#I am trying to remain within a reasonable amount of painkillers but it comes back every like 2 hours

[autogeneity]

kind of ridiculous that even after all this time the only thing really you can do for colds and flu is "suffer"

[aliceslantern]

Heartlines, a Kingdom Harts fanfic, chapter 28--Epilogue

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Time passes. The kingdom recovers. A prophecy comes full circle.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Life was a work in progress. There were periods of unrest in the kingdom which were not always easy to smooth over with words, but Ansem did not want to use force. “Remember, Ienzo, a riot is the language of the unheard.”

Flowers began to bloom in Radiant Garden again. There was still signs of destruction everywhere--rubble, smashed out windows, destroyed buildings. But piece by piece, it was getting put together. The resistance based itself in the capital city and started what it called a “restoration committee,” not just to restore the city, but the whole kingdom.

Demyx spent a lot of time at the beach with Amalia, now that they both had their forms. Ienzo wondered if it would be salt in wounds to go to Destiny Islands at some point. He would ask when he felt ready.

Something else was growing too.

When he felt the nausea, the fatigue and dizziness, and the achiness, Ienzo did not delude himself into denial as he did the last time. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, good and hard. He held his hand in front of his stomach and reached out, tentatively. Something was there, a potential for a new life. But he did not feel the overwhelmed sense of panic he had when he was first pregnant with Amalia. He was still young, ridiculously so, but would this be so terrible?

He sought Even, who was busy puttering around the labs. There was light in his eyes again, joy, at having something productive to do. In fact, he did not seem bothered by Ienzo’s interruption. “No bureaucratic nonsense today?”

“My father insisted I take the morning off.”

“Your daughter?”

“Out swimming. I swear, sometimes I have difficulty getting the two of them to come home.”

“...It is good, to see Demyx happy again. I was… concerned.”

“Were you? You could barely stand each other in the beginning.”

Even rolled his eyes and pulled off his goggles. “Adversity draws people together,” he said. “I wonder often… if I have hardened my heart too much. I am trying… to let people back in.”

“And how is that going?”

He considered. “It is going,” he said. “But better than being stalled. Good to be… active. And to see you some semblance of safe at last.”

Ienzo came a bit closer. He was working on one of the replicas, a faceless white mannequin half covered with a sheet. “Does it feel good to see your work come to fruition?”

“It is bittersweet--putting it mildly.” He sighed. “If not for… that creature’s breakthroughs, this would not be possible.”

“It is still your creation.” Ienzo paused. “Even, have you met Xion?”

He fussed with tubes of mystery fluid. “Who?”

“Xion, Xemnas’s… ward. I shall have to introduce you.”

His eyes snapped up. “Why?”

“Because she is one of the replicas.”

“Of whom?”

“Of nobody. Herself.”

Even grasped his shoulders. “And you only tell me this now, boy?”

“Please be gentle with me, Even.”

He seemed to be reeling. “...Why?”

“I find myself to be in an indelicate condition. As it were.”

He turned red. “ Again ? Child, you know what causes that, right?”

Ienzo chuckled. “Would it be so terrible, to get the childrearing over with while my father is still able to help me rule?”

Even pressed a hand to his forehead and sputtered wordlessly. After a moment, he composed himself and held a hand over Ienzo’s stomach. “...Quite. I do not know whether to laugh… or cry…”

“Go seek Xion. She’s a guard on the upper floors. I know that’s where your heart is.”

He was already taking his coat off, grabbing a tablet computer. “Yes… right… we can discuss this later…” And he was out the door.

Ienzo returned to their rooms. To his surprise, Demyx and Amalia were back. “Done for the day already?”

Demyx gestured out the window. “It’s gonna storm. Plus I figured I owe you some lunch.” He leaned forward to kiss him, and Ienzo could taste the salt.

“Ra!” Amalia said.

“Right, rain.” Ienzo crouched down and smoothed the wet hair from her face.

“I’m gonna get cleaned up. What do you feel like? There’s this new place that’s opened back up not far out of the gates--”

Ienzo followed him into the bathroom. Demyx laughed a little.

“Look, I’d be so down, but like, she’s right in the other room--”

“I’m pregnant.” He didn’t know why the words had to leave him now, without ceremony.

Demyx just blinked. “Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“Oh…” A small smile. “Oh… Do you want to--”

“I… want them.” He swallowed. “Get it over with while we’re young, right? While my father is still helping me? I can’t imagine going through this while being fully responsible for everything else.”

Demyx hugged him. “Round two?”

“...It seems so. I mean, to be fair, we were not the least bit careful, and it has been happening quite a lot lately--”

He kissed his forehead. “They’re going to be great.”

---

As it stormed later that night… Ienzo lay awake. He’d been even more of an insomniac during pregnancy, and he hadn’t much missed that. But he could not sleep. Demyx, who could basically sleep at will, had one arm draped over his stomach.

A particularly loud peal of thunder made Demyx stir, and from the other room Ienzo heard Amalia shriek and start to cry. Demyx’s eyes fluttered open. “It’s okay,” Ienzo told him. “I’ve got this. Go back to sleep.”

The drawing room had been turned into a nursery more fully now, the soft light of the mobile reflecting the rain in the room. Amalia was still crying. Ienzo leaned over the crib and hefted her into his arms. He settled in the old rocking chair. “It’s just a storm, sweetheart,” he said.

“Bad,” she said. “Bad, bad.”

“I know. It scared you.” He rocked gently. “I’m here. I’ll keep you safe. How about a story?”

Ienzo told her a story he’d learned from Demyx, about a rainbow fish that gradually gave up its scales to help others. He let his power cast a quiet illusion along the walls, of a deep blue sea, of that same fish swimming seemingly in midair. Somewhere in this, she fell back asleep, and rather than put her back in her crib, Ienzo remained there, thinking.

She hadn’t mentioned a sibling in the Forecast. Her words had been “we live with dad and grandpa in the castle”. If he gave birth on schedule, that child would be her age by the time of the Forecast.

But at the same time, toddlers were selfish. It could’ve just slipped her mind. Perhaps she was closer to Even or Ansem than her own sibling. Ienzo took a deep breath. Part of pregnancy was being illogically anxious.

It would be fine.

---

Perhaps it was for this reason, but Ienzo kept news of this child from Ansem. A few weeks passed, tremulously. He kept at work, meeting officials, sitting in committee meetings, deciding, deciding. Helping organize a parliamentary election.

After one such meeting, he was gathering his papers to return to his study when he felt a cramp, hard. He gasped aloud. “Are you alright, your highness?” Lydia asked. She was back to her post as librarian, and she’d brought him some books.

He blinked. “I’m… fine,” he said woodenly. Cramping during the first few months was normal, wasn’t it? Might be worth getting himself examined anyway. “It is nothing.”

“...Alright. Well, pardon me for overstepping, but perhaps you might rest. It’s been a long day.”

He swallowed, trying to choke down the dread. “I shall. Thank you.”

He made his way back not towards his rooms, but towards Even. The pain stuck him hard under the heart, and he had to duck into a bathroom before he lost composure. He wasn’t sure what whisper of an instinct told him so, but he pulled down his pants and checked his underwear.

Blood. A not-insignificant amount. He stuffed one of the small folded hand towels between his legs--mentally apologizing to the launderers--and hazily kept going. He almost stumbled getting the lab door open. “Even,” he said, and perhaps it was his tone, but the man immediately looked up.

