able to smile more. We knew she didn’t have long, that’s why we decided to go through with the procedure. No offense, you are so young and talented, but you aren’t God. There is a man where we live that has the ability to see a person’s lifespan. He is old and he says he is never wrong. He told us when Lucia would die. So we came to this village looking for you, because we thought it would give Lucia a pain-free ending, we never intended for you to save. It was selfish of us. We just wanted Lucia to be a kid again. And you gave her that.” Xochi leaned against her chair, speechless. She couldn’t process what was happening. “... You are thanking me, but I...I….”. With a kiss on her forehead, she parted ways. A kiss on the forehead meant a way to say thank you, I hope you stay safe and find happiness. The mother’s words kept sounding on Xochi’s head. She layed down, hugged her pillow and cried herself to sleep. As she was sleeping she remembered her mother’s words “with great power comes great responsibility”. When she woke up she touched the spot where the mother had kissed her. When her fingertips touched her skin, she felt like the anchor was cut off and she was finally able to swim.

This tragedy was the most important moment in Xochi’s life. She learned that her quirk could heal, but you can’t fix something that is not meant to be fixed. It was not only her stamina and energy she had to consider, but also her patients. There was something as too much. She realized that the moment she pushed a little extra on the aorta, it was too much for the little girl’s body. By putting extra energy into a body that is not used to it or has undergone trauma you can offset other things. That’s why the artery burst, the extra energy from her quirk was too much. She also learned that you cannot save every person. She learned that hard truth that every doctor has to face at some point in their lives. She also learned that she needed to learn how to cope with loss. As she was getting ready for the day, she heard a knock… on her ceiling. As she stepped out she was a raven with a letter. It took her a second to process “Ahh that’s right, the old man’s quirk lets him send messenger ravens” As she bent her arm so the raven could rest and she could retrieve the message, she smelled sterilizer “mother”. She undid the note attached to the raven’s black. The note read: “ I heard what happened from your grandma, and oh my sweet daughter how I wish I could give you a hug, but I can’t. To lose patients is the life of a doctor, although it is hard you must learn to look and move forward. Every health physician goes through what you are feeling, a feeling of inadequacy of failure. Remember mija, to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived; this is to have succeeded. You may have not saved her life, but you made her last moments pain-free. I will not tell you to forget about it, you should always remember this feeling. Make this a learning experience and become stronger from it. I love you, take care”. Xicho took her mother’s words to heart, from that day on she learned to be more careful  and she learned the fragility of caring for someone. 

A couple of weeks later Xochi went to visit her parents. She loved to hike, but god damn how she hated using maps, so she didn’t. She practically had to beg one of the elders to escort her down the mountain. She felt so nostalgic, she felt like everything was a little more vivid. She took in her parent’s faces, the small crevices that time was leaving. She ran up to them, hugged them and gave them a kiss on the cheek. Ever since Lucia’s passing, Xochi was more appreciative of what she had. She wanted to hug everyone she knew. She enjoyed the physical contact of hug. After Lucia’s mother hugged her, she realized that a hug can really change someone’s day. Every since then she would greet people with a hug (which was the norm where she lived), but she never let go first. This made for some long hugs, but she realized it was because they needed a hug. And hey, who can say no to a nice warm hug. After hugging her parents for what seemed for hours, they let go of her.

Her father said” Honey, we heard tales of  an elder woman that has a quirk similar to yours”

Xochi’s face grew so bright you could swear that was her quirk, human lightbulb.

“No way?! Really where is she? Can I meet her?”

“Mmm no that’s the thing, she isn’t easy to track down. She is always on the move and doesn’t leave much of a trail. The only proof we have of her is the people who she has helped” said her mother.

“ Fuck-- well then how does that help me?” Xochi asked.

Her father grunted in clear disapproval of her foul language. “ Well there is an organization called the White Lotus that works with her, for her, I am not sure. The point is that they are the ones that lead you to her. Similarly to how your grandmother meets people”

“ Again, okay, that’s nice, but how do I meet her?”

Her mother let out a sigh “ The White Lotus contacted us a few months back, apparently, Medusa, the healer woman wants to take you under her wing. Again your grandmother has very strange connections. She told this Medusa woman of your quirk and she became interested in teaching you”

“ NO fu--- way, that’s great, so when is she coming? Am I going to her? That’s so cool someone with a quirk like mine can help me!”

“Thank you for not cussing, but that’s the thing she said you would have to wait 2 years to train under her. Apparently she is under surveillance or what not from villains. Listen me and your mother know that this is very dangerous, but we also understand that this could really be a great opportunity for you”

“ So I have to wait 2 years, it doesn’t seem too bad, then I could go back to school and officially become a surgeon!”

“Did you purposely ignore the fact that she is being chased by villains”

Xochi stood with her hands in her hips “ Well I better learn to kick ass too”

After a long discussion, they decided that it would be best for Xochi to study under someone that understood her quirk, knowing that it had great potential. With that set, they went to bed.

Xochi tried not to think too much about it since a lot could happen in two years. A week later she set out to the mountains.