“Ienzo, what--”

“Something isn’t right. With the baby.”

He grabbed him immediately and herded him over to one of the replicas’ exam tables. “And yet you drag yourself all the way down here instead of going to the infirmary.”

“I wasn’t--I didn’t want--”

He touched his face. “I know, love. Wait--are you--”

The blood must’ve seeped through the hand towel. “Fuck,” Ienzo murmured. He felt the coldness of Even’s magic assessing him.

He turned pale. “Ienzo, I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

“But is it--”

“There’s no heartbeat, and you’ve lost quite a bit of blood. There’s no… life.”

Another cramp overtook him. “They weren’t in the Forecast--I tried to convince myself it was not so--”

“I know. I know, love. We should get you to the infirmary--”

“Please, no.” He felt more wetness between his legs.

“You’re losing too much blood to justify receiving care from only me.”

How awkward, and humiliating. Even carried him like a child. Hazily, he was changed, cleaned, given something to absorb the blood, fluids, painkillers. He let himself ride this quasi-consciousness, until a hand took his. “Zo?”

“Demyx? I--I’m sorry…” He swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. “I lost it…” His hair obscured things from view.

“The important thing is you’re okay.”

“She didn’t mention them, I should’ve known--”

Demyx drew him close and held him for a long time.

---

It took him a while to recover from the miscarriage. Not so much physically--he was back to “normal” within several days--but emotionally he felt scrambled, exhausted. He did not know it was possible to love something so small so much.

Ansem insisted he take time off. Demyx waited on him hand and foot, but he was shaken too. Ienzo slept too much, could barely look at Amalia. He was taking a bath, his mind positively going nowhere, eyes unfocused on the ceiling tiles, when he heard small footsteps. “Da-dee?”

Wearily, he looked over. “What is it, love?”

She was holding her favorite stuffed animal, a unicorn she’d named Pinky. She offered it to him.

“Thank you, but I don’t want Pinky to get wet.” He set the toy on the chair by the tub.

She leaned over the lip of the tub. “Hurt?” she said.

“I’m just tired, love.”

“Hurt,” she asserted.

Ienzo sighed. “Yes, I’m sad. You know it’s okay to be sad sometimes, right?”

She nodded. “Help?”

He kissed her. “You already are.”

---

Perhaps because it was through this particular lens of sadness, but suddenly it seemed strange that he, governed so by emotions, be the one responsible for the welfare of this country. He, whose sole “mandate to rule” was his power. Why was it that, despite humanity’s long and colorful history in this country, there had never been strides made towards democracy, or anything other than absolute power?

There had been abdications, in the past. Ienzo found himself reading about them voraciously. There had been some good reasons for such actions--fundamental disagreements about faith and the way the country should be governed, a lack of acceptance of sexuality or gender, the heir apparent believing they were not competent enough--and some not so. Considering the convoluted transfer of power, from firstborn to firstborn only , it was amazing the monarchy had not collapsed under its weight or lost its power somewhere in the past. Should the firstborn, say, die in a tragic accident, or from an aneurysm prior to having an heir, that power was simply lost for a generation. And should that first child be sufficiently… along , enough in utero, and something were to happen to them, that counted.

Ienzo needed to talk to Ansem. “Father?”

He took off his glasses. “What is it?”

“Can I talk to you?”

He offered a smile. “Of course. How are you feeling, dear heart?”

He sighed and sat down. “This has all been very… overwhelming.”

“I’m sure. Loss of a child… even one that is not yet living… is very heavy stuff indeed.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about… mortality. Human weakness. Limitations of the body.” He found himself looking at his knees. “The fragility of my… power. How does it make me qualified to rule? The child I lost… could very well have been Amalia, some months along the line. Suddenly that power is gone.” He touched his abdomen. “Father, this whole monarchy… is starting to feel very…”

“Pointless?” He rubbed his brows. “I agree entirely. But the last thing people need right now is a radical change in government. We’re only just settling. Imagine what might happen if we suddenly propose some other form of rule?”

“...I know.”

“Once this is all over… I’m wondering if we should…”

“...Abdicate?” He cocked his head slightly.

Ienzo took a breath. “Am I a traitor for even thinking it?”

“Oh, Ienzo. No. Not at all. Class division is part of how we got into this mess in the first place. That you seek to abolish it shows your love for your people. Perhaps it might be worth it to consider the schema as to how this will be put in place.”

Ienzo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Truthfully?”

“Truly.”

“...Thank you.”

---

Time passed.

Amalia was growing so quickly . She started to speak more clearly, in longer sentences. She started to show more magic. Once, Ienzo walked into her room and saw books hanging in the air all around them. “Look,” she said. “They’s flying.”

Demyx expressed his own desire to do work of some kind. “People need art,” he told Ienzo. “They’re going to need a way to deal with all that pain.” Together, they jumpstarted a national art program. To finally be active, to finally be helping people in a meaningful way… Ienzo felt… fulfilled.

This was all going to take work, probably constantly. But that there might be a day where they could have a simple, happy life with their family gave him pleasure.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised, but one spring day Amalia asked if they could go on a picnic. The day was sunny, the flowers were in bloom. He was sitting on a blanket on a patch of grass in the plaza. He worked the teardrop-shaped pendant absently with one hand. He knew that at some point they'd have to formally get married as long as he was in the public eye. But for now... this was enough.

“Daddy, look!” She opened her hands, revealing a small magic flower. “I made it!”

“Oh, sweetie, it’s beautiful.” The deja vu struck him with insistence.

She smiled widely, and reached to be picked up, so he did. “Can we go to the garden?”

“Of course.” Demyx was supposed to meet them there after his lesson in the city. He took the picnic blanket and set off.

“Do you think this is real?”

“What do you mean, love?”

“This. Right now.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I dunno… a ‘motion I had.”

“A feeling?” Ienzo offered. Then, “I had a dream when I was pregnant with you.”

“When I was in your tummy?”

“That’s right. And you sent me a memory, of this moment, right now.”

“What I say?”

“You told me about our friends. The ones who met you when you were a baby.”

She laughed. “Isa and mister Xemnas.”

“Yes. You told me everything I needed to know. It’s because of you this is all like this, you know?”

“I know,” she said, unimpressed. “Where’s daddy?”

“He’s on his way.”

They passed through the castle gates to the gardens, which were lush and full again. Aerith was tending to the flowers; she waved. “Hi flower lady,” Amalia called loudly.

“Hey yourself,” she said back.

Ienzo set down the blanket on a patch of clean glass.

“There’s my favorite girl.” Demyx set down the sitar. He scooped her up and gave her a kiss. “Did she give you much trouble?”

“Not today. Not yet. Did you get the i-c-e c-r-e-a-m?”

“Ice cream!” Amalia shouted.

“Zo, she’s too smart for that.” Demyx laughed. “Sold out, I’m afraid.”

Ienzo sighed. He’d been looking forward to it all day.

“But I did get these from someone at the lesson.” He handed Ienzo a bag with a pastry box inside. “Egg tarts. Several people told me they are to die for.” He sat down with their daughter.

Ienzo took them out and handed one to Amalia. “...Do you know,” he began. “Today’s the day.”

Demyx frowned. “What day?”

“It all came full circle. The Forecast. On the way over here.”

“Oh… wow. Really?”

He smiled. “And the future is again aqueous.”

“Like that’s a bad thing? Look, if we knew every minute, we’d always be trying to plan things. We wouldn’t get to decide.” He brushed a crumb from their daughter’s mouth. “Because of her… and you… we do now. I’m okay with that.”

“I… am too.” He swallowed.

“It’ll be us against the world.” His eyes were so soft.

“I know that.” He chuckled. “It’s terrifying, to have the choice. I think I’d like to finish university first.”

“School, school,” Amalia said eagerly. “Me and daddy go to school.” She was going to go to nursery school in the fall.

“Daddy’s going to school for big kids,” Demyx said to her. “You’re going with kids your age. Little.”

“Not little.” She huffed, then brightened. “School and make lots of friends!”

“She’s like you all right,” Ienzo said.

“Dunno. She’s too smart for her own good--like you.”

“I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up,” Ienzo admitted.

“I wanna be a cat doctor. Or a rockstar. Or maybe…” Amalia stuck out her tongue in thought. “Wanna be an explorer .”

“You already are, silly.” Demyx tickled her, and she squealed.

“I do still want to help people. Maybe psychology, or…” He trailed off. “To be determined.”

“Well, you’ve got time.” Demyx picked up one of the egg tarts and all but crammed it into Ienzo’s mouth.

He scowled, but then, “These are good.”

“Right?”

---

The sun was setting. Ienzo watched it from his alcove in the library. This was his favorite spot, its light, its smell of varnished wood and old books. But he wasn’t reading.

“...It is lovely, isn’t it?”

Ienzo looked up and saw Even, for once without his lab coat, his long hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Where were you?”

“I was… with your father. I’m afraid he made me take a walk in the garden.”

Ienzo felt his lips twitch into a smile. “Well, was it a nice walk?”

He wondered if he was imagining the blush. “It is good to get fresh air,” he said evasively. He leaned against the desk next to Ienzo. “So I hear you’re to… abdicate.”

“In several years, once things settle, but… yes. And Demyx will abdicate on Amalia’s behalf. No more royalty. Whatever we have left will simply be ceremonial, if that.”

Even chuckled gently. “All the time I spent defending the monarchy, and you’re giving it up. You are making me gray, child.” But he said this pleasantly. “Yes… change is not so bad. The world needed it. We needed it. We could not… run forever.”

“Do you feel good, to no longer be running?”

“I do,” he admitted. “I felt such a coward for so many years. To get my hands dirty is a relief.”

“I have to thank you, for all you’ve done for me. I took you for granted.”

Even reached over and brushed the hair out of his face. “Well raising you certainly wasn’t easy.”

He laughed a little.

“In all seriousness, Ienzo, I didn’t do it entirely out of duty. I loved you--and I still love you--as if you were my own. Bonds don’t change, the… lines between hearts.”

“Heartlines?” He raised his eyebrow. “My father must be rubbing off on you. You were never so philosophical.”

“I am trying to open my heart.” He put a hand to his chest. “And it is painful, but I feel I am… growing. Never thought I would have to at my age.”

“And what of things with Xion?”

“She is a lovely girl. She’ll do well once she starts school. We’re trying to spend time together. In a way… she is my child.” A sigh. “Though this research… what right have I to create new life?”

“You saved many who would be the seeker of darkness’s victims.”

“...A cold comfort.” He tapped his fingertips together. “Come, then. That husband of yours is attempting to cook.”

Ienzo felt a shimmer at “husband”, but was it not true? Ceremony or no ceremony. “He’s a good cook, Even, you just have an unenlightened palette.” He stood and together they began to walk.

“...I’ll just chalk it up to cultural differences. I suppose… all of this could’ve been much worse, yes?”

“It could’ve.” He paused. “Will we… once I leave this place, Even, will we still be part of one another’s lives?”

He seemed perturbed. “Of course, Ienzo. Always.” He squeezed his hand. “Don’t fear change the way I did.”

“I won’t.” He swallowed, feeling an unexpected rush of emotion. “I promise, I won’t.”

[vorish-egos]

Doctor Henrik Vor(ish) Schneeplestein

Contains: Soft/safe vore and G/T

11 pages long, 3,993 words.

Written by: ~Zharin~

        ______________________________

“How come doc called us here?” Chase stopped twirling his hat on his hand and hung his head over the support of his chair to look back at Marvin. The magician simply shrugged, remaining by the door.

“Who knows what he’s up to this time?” He sighed, “But if he doesn’t get back here soon then I’m gonna—” The door suddenly swung open, missing Marvin by a few whiskers, and Henrik von Schneeplestein came bustling in with an armful of notes and clipboards.

“Ah, Chase! You are here,” the German doctor greeted eagerly. “Have you avoided any vittle drinks for four hours?”

“Yep!” The ego sounded quite proud of himself. “I’m a little shaky, and my head hurts, but JJ really helped out. Man that dude’s tea is good.”

“Good, good, zhat I can fix. And Marvin—? Ah, zhere you are, silly. Vhy are you hiding behind ze door?” Marvin grumbled incoherently and stepped out of the shadows. Schneeplestein set his things on the counter and frequented a few cabinets, muttering under his breath before he finally grabbed what he was looking for and returned to the other two egos.

“I need some help vith my latest experiment,” the doctor explained. Chase sat up.

“What kind of experiment?” He tried to flip his hat back onto his head, but it missed completely and almost fell to the floor; it glowed green just above the tiles and floated back into its rightful place.

“Zhere is a medicine zhat I have been verking on,” Henrik began as Chase flashed Marvin a grateful glance, “It is called famotidine, vhich reduces ze amount of stomach acid zhat ze body releases. Theoretically, zhis drug enhanced vith a little tinkering of Ihr guter arzt can create a sort of temporary gastroparesis, vhich means zhat zhe stomach vould be inactive for un moment.”

“Okay… But what do you need us for?” Marvin prompted, “You usually just take medicines yourself and jot down your symptoms.” Henrik grinned.

“Not zhis time. You vill use your magic to shrink Chase down, and zhen he can gauge zhe effects of zhe medicine!” Chase tilted his head.

“How am I gonna do that, doc?” He asked haltingly.

“Simple; I vill be taking ze medicine and zhen svallowing you.” Both egos’ eyes widened.

“Whoa, wai-what!?”

“Schneep, you have a lot of good ideas and experiments… this is not one of them. When’s the last time you’ve slept?”

“It vill be perfectly fine!” The doctor insisted, “I vill be monitoring both of our stats, and if something goes wrong zhen you can just teleport him out!” Marvin opened his mouth, but he couldn’t grasp for any words. Instead, he tossed his head back with an exasperated sigh before looking over at Chase.

“Chase, you can say no if you don’t want to,” the magician reminded. Chase bit his lip.

“I-I know. But…” He stalled for a few seconds, adjusting his cap before looking at Henrik. “Doc, you know yer my best friend, and that I trust you with my life— I mean, you saved my life, so… I-I guess the least I could do is help ya.” He then smiled. “Even if it is a little… Eccentric, I’ll support you.”

“Fantastic, danke mein freund!” Schneeplestein clapped his hands together, beaming. “I’ll take ze medicine now— oh! And you need minor painkiller for ze headache, of course, of course…!” As the doctor fervently hunted for the required meds, Marvin crossed his arms and cast a sidelong glance at Chase.