Xochi eyes slowly opened as she became irritated by the warm yet bright sunshine hitting her eyes. Waking up was by far the worst part of her day. She missed the soft feel of her pillow against her face. The warm cocoon of blankets she built over night had to be disassembled. Fully awake, staring at the ceiling she pondered if she could just stay in bed all day. That’s when she heard her abuela yell “¡A darle que es mole de olla!” She was never a particularly big fan of her grandma’s idioms. She whispered to herself, “yeah yeah, there’s always a lot of work that needs to be done right away” as she rolled her eyes to no one in particular. 

With a sad goodbye she told her bed “I’ll be back, don’t you worry”. Thinking of being back in bed gave her that extra bit of motivation to get dressed. She always wore simple clothes. Since she worked with dirt all day it made sense to wear earthy- tones. She wore brown pants, they were easy and flexible to move in. She wore a hooded cloak that protected her against the sun. She had to wear wrist braces because pulling those damn Mandrakes was a bitch. Her boots were made of leather, everyone in town had the same pair. They were the one thing in town everyone had in common. Those damn ugly boots were the equivalent of “a little black dress”. 

As she finally set out to get dressed, she stared into the mirror. She had olive-brown skin with large golden-amber eyes. Her eyes regularly reminded her of those scorpion necklaces that tourists always like to buy on their first visit to Mexico. As she looked upon her naked body she saw that she had gained a little more weight, but she didn’t really care. She had a pretty nice hour-glass figure. She wasn’t all skin and bones. Since she worked out, either mountain climbing, running or practicing gymnastics, she had built some muscle on her. She knew that with her quirk she needed to have stamina, so working out became a part of her life. She loved the way she felt after a hard workout. Her family always taught her to be proud of her body. Body-shaming wasn’t really a thing, so she never thought much of her figure. Her parents were pretty liberal when she was growing up. They would tell her that whatever her body was, it was perfect. Because her parents were so open-minded they also talked freely about sex and sexuality. Xochi grew up completely confident in her image and her sexuality. Sex unfortunately had been on hold, as old men weren’t her thing. She found that to relieve her sexual tension, she would just have to work out a little harder.

She had thick-black eyelashes that made her eye color stand out even more. She had plump lips with a naturally pink hue. Then came her hair, it was wild, at times she thought the thing had its own will power. She had thick-wavy hair that swept to her waist. “ To comb or not to comb, that is the question” she squinted at her hair, pounting. With a swift motion of her hand she put the comb away and grabbed her hair band. She put her hair in a messy lower bun. Slathering sunscreen all over her face, she was ready to start her day. 

As she stepped away from her cottage she was greeted with the delicious smell of coffee and bread. Growing up her family had instilled in her the belief that you couldn’t start the day without coffee and bread. As she joined the older villages at the communal table, she noticed a new face. A very short- light skinned woman with a gray bun. She wore a simple blue dress with a pink shawl over her shoulders. She had deep set smile lines that gave her a sense of warmth and welcomeness. Seeing new faces wasn’t a commodity for Xochi, given that with her quirk nearby villagers always sought her out for help. However this nice-looking lady was definitely not from around here. As she sat at the table, she kept feeling like this lady was staring at her as she dunked her bread in her coffee.So Xochi starred back and offered her coffee soaked bread to the old woman, which made the old lady laugh. She then proceeded to introduce herself. 

“ Hello young lady, my name is Chiyo Shuzenji. I am an old friend of your grandma’s” She said in Spanish.  

 “ I am Xochiquetzal de la Luna, nice to meet you”, which she returned with a kind smile. Xochi was honestly not surprised that her grandmother had a Japanese friend, when she was younger she travelled all around learning about different plants from different countries. Which is why she was so insistent on her dad learning multiple languages. Which then caused a rippled effect, her dad made her and her brother study English, Japanese, Aztec and of coarse Spanish. They were a multi-language family. Most of the time they either spoke Spanish or English. Xochi thought about her rusty, never used Japanese and Aztec. She was brought back to earth from her thoughts, when her grandmother spoke in Japanese “ You see, Chiyo here is a pro-hero with a healing quirk. Most of the time she stays in Japan, however there are times like these that she travels around the world, helping others”. Xochi tried to recall her Japanese lessons, listening was easier than speaking it, and writing and reading  were almost impossible. She knew heroes existed, but she never paid much attention to any of them. Since her town was so peaceful, crime was never really a problem. Of course she knew that being a hero was a job, but again it didn’t really seem to interest her. She was more focused on healing others, or really anything else, just not heroes. 

“That’s nice” was all she could say.

“ My pro-hero name is Recovery Girl, I help heroes when they get hurt fighting villains” RG

“ How does your healing quirk work?” asked Xochi.

“ Well, you see I can accelerate the natural healing process with a kiss. The thing is that I am able to control how much healing they receive, in order to prevent them from feeling fatigue. From what your grandmother has told me, your quirk can heal as well. But you see with my quirk, it is dependent on the life energy of the recipient. The literal opposite of yours. Mary (Xochi’s grandmother) has also told me that your quirk has great potential, you just need a little more experience.”