“Why the hell did you agree to that? It’s an insane and dangerous test that could very well end horrifically.” Chase shrugged and gave the cat-lover a weak grin.

“What can I say? I have no sense of self-preservation.”

“Ah, zhere it is!” The doctor came hurrying back with a small dosage of Tylenol. As Chase accepted the medication and downed it, Henrik unscrewed the bottle of pills he’d collected earlier and swallowed down two of the little capsules.

“And now ve vait for an hour.“ 

And so they waited. Chase passed the time by playing on his phone, seeming completely unconcerned about the experiment he was about to partake in— Marvin, on the other hand, had taken Schneeplestein aside and spoke to him privately.

"Doctor, are you sure about this?” Marvin murmured as Henrik unwrapped a mint and plopped it onto his tongue.“I know you’re trying to push the boundaries, but this goes far beyond logic.”

“Bah! Marvin, you are a magician. Logic does not apply to magic.”

“Yes it does! Schneep, in every field or profession there are laws that you must abide by, rules made to NOT be broken— give me one reason that makes it okay to eat your best friend.”

“Technically it vould be ingesting, eating vould suggest zhat—”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I! Zhis is for science, and he vill be in good hands! I have specifically taken extra measures to ensure ze success. I have restrained myself from eating anything except for breakfast zhis morning, and I last had vater two hours ago. Vould I really risk Chase’s life if I did not think zhat he vould be okay?” Marvin quietly groaned and put his head in his hand.

“If this doesn’t… If-If Chase dies—”

“He von’t,” Henrik vowed, putting his hand over his heart, “Je promesse.” Marvin studied the doctor’s earnest solemn, and then he let out a sigh.

“As soon as the medicine starts wearing off…” He warned.

“You vill be notified.” The magician still looked reluctant, but he finally gave in and agreed to trust him. After they settled into an awkward silence, with only the stifled grunts and mantras of victory or defeat from Chase, it seemed like forever before Henrik’s watch suddenly beeped loudly. The doctor shared a look with the magician.

“It’s time.” Marvin took a deep breath.

“How small do you need him to be?” Henrik bit his lip and gave the thought a few seconds before he brought his hand up in front of his face.

“About… Zhis small?” He made a broad C with his thumb and index finger, using his dominant eye to peer through his fingers and gauge Marvin’s veiled reaction. He could only note a faint flicker of surprise behind the cat mask.

“Three inches? Are you sure you’ll be able to get him down?” He nodded.

“He has to be big enough to notify me from ze inside. It vill be a tight fit, but he’ll be fine." 

"He’ll be heavier than he looks.”

“Yes yes yes, density, packing of ze atoms together, I am vell aware.” Chase suddenly interrupted by clearing his throat.

“You guys ready?” He asked. Marvin regarded him with narrow eyes.

“Are you?" 

"Yeah!” The vlogger grinned from ear to ear. “Let’s do this!” Henrik chuckled, grateful for his optimism.

“Very well.” The magician held up his hands, which began to glow green as his eyes also turned viridescent. “Just hold still,” he advised, “You’ll feel a little dizzy…” But Chase was already starting to feel the effects. His energy plummeted as his eyelids drooped, and he let out a yawn as the world seemed to spin around him. He was losing altitude, and everything around him seemed taller and taller as he shrank down, at the others’ chests, then hips, then past the shins. His brain was dimly aware of the change in perspective, but it was hard to be consciously aware of his new size until everything slowly stopped spinning.

Chase slowly opened his eyes and let out the breath he’d been holding. The chair he had been slouched on moments before was like an empty living room, and the back towered over him like the wall of a third story house.

Nothing, however, could compare to when Chase turned his head and found himself only meeting four gargantuan pillars of cloth. His eyes slowly traveled up, coming across the vast expanses of the doctor’s white professional coat, and Marvin’s flowing cape and casual blue top, before he finally met their intimidating gazes. They were both looking down at him, one with fascinated eager, and the other with quiet apprehension.

“It verked!” Chase flinched under Henrik’s booming exclamation, covering his little ears.

“Not so loud!” Marvin hissed, “He’s much more fragile in this state. There’s a reason I don’t do this often.”

“Yes yes, and ze only time you have vas vhen Anti possessed you.” The doctor dismissed the other’s wary and approached Chase. Chase scooted back a little and craned his neck as he was shrouded in the doctor’s shadow, but to his dizzy relief Henrik made no move to grab him.

“How are you feeling, Brody?” Schneeplestein asked at a tolerable volume as he sank into a crouch; he rested his chin on the edge of the chair as he gave his tiny friend a smile. Chase huffed nervously, suddenly finding himself grinning.

“Uh… I-I’m fine doc! I-I guess.” The paternal ego slowly got up, and with only a second of hesitation he walked closer to Henrik. 

“Zhat is good,” Schneeplestein murmured warmly, “But ve better get started as soon as possible. Are you ready?” Chase swallowed nervously and nodded.

“Yep!” Henrik shifted back and placed his hand down beside the shrunken ego. Chase exhaled and stepped on, using one of the doctor’s cold fingers to haul himself up into his palm. When he’d stopped moving, Schneeplestein brought his hand to his chest and stood up. Chase went bug-eyed as the floor feel even further away from him, and he leaned against the doctor’s chest, hearing his heart boom right in his ears 

“You don’t have to watch if you are really against zhis.” Henrik turned to Marvin, but the magician shook his head.

“You wanted me here to make sure nothing goes wrong,” he pointed out dryly, “So don’t fuck up, or I’m telling Anti about the secret coffee collection you keep pretending to know nothing about.”

“Yes mama,” the doctor joked weakly.

“Oh, Marv!” Chase removed his hat and waved to get their attention. “Can you take this for me?” He called, “I don’t want it to get ruined!”

“Of course.” By simply making a fist, the hat flashed green and shot out of Chase’s hands, floating over to Marvin’s care. Chase let out a relieved sigh as he watched his precious snapback settle within the magician’s pocket, and he finally sat back and looked up at Schneep.

“I’m ready now, doc.” The doctor nodded.

“Alright.” Chase was escalated higher up, and then his bony platform stopped at Henrik’s chin. Chase giggled a little when the scruffy hairs brushed his arm, and he felt the doctor smile.

“Here ve go.” He parted his lips and opened his mouth, blasting Chase with a warm minty breeze. Chase stared on into the dark and humid cavern before him, and then he summoned his courage and carefully stepped forward. He placed his hand on the doctor’s tongue, grimacing when it sank beneath his touch with a slippery noise, and then he set about climbing his way in. When his back bumped against the top row of teeth, the jaw suddenly dropped even wider, making Chase yelp as he slid in faster than anticipated.

Henrik instinctively pushed his tongue up, halting Chase’s slip. He mumbled something that was indiscernible, but Chase pushed against the doctor’s palate and glanced over his shoulder.

“I’m fine!” He called. He felt the slimy muscle under his elbows and chest relax as he wriggled his hips over the rows of teeth, struggling to fit the rest of his body in; he got pretty close before it was hard to fidget any deeper in, and he could just barely feel the tip of one of his shoes against Schneeplestein’s hand.

Hoping he’d get the memo, Chase tapped his foot to signal for assistance. His surroundings shifted again, and the vlogger braced himself as the tongue momentarily extended to lap up his poking legs. He was pulled all the way in past the ivory walls, and then darkness shrouded him as the doctor closed his mouth.

Henrik was a little surprised by how full his mouth was, but it didn’t stop his determination to finish the experiment. His jaw muscles lightly worked as he shifted Chase around, rubbing his curled up form with his tongue and getting as much of the tiny dad covered in saliva. The mint he’d taken earlier had done its job well, not only making the experience for Chase a little more bearable, but also stimulating the saliva glands to make the trip down easier. Additionally, the shrunken ego’s faint taste was rather… Interesting. Beneath the scratchy cloth was a strange combination of sweet and salty, combined with the familiar flavour of that Japanese whiskey the vlogger guiltily loved. He made a mental note to jot that down with the rest of his entries.

When he was ready, he made a little grunting noise to warn Chase before he held his head up. Chase slid the few extra millimeters that he could before his head pressed against the back of the good doctor’s throat, and Henrik braced himself before swallowing. He immediately choked and swallowed again, a hard gulp lodging his subject only shoulders deep. A throat lozenge would have been a good item to invest in. Numbing the throat would have probably made it a little easier. Nevertheless, Schneeplestein was determined, and so he swallowed again, summoning his strength to push Chase deeper in. He felt a flutter of movement as his esophagus started to pull the vlogger even deeper, drawing in his chest and adding more pressure to the doctor’s throat. Henrik bit back another gag and replaced it with a stream of firm swallows, repeatedly telling himself to not throw up, no matter what—

When an arm suddenly bent awkwardly and jammed against his neck, Schneep choked and brought his hand to his throat. A quick analysis of the lump under his fingers told him that Chase had been twisted into an awkward position, one leg still stretched out on his tongue while the other was out against his cheek. Chase was squirming, trying to help move things along, but it only made Henrik’s mouth water even more as he tried to deal with the new obstruction.

“Chase…” He managed to croak. “L-legs…!” He felt the vlogger’s legs retract deeper into his mouth and fold against the hips, which were just outside of the doctor’s gullet. Henrik carefully rubbed his neck, trying to smooth out the painful bump near his jugular, before he finally felt the arm straighten out. With a quick swallow, he felt Chase slide a little behind his fingers, and Schneeplestein shivered a little at the surreal feeling. He gathered a little saliva and steadied himself, and then he roughly threw his head back and swallowed as hard as he could.

It was a shocking sensation to feel his trachea suddenly restricted even further as the rest of Chase was shoved down into his throat. He didn’t have the breath to choke as his esophagus stubbornly squeezed the heavy mass down, past the doctor’s fingers and down to his clavicle. Henrik took a ragged gasp of air as soon as his epiglottis was clear, and he waited with a pale and sweaty demeanor as he felt the descent carry on past his clavicle. Chase had stopped squirming now, staying still in a prime position as the esophagus continued to pulse and pull him down into the doctor’s depths.

Marvin was regarding Henrik’s gradually paling expression, which only grew more severe the further down Chase went. When the pressure remained behind his ribcage, Henrik could only put his hand on his diaphragm and weakly swallow, giving his subject the last push he needed. He shuddered as his best friend’s weight gradually adjusted, shifting from tightly strung in his chest to gathering in his abdomen. When the last of Brody was finally deposited into his stomach, Henrik gasped and almost staggered. Marvin was immediately at his side, gripping his shoulder to support the faint doctor.

“Did it work?” The magician asked. Schneeplestein breathed heavily, sinking into a crouch as he gripped his stomach. It felt heavy, but not in the overstuffed kind of way. Maybe it would have even felt kind of nice… If he didn’t know that his best friend was what filled him.

“Chase?” He waited for an answer. His heart was beating faster with each second that passed, and he was about to try again when he suddenly felt Chase move. He drew in a sharp and shuddery gasp as his stomach wall was gently pushed outward, a feathery touch against the layer of flesh between him and his hand. “Oh, Chase! Mein gott! Are you okay in zhere? Oh scheisse, ze timer!” Henrik shakily pulled away from Marvin and rose on wobbly legs. He staggered to his computer and leaned on the desk, his hand still resting over his midriff as the other frantically fumbled with the mouse. Once he had the clock ticking, he let out a sigh and put his head down against the cool surface and focused on just breathing. He could feel his own diaphragm as it heaved in and out, but feeling Chase shift around in addition was a factor that he had not anticipated. He thought it’d be much easier than this— but Schneeplestein hadn’t stopped to think how strange his body would find the experiment.

“… Doctor?” Marvin lay a hand on Henrik’s shoulder-blades. The doctor closed his eyes and swallowed, his raw throat recalling just how painful it’d been to get his friend down.

“He made it,” he answered hoarsely. The tension in Marvin’s shoulders visibly faded, and he let out a relieved sigh.

“Good… That took longer than I expected.” As he rubbed Schneeplestein’s back in an effort to calm him down, he brought his other arm to hook under the doctor’s and drag him up a little. “Come on, take a seat, you’ll feel better.” Henrik was almost completely limp by the time he slid into his chair. He hunched over with closed eyes, still breathing heavily from the ordeal he’d so enthusiastically pressed for.

“St-stethoscope…” The magician’s sharp eyes picked out the instrument from across the office, and with a swish of his hand the item whisked into his fingers’ grasp. He handed the tool to Schneeplestein, who’s own hands trembled as he fumbled to put the ear pieces in before he searched for the right spot on his abdomen with the other end.

“… And it’s kinda tight in here, but it’s really warm! Oh, and it was a little rough at first, but then once I got all the way down it was kind of like a water slide! … A tight, weird, grossly pulsating and dark water slide.” Henrik practically melted with relief.

“Chase! I can hear you now.”

“Oh, that’s great! I made it!” The doctor let out a breathless laugh.

“Yes, I can tell. How are you, nothing vas dislocated vas it?”

“No, I’m fine, are you? Yer breathing sounds a little hard.”

“I am fine as vell.” As his lungs gradually slowed down, Henrik found himself tracing Chase’s little figure with his thumb. It was a bit shocking to feel the shrunken ego the size of his fist, if not smaller. Was there a scientific way to recreate Marvin’s magic? Perhaps next time he could go for smaller, now that he knew the limits of his body. Perhaps he could enlist Robbie next time— would the zombie’s sluggish metabolism make for an even longer period of safe containment? Perhaps—

“May I, doctor?” Schneeplestein jolted out of his scientific brainstorming and nodded at Marvin.

“Ah, of-of course.” He handed the stethoscope back over. Marvin placed the ears in and lightly placed his hand where Henrik’s was, and it glowed faintly as he honed in on their friend’s location. The magician paused for a moment, and then he suddenly turned red as his countenance twisted into a confused smile.

“He’s-he’s talking about setting up a tea nook and using a hammock,” he snickered.

“Vhat!? No— Chase, zhis is not an air bnb!” Marvin laughed.

“He’s trying to barter for some tea now.” Henrik huffed.

“No, if I svallow anything else zhen zhat vill trigger my stomach, plus if I did drink tea zhen not only vould zhat be gross for him, it vould also ve very hot for his size and probably burn him—” The relief in tension was interrupted by the door flying open, and Jackie skid into the office.

“Doc, doc! I need yer—” The superhero stopped and blinked puzzledly at the scene before him. Marvin cleared his throat and stood, returning back to his stoic self.

“Yes, I do see what you mean, doctor.” He handed back the stethoscope. “But I don’t care how bad too much salt is for my heart, if I want to put soy sauce on my rice then I’ll add my damn soy sauce!” He snapped. Catching on, Henrik held his hands up in a placate gesture.