Xochi just nods her head, unsure of what to say, unsure of where this is going. She is intrigued by the fact that Ms. Shuzenji can control the amount of healing she can do.

Recovery Girl goes on “ Mary also told me that you have already finished your BS, that’s quite the feat for someone so young. She also told me that you been an excellent student and have already mastered the herbology and treated a few of your own patients”

“ I am not sure where you are going with this lady, I would rather you just get to the point” Xochi said impatiently.

Recovery Girl laughed, “ I see you're as impatient as Mary. Yes, let’s get to the point. I want you to come to Japan with me and work for me” As soon as she said that Xochi began to interrupt “oh thank you, but you see---” 

“Oh yes Medusa, I know she is going to train you in two years. I actually think that’s a wonderful idea, her quirk is very similar to yours, I really do think she will be able to help you. But in the mean time, why don’t you come with me. You could also enroll in a University to help you with your studies”

“Well first of all, I am starting to think you guys are all in some secret illuminati society, since you all know each other, but yet no one seems to know about you. And second when do we leave?”

[imagine-loki]

Gifted

TITLE: Gifted (Sequel to Giftless)

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 9/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: 

Imagine that you are Stark’s niece and you secretly share a strong relationship with Loki since he entered the crew. One day you get hurt so bad during a mission that you are about to die.  Loki knows a spell that will save you and share his immortality with you but you and he will be linked forever sharing thoughts, pain, emotions…

RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS:  Also on AO3 click here

It took way too long to wash all of the blood and dirt and grime off of you and out of your hair. You wondered how on Earth you had gunk in your hair, but it was there and it was disgusting. And it was better not to ask.  So you took your time making sure you got all of it out. 

You may have also been procrastinating the lecture from Tony.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror when you finally got out of the shower and indeterminate amount of time later. You looked like hell and were going to have to ask Loki to heal some of this bruising.  Otherwise, you weren’t going to be able to move soon. You sighed and threw on a tank top and pajama pants. They were easy to put on and you were spending the afternoon and evening in the tower anyway. Maybe you’d sneak out after Tony’s lecture to watch the rest of the filming with the crew, but otherwise you weren’t leaving.

You padded across the hall when you were dressed to go find Loki, since he wasn’t waiting in your bedroom or sittingroom where you had expected him to be. It was strange.  You were so used to him being constantly around.  He’d been on guard duty so often when you didn’t have powers. 

It was so strange, in fact, that you drew a dagger on your walk across the hall, afraid something was wrong.

Tony was in Loki’s suite with him. That was definitely wrong.  You heard their voices from outside Loki’s door. Loki was giving Tony a report on what had happened earlier and they actually sounded calm for once.  You didn’t believe that was right.  

You slipped into the room without trouble as Loki’s shields always recognized you with no hesitation. You didn’t even think they bothered to alert him anymore if it was just you. You sheathed your dagger again, now that you didn’t need to worry about Loki. You padded silently into the room and walked straight over to Loki on his couch. Tony looked away from his conversation and gasped when he saw you. Loki smiled up at you, though his expression dropped when he saw you too.  

“It looks worse than it is,” you tried to sound reassuring, but your voice just sounded tired. Your energy rush from that morning when you had a full-night’s sleep was long gone, and the adrenaline from the emergency had gone with it. “I could use a bit of help with the nasty bruise on me ribs, though,” you offered the peace offering to Loki.  

“Let me see,” he commanded gently. You weren’t offended by his tone and lifted your shirt to just below your breasts so your ribs were visible. It was still high enough to make Tony growl.

“Tony…” your voice held a warning tone. Loki’s cold hand glowed green when he held it against the bruise and you practically sighed in relief as the pain ebbed. The swelling vanished and the bruise’s dark purple color went with it. You lowered your shirt again when he was done. “Thank you,” you said warmly, grateful for the help.

“Let me see that arm.” He was stuck in healer mode so you let him get on with it without fighting him. Besides, the arm hurt from where you landed on it. It was healed just as quickly. 

When he was done, you curled up next to him and listened to him give his report, laying your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes. They could deal with the boring report stuff without your attention.

“Tony, can you do your lecture at me while I’m napping?” you asked him tiredly.

“I lectured your boyfriend instead. It was way more enjoyable than lecturing you when you’re not conscious,” Tony replied and you could hear the  smile in his voice.

“You just don’t like him,” you murmured.

“True,” he chuckled.

“Darling, you can go lie down,” Loki suggested gently. “Much as I enjoy you using me as a pillow, you would be much more comfortable in a bed. I can put up with your uncle’s company for awhile, even though it is not nearly as pleasant as yours,”

“Kat, go rest,” Tony added. 

You nodded and blearily stood. You hadn’t been expecting your energy to crash that fast. You were more worn out than you had admitted even to yourself. Loki stood with you, a gentleman as per usual.