“Fine, don’t trust ze doctor zhat knows you are eating yourself to your grave!” Marvin rolled his eyes with another dramatic huff, and then he turned to Jackie.

“What’s the problem now?” Jackie blinked and shook his head.

“Uh, Rob-Robbie ran off with JJ’s hat, and, uh, he won’t give it back.”

“Oh.” Henrik folded his doctor coat more tightly around his middle, tensing to get up. “Vell, I’m sure he von’t destroy it, but perhaps—”

“Nope, yer busy.” Marvin pushed Schneeplestein right back into his chair. “You were just tellin’ me about all those files you have to pour through, remember?” The magician prompted. “Plus all of those hypotheses, and your… Latest patient…” Henrik faltered.

“But- but Robbie—”

“Will probably gladly trade me the hat back in exchange for something else.”

“Ah…” Henrik sighed and pointed to a drawer in the back. “He’d probably prefer von of ze flower crowns to a derby.” Jackie wasted no time bolting over and rummaging through the drawer.

“Got one!” He held up a lilac wreath as he dashed back to the door. “Come on Marv, let’s go!” Marvin yelped as the energetic superhuman grabbed his arm and hauled him out of the office.

“I’ll be back in a little bit doctor, just sit tight!” He managed to call out before magicking the doors shut behind them.

“Okay…” Schneeplestein sat back in his seat and scanned the empty room. He suddenly felt conscious about being the only visible person in the room, yet another lay in his own core… And he was keeping awfully still.

 He quickly placed the stethoscope back. “Chase?” Instead of a quippy reply or a bad punny joke, to his surprise, what answered him instead was a snore. Bewildered, Henrik peeked behind his jacket and placed his hand over his stomach. He could feel Chase curled up on his side, snuggled into his inactive organ as the snoring continued peacefully. Henrik let out a soft chuckle, running his thumb lightly over the vlogger’s flank.

“Guess zhat spell took more out of you zhan I thought.” He stifled a yawn of his own and looked up at the computer. “… Ve have plenty of time,” he decided quietly. He set the stethoscope beside his keyboard and took off his jacket. He kept his movements slow as he pulled his arm out of the sleeve, and then he rotated the clean white coat until it lay over him like a blanket. The doctor slumped back in his chair, keeping mindful about compressing his stomach as he closed his eyes and sighed. When he felt Chase shift a little, he smiled and let his hand rest over his faint figure.

“I can write my notes down later,” he mumbled to himself before soon slipping into a very much needed nap.

       ______________________________

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (41 of 46)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, @courtorderedcake, @facesiousbutton82 <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL, HEARTBREAKING, and BEAUTIFULLY WHUMPY COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE and HERE!!!!!!!!!*************

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!!    CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*CH 34 ART! A DEFEATED KILLIAN, HEAD BOWED BEFORE HIS MASTER!!*

***CH 36 ART! DETECTIVE JONES BOWS BEFORE HIS NEW MASTER!!!!!!***

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

________________________________________________________________

Present (Saturday)...

In the presence of his Master, Killian lay inert.

There was no escape. Not ever.

No immunity, not in the end. He had resisted as long as he could. But now, he no longer had any control over his body. He could do nothing but lie helpless, paralyzed and at the mercy of the creature endlessly circling. Tapping that eerie cadence around and around, stopping only to prod at him, squeeze and pinch and crush. His ankle. His hand. His ribs.

Killian could not even scream anymore. Sometimes he felt on the verge of knowing why. The tentacle snaking down his throat did not truly hurt, though on occasion it inspired such panic that he would rather be dead than endure its presence any longer. Then the moment would pass, he would lose concentration and forget the invader, and try to beg an instant’s peace, and wonder why even the smallest hint of his pathetic pleas would not come forth.

YOU CAN NEVER BE FREE OF ME. I SHALL HAVE YOU FOR ALL ETERNITY.

Yes, Master.

Had there truly been a time when that commanding voice held no sway? The mantra scripted, the despair half-pretend?

NO MATTER. SAY IT FOR ME AGAIN. FEED ME YOUR MISERY.

No hope.

IT IS REAL THIS TIME.

No hope.

THE BATTLE IS LOST.

No hope.

NO HOPE. NO HOPE, TRIPOD. NO HOPE FOR ANY OF YOU. KILLIAN.

Killian?

*****

Emma burst into the waiting lounge, cursing, her heart pounding as if she'd just sprinted up to the top of the clock tower. Of course they would page her as soon as she ran down to the cafeteria for five minutes; she should never have let her dad talk her into taking a snack break.

"Whale?" she called urgently even as she spotted the physician’s distinctive shock of bleached hair across the room. He had his feet up on a coffee table and looked even more haggard than before; apparently, the past 30 hours had been rough on him, as well. He did not get up when he heard his name, opting to merely wait until Emma had perched nervously on a chair nearby. Dr. Whale gave her a reserved smile before speaking.

"He's out of surgery."

For an instant, Emma thought she might black out from the relief. Whale rubbed at bloodshot eyes, continuing,

"We did everything we could for him, for now. His lung has been repaired, his shoulder reduced, and temporary closures provided for his other injuries; they'll have to be addressed at a later date, when he's stronger. He's had probably a dozen units of blood and may require more over the coming days."

Emma felt a hand on her shoulder and realized that her father must have cleared up quickly downstairs in order to be able to be with her, and then snuck in while her attention had been riveted on the physician’s words.

Whale sighed and stretched his neck.

“I'm not going to lie, Emma; he's not out of the woods yet. He'll need constant supervision in the Intensive Care Unit until we’re sure he won't crash on us at any second. The biggest complication that we're dealing with right now is the neurological condition which, I can't even remember if I told you, has gotten exponentially worse since Wednesday.”

“The brain shriveling?” clarified David, and Whale nodded.

“The best thing for that would have been to keep him sedated while we work on a therapy, like we did for the others, but for some unknown reason, every sedative we’ve tried has only made everything worse. His blood pressure will fall, or he'll develop an arrhythmia or respiratory depression or something else equally as dangerous. It's totally bizarre, and none of the other slaves have reacted this way. Bottom line is, I don't think it's safe to keep throwing different sedatives at him and hoping one will stick. We’ll allow him to wake up and just try to keep him comfortable with painkillers.”

Around a lump in her throat, Emma managed to ask,

“But didn't you say the brain condition is slowed down when they're sedated?”

“I did,” shrugged Whale. “But faster brain deterioration will kill him slower than a clot caused by low BP would.”

Emma nodded slowly, the long list of threats to her husband's life squeezing at her heart until she could not speak. Behind her, David quietly asked,

“What about something like total anesthesia? Would that slow the condition?”

"That would be even more risky than sedation," explained Whale. "With general anesthesia, you always want to use the smallest dose for the shortest amount of time, otherwise all sorts of bad things can happen, from respiratory arrest to brain damage."

A moment of heavy silence filled the room, uninterrupted by the background noises of the busy hospital. Then Emma squared her shoulders.

"So when can I see him?"

With great reluctance, Whale stood up, unfolding slowly like a man many years his senior.

"Let's go," he groaned. "He's going to be disoriented at first; hopefully you can help with that." He glanced at David, then back at Emma as he added,

"Only you, though. For the time being, at least."

David caught Emma's hand in a quick squeeze. “Give him our best.”

*****

His Master had its clawed hand around his arm, squeezing without involving any of its nails. It hurt the stake driven through his wrist. But that was, after all, its privilege.

Harder, Master. Take what you will. I am yours.

“Killian.”

Bloody hell. Swan was in the church. He could hear her. He could almost see her, if he tried hard enough to open his eyes and focus. Impossible!

I SHALL HAVE HER TOO.

No!

A piercing pinch. A whimper without sound.

Yes… Master…

*****

It could only be an extension of his Master’s recording experiment, but how it was supposed to succeed was utterly mystifying. Any little sound stalled before it even started, not just the screams he wanted to unleash. So how would his Master glean any sort of energy from him this way?

THAT IS NOT YOUR CONCERN.

Killian’s elbow twitched and he felt an immediate jolt of stiff pain in his shoulder. He could not say when he’d been torn loose from his imprisonment, what almost certainly should have been the structure against which he’d breathed his last and surrendered his soul. The figment Emma was back, or perhaps had never left, though their Master had yet to make good on its threats against her. It must wish to drain the last remaining drops of scream energy from him first, wringing him out like a filthy, useless rag, scraping him down to the rind and then beyond.

She called to him. He could not acknowledge.

I AM HERE, insisted his Master. He felt it. Its marks of possession carved into his flesh. Unyielding limbs pinning him, holding him still.

Which of its appendages was slender enough to slip inside a nostril? Killian had no recollection of that particular trick.

“Hold still--”

DO NOT MOVE, TRIPOD.

Something twitched deep down inside his chest, sparking a powerful urge to retch. The Master’s device between his teeth confirmed itself as not-tentacle by its texture and flaccid presence, no roiling, pulsating muscle beneath its rubbery exterior, and yet it began moving again, this time sliding up his throat and exiting in one long, slippery slither, its tip scraping irritated muscle as it went.

Gagging hurt, but coughing was worse.

“Breathe,” urged many voices, Emma’s and at least one other. Z, if she weren’t dead and could speak. Or maybe it was only after death that she would.

FILL THOSE LUNGS WITH SCREAMS.

*****

When Dr. Whale had first led Emma inside, she would have sworn it was the wrong room. Her emaciated husband was simply unrecognizable, even compared to what she'd seen of him the day before. Discolored, withered, and limp, taped and wrapped, sickly pale skin free of dirt but painted with a sheen of sweat. After so many situations just like this, she probably should be at least somewhat accustomed to all of the gadgets necessary for life support, but they shocked her every time. Whale’s team had at least traded the I/O line for a more long-term central line, which she knew would cut down on the number of needle sticks necessary for blood sampling and the like.

Emma sighed. He was going to hate this. He always did, but now the parallels to his time as the Vocivore’s slave--not in control of much of anything, feeling trapped and helpless--would make it that much worse. Not to mention the damage to his hand that would take away all autonomy.

Well, she told herself, it was a miracle he was even around to hate it. And besides, it would be different this time. Magic would return soon; it had to. And then, even if she couldn't heal everything completely, she might be able to shorten his length of stay in his least favorite place.

No, she realized. She now knew of several places that would rank lower than this.

"Killian?" she called again, tenderly stroking his bony arm. In the 15 minutes she had been with him, he had showed some brief flashes of near-awareness: slight limb movements, fluttering of his eyelids, minute grimaces eliciting pangs of sympathy within her. In response to her voice, his heart rate would pick up momentarily, though it was difficult to tell whether that was from glad recognition or startled anxiety. In between, however, he would settle back into a frightening stillness that only the monitors proved could not be death.

A few minutes ago, a couple of nurses had removed the endotracheal tube from his throat after Whale had declared him stable enough to breathe on his own. The bout of choking that followed was painful to watch, but Killian still seemed mostly out of it as they attached an oxygen mask to his battered face. His eyes fluttered briefly open but did not focus before slipping closed. Since then, it was back to nothing again.

Whale appeared beside her and leaned over Killian in order to have a listen to both lungs.

“He'll come around in his own time,” he assured Emma. “This is not unusual after such extensive surgery.”

*****

Something had changed.

The paving stone had warmed, softening into something almost comfortable, a concept so unfamiliar as to be suspicious. The persistent cooing from up above mingled with an utter cacophony of bewildering sounds, none of which belonged to any reality within the horribly familiar confines of the sanctuary. And the light touch on his arm, the gentle stroking along intact flesh… for the first time, it was not altogether unpleasant. Which would only confirm what he no longer feared: total, unreserved surrender.

Does it please you, my Master?

The end of the deception and the fight.

IT IS GOOD.

He could feel it prodding at his chest with its cold, unyielding legs. He did not pull away. No horror stirred his heart, though he knew it wanted something of him.

WAKE UP.

More places were being petted, encircled, or invaded than his Master had limbs to account for; nothing made sense. And why was it insisting he wake up when he was already awake? Perhaps he could appease it with a groan.

Killian coughed. His whole throat felt raw as if acid slime had eroded all the tissue away.

I may no longer have any screams to give.

His ankle spasmed. Stabbing, burning cramps spread up his wrist from an oddly immobile hand. But his Master seemed unfazed by the revelation and continued its touching.

“Please--OPEN YOUR EYES--Killian. It’s time--YOU MUST WAKE--wake up now.”

The babbling had returned, voices on top of voices, all begging to be heard amidst the rolling of whitecaps pitching the floor into sudden, violent motion, squashing him down as though he weighed a thousand pounds, and in an instant, Killian was retching like the greenest of new recruits on their first day at sea.

If he’d thought coughing hurt, his stomach trying to eject what wasn’t there took that pain and magnified it a hundredfold.

“...Pretty common, too, after anesthesia…”

Shut the hell up, Whale, and let a man die in agonized peace.

HE WON’T ASPIRATE WITH THE NG TUBE CLEARING HIS STOMACH.

“Trust me.”

His Master’s suit had turned white.

The bucking slowed, gravity returning to normal from his feet upwards. Killian’s eyes were watering in lights far too bright and colorless, lacking any hint of refracted hue.

It wasn’t a white suit. A white coat.

“Killian?”

Tilting his neck even the slightest degree seemed to drive iron stakes all around its perimeter. Killian blinked away the tears into which his Master’s image had dissolved, leaving behind only smeared shapes and hazy colors as it bellowed a whisper,

I REMAIN.

His first in-focus sight had to be of bloody Whale, leaning over him in professional study. But the physician’s voice hadn’t been the only one to blend with the Vocivore’s menace.

“Swan?” he mumbled, almost noiseless, and promptly gagged. What he’d taken for a tentacle tightened on his arm in trembling reassurance.

“I’m here, Killian.” She moved into his field of vision and his weary eyes looked into her face, desperate for the calm that only she could provide. “You’re safe; you’re at the hospital. You made it.”

Though his vision remained blurred and unsteady, there was no mistaking the relief on her face, nor the steady stream of tears coursing down her cheeks as she tried to smile.

Sudden, paralyzing panic overtook him; he could not remember… his Master, it was there, always there, but beyond its looming presence… only fragments. A life. Such a precious life… and a corpse…

“Wh…” he tried, then, “H…”

“Don’t try to talk just yet,” interjected the bothersome physician. “You had a tube down your throat to help you breathe, and there still a smaller one going down into your stomach to help with nausea and for feeding later.”