“You can rest in my bed. It is closer,” you didn’t care that Tony wouldn’t be pleased with this plan. It wasn’t up to him. Loki led you to his bedroom. He paused, knowing Tony was upset, but his desire to take care of you was way higher than his desire to stay on your uncle’s good side. So he walked you to the bed, an arm wrapped around your waist so you couldn’t fall and tucked you into his bed. He normally would have joined you for a nap, but he would be good while Tony was already pissed off at you. He kissed your forehead. “Rest well, love.” you thought he was relieved that you weren’t fighting him for once. You curled in his bed, surrounded by blankets and pillows that smelled like him, even a year later. The stuffed dragon you had given him so long ago was on his bed too, so it naturally got cuddled while you finally got some rest.

It was quite a few hours later when Loki woke you again. “Love. Tom called. The cast is going out to dinner tonight. They would like to know if we wish to join them,” 

You sat up and nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds like fun,” you told him brightly. He smiled and offered you a hand. You took it and let him haul you out of bed. His magic changed your outfits back to the costumes from filming. You gave him a questioning look.

“They are still dressed in costume and asked for us to as well,” Loki replied. That sounded reasonable enough for this film cast and crew. “Are you feeling better?” he asked. You nodded and gave him a real smile as you headed outside.  

You made it back out to where the filming was still going on. “You still know your lines, right?” the director demanded when he saw you.

“What lines?” you asked. You hadn’t been told about any lines.

“You didn’t tell her!? You said she’d do it!” The director yelled at Loki.

“Loki… what’s going on?” you wanted to be included in the mischief.

“They would like for us to reenact the comic con scene for the movie. It was so very popular. They were going to have some of the extras attempt it, but since we are here, the director kindly asked if we would do it.” 

You nodded you agreement easily. “Sure. It’ll be fun,” you replied with a grin. You had done the skit a couple of times now with Tom and Kelly. “Same lines as comic con?” you asked the director while you were moved into position. He confirmed it was similar and you grinned at Loki. This was always such fun. Loki was led up on a platform that would be green-screened into something more impressive later. You couldn’t believe you were doing this for the actual movie.

You could, however have a little more fun with it. Loki gave you his Cheshire cat grin moments before he teleported onto his mark, legitimately startling the crowd of extras.

“People of New York, look how far you have fallen!” He announced. They murmured confused, shocked. “Look how you huddle, waiting for your saviors to come. They are not coming to rescue you this day. All you have is me! Yes, I have turned from your precious Avengers and defeated them all! I am Loki of Asgard and you am burdened with glorious purpose. Swear loyalty to me, swear your city over to me, and you shall live in riches in your kingdom. Kneel to your overlord!” he boomed. You saw in the glint in his eyes that he was enjoying every moment of this. His expression and delivery were perfect, too. “I said KNEEL~!” He used magic to amplify his voice even more than he should have been able to. At once the crowd of extras dropped to their knees in front of him, more in shock than anything else. Loki took a moment to look extremely pleased with himself.

That was your cue. You straightened your spine and snapped once. Loki took that cue to teleport you onto the platform a few steps from him. You couldn’t do it yourself right now. “LOKI!” you shouted as you stomped toward him. He looked over at you, shocked and acting sheepish and embarrassed.

“Are you trying to rule these mortals without me?” you demanded. You did have to change the script a little from the original, but not much.

“Of course not, my love!” he protested, rising from his bow and trying to look innocent. “I would not!”

You looked out at the crowd, trying to look calm and gentle and kind.. “Was he, dear mortals?” you asked them, calmly, sweetly, gently. They all spoke up in agreement at the same time. You held up a hand to silence them. They quieted immediately. “There is your answer, Loki,” you replied, turning back to him.

“But, darling~” he started. 

You glared, your hands on your hips. “Don’t you ‘darling’ me, Loki Laufeyson. Back home with you, now!” you ordered, pointing off the platform and off stage.

“My love, they need someone to rule over them!” he protested. 

You snapped your fingers and pointed again off stage. “Be gone with you. They shall have their ruler,” you turned back to the crowd. “Won’t you, my dears?” They all bowed down to you while Loki skulked off toward off stage.

“IMPOSTERS!” Came a roar from the crowd. Tom and Kelly, who stormed up towards the stage at the back of the auditorium. The crowd turned to them, feigning confusion. “Foolish mortals allowing yourselves to be tricked by such amateurs. I am the true Loki of Asgard! One of the Avengers and will never turn away from this city!” Loki took your hand and teleported you off stage. Moments later they called the ‘cut’ of the take.

You and Loki both erupted into giggles at how fun that had been. Tom and Kelly came over to congratulate you too. You had to do a couple more takes of the scene to get it perfect, but it was fun so you didn’t mind. The rest of the cast came up to applaud you once the filming was done for the day.

Tom came up beside you and whispered one word in your ear. “Assemble,” you grinned over at him.

“Same place?” He nodded and the main cast started disappearing slowly, trying to be sneaky. You failed miserably, but had a great dinner together in costume with all of the weapon props. At one point, you were sitting at the head of the table with all of the props at your feet like offerings. You laughed when all the actors bowed down to you, and Loki who was standing just beside your ‘throne’. This was going to be such a hilarious blooper reel. There were other funny pictures from that evening, but that was definitely your favorite.

[anythingobi]

Hey, so first thing. I think the ship name is CodyWan (or something similar?) Not too sure myself. Second, I've read several fics in which Obi-Wan goes to the Agricorps and all that, but I'd love one in which he chooses to stay as a crechemaster or healer. And not because he is not chosen as a padawan, but because he chooses that career. And any pairing you want, or gen if tou wish, though I'm a sucker for QuiObi. Sorry if it's too specific, thanks, and no problem if you don't want to do it.

First of all, thank you so much for answering the question about the ship name. Now I can finally tag it properly! Second of all, the moment I read this I realized that I had to write Obi-Wan as a healer immediately. He’d be so good with Jedi patients and then I imagined Qui-Gon getting injured all the time and basically just thank you for the prompt, I hope you enjoy what I wrote!

“I should have known who my patient would be the moment padawan Silvan said the word ‘explosion.’” Obi-Wan started grabbing bacta patches as he spoke. Master Jinn was what he liked to refer to as a problem patient and would likely balk at the idea of spending time in a tank. As it was though, the man looked to be in bad shape, not that that was anything new. “I’m starting to think you’re getting injured just as an excuse to see me.”

“Nonsense, Healer Kenobi.” Master Jinn turned his head and smiled at him. “I’m a Jedi Master. I don’t need an excuse to see you.” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and gestured for padawan Silvan to retrieve an antiseptic spray. It would hurt to spray on the burns, and strictly speaking there were less painful ways to go about the process, but in his experience Master Jinn preferred quick and easy solutions, and didn’t like him to tell him in advance if something was going to hurt. Obi-Wan simply made a clucking noise to show his disbelief at the man’s words, and gestured for him to open up for a thermometer before retrieving the antiseptic spray from his padawan helper and beginning to apply it methodically to the various burns and scratches that covered Qui-Gon’s torso. He used the force to gently loosen and remove any dead skin or debris as he went, and the unexpected pain earned him a small jerk and a glare from the Jedi Master. He plastered his face with the most innocent look he could manage and continued his work.

“The antiseptic spray might hurt a bit,” he warned belatedly, a sly smile on his face as he worked his way around to the man’s back. Qui-Gon gave what was probably meant to be a witty response, but it was smothered by the thermometer in his mouth. “What was that? You’re sorry for getting carelessly injured again?” Obi-Wan gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, I suppose I forgive you. Now give me my thermometer back.” He reached over the man’s shoulder to grab the instrument and gave a tsk when he saw the reading. “You have a fever, Qui-Gon. Any problems I should know about other than the burns, or should I go ahead and start treating you for infection?”

“I believe it’s just the burns, but I’m not a healer, as you keep reminding me.” Qui-Gon rolled his eyes and Obi-Wan nodded, turning to the side. “Padawan Silvan, remind me what we do for early stage infected burns?” The padawan looked up at him, surprised.

“Well, you already applied the antiseptic, and it has, uh, sulfur in it.” The young woman brought a hand up to her head thoughtfully.

“Silver sulfadiazine,” Obi-Wan corrected, smiling. “And I’ve also been removing dead skin and debris. What do we need to do next?”

“Not leave your burn victim sitting alone and in pain?” Qui-Gon interrupted, sounding equal parts annoyed and amused.

“He makes a good point, padawan Silvan. Pain may be a secondary concern when a patient might face permanent injury or death if we aren’t fast enough, but if I know Master Jinn here, he isn’t in danger of going anywhere anytime soon.” Obi-Wan watched as the padawan before him regarded Master Jinn’s injuries thoughtfully before turning back to him.

“His burns are fairly extensive,” she ventured. “We could put him in a bacta tank?” Obi-Wan smiled at her.

“Correct. Master Jinn here is the perfect candidate for a short dip in a bacta tank.” He threw his hand up to silence his patient as he saw him open his mouth to object. “Qui-Gon here however, hates bacta tanks. It would be kinder of us to treat him some other way. What is the preferable alternative to a tank?” He looked down kindly as he spoke, smiling encouragingly.

“Bacta patches?” The young woman looked pointedly at the pile of bacta patches that Obi-Wan had brought into the room with him and he found himself letting out a chuckle.

“That’s correct, padawan Silvan. I’d like you to help me apply them.” The padawan looked fearfully at Master Jinn and then back to Obi-Wan, and he couldn’t keep the smile from reaching his eyes at her wariness. “Don’t worry, Master Jinn may be a slave driver in your lightsaber classes, but he won’t bite. And remember,” he gave a pointed look to Qui-Gon, who rolled his eyes, “healers have rank in the healing halls. So long as he’s my patient, Master Jinn has to listen to me. Besides, bacta patches are quite soothing. This is an easy task, and you will be serving to relieve his pain. He might actually like you more after this.”

“Don’t listen to him, padawan. I’m going to kick your ass in our next class if you don’t immediately stop doing everything he says.” Obi-Wan laughed jovially and flicked Qui-Gon chastisingly before beginning to apply the bacta. Master Jinn closed his eyes and sighed as he progressed along the man’s torso, and padawan Silvan soon began to help as she realized the positive effect it was having on the patient.

“There will be one step left after this, padawan.” Obi-Wan continued applying the patches as he looked for the girl’s reaction. He could see the gears turning in her head.

“Order him to give me a passing grade in Advanced Lightsaber Forms?” She looked up at Obi-Wan, a self deprecating smile on her face as he chuckled at her answer. “I’m sorry, Healer Kenobi. I can’t remember another step for treating burns.” She picked up a bacta patch and continued helping, waiting patiently for her lesson.

“That’s because you’re training to be a knight, Silvan.” He gave her a sad smile. “Here in the Healing Halls, we prescribe rest, and schedule follow up appointments. Would you grab me my appointment book?” The padawan nodded eagerly, applying the last bacta patch and shuffling off towards his office. He shook his head fondly and turned back to his patient.

“I expect you to actually rest this time.” He walked in front of his patient and crossed his arms. “I know I’m a quite charming human being, but if you come in with another completely avoidable injury just because you refused to follow my instructions, I’m going to have to reconsider that dinner with you.”

“What dinner?” Qui-Gon looked up at him, confused.

“The one I’m asking you to right now.” Obi-Wan smirked, reaching his hand out to grab his appointment book from the returning padawan. “I’d like to see you for a follow-up about these burns in about a ten-day. What does your Primeday schedule look like?”

“Busy in the mornings, but I wrap up my classes at around the sixteenth hour.” He began picking at a bacta patch on his shoulder and Obi-Wan reached out to swat his hand away.

“Very well, I’m putting you down for the nineteenth hour. You should be my final appointment that day unless there’s some sort of catastrophe or I’m called out of the temple. A late dinner afterwards?” Obi-Wan looked up, some of his bravado slipping as he waited for Qui-Gon’s answer.

“I think I can make that work, so long as you don’t expect me to still be resting.” Qui-Gon smirked suggestively and Obi-Wan felt his face going crimson. He saw padawan Silvan’s eyes going wide as she looked up at him, and he knew he was going to be a subject of temple gossip once again the moment she returned to her friends.

“Well,” Obi-Wan avoided eye contact under the guise of notating the appointment and following date before looking back up. “I think we can make an exception.”

[nemossubmarine]

Warhammer 40k: Wrath & Glory RP #20

Here’s the exciting second to last session of our Dew Mtn adventuring!

We start with Saef’s adventures on Civitas A, as that happens approximately simultaneously to Gorm’s and Gimlet’s adventures. 

Saef is not doing great, he’s starting to tap into the hivemind, and can’t be sure how long before he loses himself. 

So quick acting is in order. 

He rushes into his home, where his mom hits him with a frying pan. Not wounding luckily. 

Analyn tells that Hao, Saef’s dad, went to get Saef’s sister Mai and Mai’s husband Wasim from the factory. 

Saef tells Analyn and the kids to pack up, and he beams them up before continuing to the factory. 

The factory is surrounded by cultists, but Saef has no trouble sneaking past. 

He finds about 12 factory workers, including his family members, being caught by cultists, who Saef kills. 

Saef tries to get the people to calm down and follow orders but some of the workers are panicking, until Hao tells them to listen to Saef. 

Saef leads them to roof for teleporting. 

Before they can all get beamed up, there’s an explosion close-by and a shout that sounds a lot like Gimlet. 

So, Saef stays behind and goes to check that out.

Meanwhile, Gimlet is remembering. 

He remembers playing hide-and-seek with his friend Jonathan, and his mother coming to get the boys. 

The summer’s over and it’s time for them to go. 

But in the middle of the memory, some strange, others memories bleed through, and Gimlet hears two voices talking. 

Other sounds like Inquisitor Tanner, and the other like Eden?

Gimlet is shaken awake by Olga Eriksen, who together with her motorbike riding partner and their daughter Frita have stumbled upon the scene of the explosion. 

Olga helps Gimlet to his feet and he goes over to check Apple Blossom’s unmoving body. 

Unfortunately Gimlet’s first aid is too good and Apple Blossom stirs and attacks Gimlet. 

Olga provides assistance by sitting on Apple Blossom, while Gimlet retreats to do first aid on himself. 

This is when Saef gets to the scene. 

Olga asks what to do with Apple, and Gimlet asks her to knock her out, which Olga does, by gonking their heads together. 

Saef and Gimlet and Apple are going to head up, Olga and her partner refuse to be beamed up, as they need to go find their son, but Gimlet gives her his phone number, so they can get to safety once that’s done. 

There’s some trouble with reaching Molly. 

Gimlet uses his contacts and gets Lu Yan to teleport them up with the passenger teleporter. 

Gimlet apparently still has some stuff he needs to do surface-side, but Saef secretly sabotages the passenger teleporter, so he doesn’t get himself killed.

Lu Yan and Gimlet have to start making their way to the cargo teleporter. 

Saef takes Apple to the med bay, but not before calling Molly and telling her not to let Gimlet teleport on the surface. 

Saef can’t go to the surface anymore, so he and Tabasco agree to lock him up with Apple so he won’t cause any trouble. 

Before that Saef takes his people / cat / severed head to Molly’s place. 

Molly requests a new necklace for her services.

Gorm wakes up in the snows of Fenris, in the middle of a snow storm, next to a canyon. 

Next to him sits his pack leader Rolf, who talks, mostly to himself, about the duties of a Space Marine and ordinary people giving hope, and something like that, and then he asks Gorm where they went wrong. 

Gorm notes that Rolf probably shouldn’t feel that bad as on the totem pole of people to blame for the pack going bad, he’s nowhere near the top. 

Gorm then questions where he is, and Rolf replies that his implants are trying to restart themselves, which is why Gorm is hallucinating. 

The hallucination ends with the arrival of the rest of Gorm’s pack; all the dead and chaos infected members, and Uffe at the front with wolf eyes. 

Gorm is about to get to fighting, when Rolf steps in between and says that ”once again I must send you away for your own good”. 

He then pushes Gorm into the canyon. 

The last thing Gorm sees is Uffe attacking Rolf.

Gorm wakes up on the floor, and all he can see is a blue light and hear the emergency sirens, moments before the hull cracks and they are in space. 

In that moment, Gorm is teleported back to the ship by Molly. Gorm gets up. 

He’s not in great shape, a piece of his power armor is lodging itself into his back. 

Gorm asks Molly about the tech priest, and Molly says she only got the people who had any life signs. 

Gorm begins helping the people off the teleporter pad so Molly can get more people in. 

That’s when Lu Yan and Gimlet get to the scene. 

Molly refuses to teleport Gimlet down, but Gorm hears it, and says he’ll be teleporting down, and Gimlet can come with. 

Gimlet weakly protests, but down they (and Mimir) go. 

They teleport in front of a BBS building in the middle of the city. 

Gimlet gets into the building and notices a bunch of dead cultists and a broken cell phone, which he pockets.

Gorm asks if they’re here to loot phones. 

Gimlet refuses to answer, and follows a trail of blood out of the back door. 

There they pick up on a fight happening. 

Some cultists and genestealer have a person surrounded in a half-way broken building. 

Gorm and Mimir rush into the fray. 

Mimir basically tears a genestealer to bits. 

Gimlet gives supportive fire. 

Gorm soon catches glimpse of the person they are saving. 

It’s Inquisitor Inpax, who’s in rather poor shape, and not doing any better as she suddenly gets swarmed. 

But Gorm, Gimlet and Mimir manage to get the cultists down. 

Gimlet is immediately checking up on Inpax, who demands to use a phone. 

She calls her men (presumably) to tell them to not let Kane Bullard out of their sight, and to check up on Eden. 

Inpax has several usb-sticks and a tank with a piece of flesh with her. 

Gorm says he has no time to stay and chit-chat, as there’s still stuff to be done. 

He calls sergeant Revan and asks if he could join his troops for the battle. Revan is glad to have assistance.

And so off Gorm goes to do some battling. 

Gimlet and Inpax teleport back up to the  ship.

We move onto a little bit of a time skip. 

Santa Maria evacuates civilians from Dew Mtn to other planets. 

Saef is locked up. 

Gimlet goes to the medbay. 

Gorm fights the good fight. 

He loses a leg, Sergeant Revan loses his life. 

But the Genestealers and the Psykers are defeated, and the day is saved.

Saef finally gets out of his exile now that he’s not in danger of turning on other people. 

He goes to visit Inpax, who is still a bit weary looking from her trip to Civitas A. 

She asks what’s up with Saef’s nose and Saef says he got hit by a 16-year-old. 

Speaking of which… Saef explains Rat’s situation to Inpax. 

Inpax says that she has gotten a teacher for Saef who could look over Rat as well. 

Then Inpax asks for a favor from Saef. 

Inpax has arrested Kane Bullard and his men, and they’ll be soon transported to an Inquisition base for interrogation. 

There’s one thing Inpax is curious about, and that is the nature of Eden’s co-operation with Kane Bullard’s schemes. 

Perhaps Saef could ask about that? 

Saef says he can, and he will. 

Oh, and Theo is ok to be reversed as clearly Kane Bullard was not working within the law.

Tabasco sends out a text to Gimlet saying he wants to talk about the naked dude Gimlet dropped off into his medbay. 

They meet up during Tabasco’s lunch break. 

Tabasco has some bad news, the dude (dude being Andrew Andrés) is basically dead. 

There’s nothing Tabasco can think of to wake him up. 

But he checked his brain scans, and there was something odd, something maybe psykic-related. 

And hey, there’s apparently an actually sanctioned psyker on board, so Tabasco has heard, perhaps Gimlet could ask him for help. That’s all. Gimlet says he’ll do so.

Gorm has checked himself into the medbay, and Tabasco comes to talk with him about his leg situation. 

Tabasco doesn’t do prosthetics, but they have a tech-priest on board. 

He’ll just have to hope the Inquisition will allow the tech-priest to be borrowed long enough to make all the legs Tabasco’s patients need. 

This number is three, as apparently Jennifer’s legs couldn’t be saved. 

Gorm says not to worry, the Inquisitor owes him one.

Layla comes to visit Gorm at the medbay, because of course she does. 

Well, she was originally visiting her mom, but upon seeing Gorm comes to check on him. 

Gorm tells of his heroic accomplishments and even suggests that the Sable Swords wanted to make Gorm their sergeant after Revan died (but a field medic by the name of Carl is probably going to be promoted). 

Layla is very taken with the stories, as always. 

Gorm tells her that a good wolf always aims to save as many people as they can. 

Layla comments on how Gorm and her mom are going to be the same as they’ll both be getting new legs. 

Gorm mentions that he is planning on going back to Fenris soon, as apparently he has been called upon, and wonders if Layla would like to come with. 

Layla says of course, but Gorm says he’ll talk with Jennifer first and forbids Layla from mentioning it to her mother before that. 

Layla agrees, hugs Gorm and goes to see her mother.

Saef receives a text message from Inpax that his and Rat’s teacher has arrived, and to go meet him. 

So Saef goes by Molly’s place to pick his people / cat / severed head up. 

Molly is fast asleep, so Saef leaves her a gift card for the necklace. 

He drops Theo, Felis Catus and Kuru’s head at his place before heading to meet his new mentor.

Gimlet happens to find this mentor first. 

He turns out to be an older gentleman by the name of Konstantine Holzer, tall and thin, sporting one mechanical eye and one seemingly blind one. 

Upon hearing Gimlet’s requests, Konstantine agrees to see to the patient, though he says he is not a healer. 

Just then Saef and Rat get there, and Konstantine says he’ll meet Gimlet in the medbay. 

Konstantine questions Saef about his knowledge of the warp, which seems to be a bit lacking to say the least. 

Well, he’s going to be taught, but Konstantine feels Rat might be a bit bigger of a concern first. 

Before Saef leaves Rat with Konstantine, Konstantine asks Saef to speak with him in private. 

Upon doing so, Konstantine asks whether Saef is aware that Rat is not human. 

Saef says well he is now. 

Konstantine suspects Eldar and asks Saef to tell about Rat’s background. 

It seems most likely Rat has been raised among humans, but surely she is aware of her, well, difference. 

That’s a problem for them once Rat becomes visible. 

Mostly Inpax’ problem.

Gimlet has meanwhile come to the medbay and stops to check up on Gorm. 

Gorm asks what happened to Inpax after he left. 

Gimlet says he took her here and she was taken care of. 

Gorm says he would have appreciated Gimlet’s help back on the planet, but he gets it, Gimlet needed rest and relaxation. 

Gimlet wants to talk about the awkwardness between them ever since the whole wolf-incident. 

Gimlet says he’s sorry that he didn’t take it well, but he wants to make sure Gorm knows Gimlet respects his culture. 

Gorm suggests another hunt. 

Gimlet says maybe they could go to the bar to hunt for drinks. 

Gorm seems agreeable to this. 

Gorm says it’s good that Gimlet and Jennifer got a bit angry at him, since Gorm has his own perspective and sometimes it’s hard to see outside it. 

Gimlet explains why he took it so badly, as Tanner did the same to him, taking him in as a child. 

At least he got an education. 

Gorm asks if Gimlet would have chosen this path had he been given the choice, and Gimlet admits that, well, there wasn’t much of a choice, namely because his mother apparently had just been slain, thus confirming that Cara is indeed his mother. 

Gorm says he’s sorry.  

Gorm then mentions being called back to Fenris and he wishes Gimlet to help with how to ask Layla about actually becoming a Space Wolf, as she is starting to be around the age where she will be taken in, if she is to become one. 

Gimlet suggests maybe talking with Jennifer. 

Gorm also isn’t quite sure how to bring up the fact that the process of becoming a Space Marine does take away people’s memories.

Well there’s no clear answers to that, especially because Konstantine appears to check over Andrew Andrés. 

Gorm is still hostile, but perhaps a bit more respectful towards this new psyker. 

Konstantine checks Andrew over and says he has to agree with Tabasco, he is gone. 

But not all gone, as Konstantine can use psykic means to get into his head and get some information, if that is something that could be of use. 

To do that he would need some kinds of anchors to hold onto, names and places. 

Gimlet suggests Cara and Tanner. 

Konstantine seems a bit unsure on whether to ask Inpax for permission, but finally agrees that Tabasco’s permission should be enough. 

He needs a bit of time to prepare, so we’ll leave that for next time.

And that’s all. Next session, Saef talks with approximately seventeen people and I guess Gorm and Gimlet are there too (well no, they got stuff to do too) (lots of discussions) (all the plot) (next time!).