The majority of Whale’s words got lost in the storm clouds of confusion and worry, and Killian chose to ignore the rest. But moving to keep Emma in view brought a wave of such intense pain that the room lights went out and a high-pitched, pressurized buzzing filled his ears.

“For the love of God, Hook,” Dr. Whale was saying, muffled at first but slowly clearer as Killian’s senses returned. “Hold still; there’s about 101 places you could tear open and we just finished putting you back together.”

Killian could only gulp unsatisfying breaths under the weight of the several cannonballs that seemed to be piled on his chest. In a much more patient tone, Emma pleaded,

“Try and relax, Killian; everything is fine. Hope is fine. The monster is dead. There’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Hope. It was Hope, the corpse. Hope kidnapped, Hope tortured, Hope dead. Emma was saying one thing, but he saw another. Hope dead. Maybe Emma didn’t know. So many terrifying scenes jumbled in his head. So much screaming and pain and despair. And Hope’s corpse, there among the flashes. The wounds were real. The Master was real. But Hope dead was not?

How would he ever be certain?

Emma’s touch; that felt real. Whale and his lackeys, as they performed their checks and asked questions he could not possibly comprehend… less so, but then again, their knowledge struck him as far beyond anything he could ever conjure.

Whence came the corpses?

I HAVE CONSUMED THEIR SCREAMS. THEY ARE DEPLETED.

His Master once again circled his bed. And Killian closed his eyes. Resigned to the torture.

*****

Emma watched her husband slip back into a troubled slumber and scrubbed at her face. The brief moment of clarity had been equally as encouraging as heartbreaking. He knew her; that was certain, and momentarily seemed to soothe at her touch, but the long periods of terrified delirium before and after had been difficult to stomach. Not to mention the apparent anguish that any small movement caused him.

Whale finished scribbling a progress note and pursed his lips. “Well, that went about as well as could have been expected. His neuro scores are encouraging, so we don’t have to be as concerned about hypoxic brain injury.”

Clearing her throat, Emma resumed resting her hand on Killian’s arm. Whether or not he consciously felt her presence, subconsciously she had to believe that she could provide a bit of a buffer between him and his nightmares. “Sure didn’t last long.”

“Combination of post-anesthesia and his pain meds. Really, sleep is the best thing for him, as long as it stays peaceful like this.” He checked a readout on the complicated IV pump and made a quick adjustment. “It’ll probably be like this the first few times. You may have to keep reminding him where he is and all that; he might not remember each time he wakes up. By tomorrow morning, I’d expect him to seem more alert and possibly stay awake for longer periods of time.”

The physician yawned and did not even seem sorry. “It’s going to be another long night, Emma. People in and out frequently. You’re welcome to stay, but no one would be surprised if you decided to go home for a couple hours’ sleep.”

Emma shook her head. “I need to be here for him.”

“Your choice.” He headed for the door. “Don’t hesitate to call someone if you have any questions or concerns.”

After he left, Emma watched Killian breathe, reassured by the small cloud of condensation that formed on the inside of his mask each time he exhaled. Then she composed a quick update to her father; she knew he would take care of spreading the word to everyone else waiting for news. That accomplished, she settled in for her lonely vigil.

Killian had endured a month’s worth of little to no rest, and low-quality sleep when he could get it. Compared to that, three or four nights of watching at his bedside was nothing. 

________________________________________________________________

[noonachronicles]

Here to Mars

Song Min Ho/ Mino X Reader

Word Count: 10.6K

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Futuristic...Space...Stuff?, Military!AU

Warnings: Mature themes including, sexual activity, vulgar language, and intergalactic violence.

A/N: Thank you to my Mino Anon for waking up something inside of me that was apparently dying to get out. HUGE thank you to @memoiresofaneternaldreamer for doing a light proof of this monster, but mostly for this AMAZING moodboard that made me cry at work because I wasn’t expecting such a perfect gift. I hope people like it, even if you don’t...here it is anyway because I worked really hard on it...

Honey, it's in the stars. And you're my everything from here to Mars

And every word I say I truly mean 

Dear darling, I hope I'm being clear 'cause there's no one like you on earth

That can be my universe.  

Lieutenant Song Min Ho was trouble. You knew this about him before he even stepped onto your ship. You knew because every single one of his superiors before you warned of him. Of his disregard for the rules and inability to follow direction. The thing about Song Min Ho, or Mino as he had apparently preferred, was that he was also the best known pilot in about a billion galaxies. What was worse was that he knew it. So when your admiral had told you he would be joining your crew on the G.S.S. Mobb you couldn’t exactly refuse.You had the best ship in the entire Galactic Guard, it made sense you would have the best pilots.

When he finally arrived it took him a total of five minutes to plant himself on your bad side. You were always one of the welcoming officers for new recruits to your ship, and the smug way he entered your bridge as if it was already his infuriated you. Mino was instantly attracted to you and didn’t seem to feel the need to hide that fact. Your strength, your power, there was even something about your clear disinterest in him as a subordinate that drove him wild.

Unfortunately, you learned, he really was as great a pilot as everyone had suggested. He’d been quick to fall into a leadership role with the rest of your flight crew. And in his first three months on the ship he’d seen 15 minor combat situations and had been able to deflect any and all damages from the main ship. That was the only reason you could justify not having written him up already for relentlessly causing mischief throughout your domain. You did everything you could in an attempt to ignore him not realizing that it was your attention he was seeking all along. Once Mino had an idea of what might warrant your regard he concocted his stupidest plan yet.

It had been a slow day, giving you the chance to walk the ship with your second in command. It wasn’t often you got the chance to really take inventory and you were pleased to find that everything had looked good. The ship was spotless and well maintained. On other ships an unannounced walkthrough would leave room for mistakes, but your crew was the best and your ship was always flawless.   

“What’s this?” you asked as the two of you reached the flight deck.

It seemed a large group of rowdy pilots had gathered in the hanger and were looking out into the vast empty space just beyond the ships seal.

“Uhhh…” your second tried to search the logs on his handheld for information on what was happening. “I don’t know, Captain. There shouldn’t be any activity down here.”

“So who the fuck is that?” you asked as one of your fighters shot passed the opening of the ship at high speed..

The crowd of pilots, maintenance crew members, and really anyone within earshot of the flight deck, cheered wildly. You watched the fighter shoot back and forth, playing chicken with small meteors, blasting them to bits and then speeding through their remains. In general being a showoff.

“Mino…” You spat, making your way through the crowd.

Everyone had been too preoccupied with his show that they didn’t even recognize that their Captain was among them. With your arms folded across your chest you watched his show. As he went on the crowd grew even rowdier, thrilled by his performance. At times even you found it hard not to allow for an impressed smirk.

So enthralled by his flying you barely noticed the other pilot that finally recognized you in the crowd. He grabbed his radio and you could hear the krshht of his call out. “Uh...lieutenant you’re gonna want to come back in.”

“What for?” You could just hear the smug grin on Mino’s face over the radio.

“You’ve gained an audience.”

“Thanks, that’s the point, Seungyoon.”

“Mino… the captain is down here.” He lowered his voice but not well enough, “She looks pissed.”

“Ah. Roger that lieutenant. I’ll be coming back in then.” He said with a cheerfulness that made it seem like that’s what he’d been waiting to hear all day.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Kang.” You said before making your way back out of the crowd.

You were going to finish your walk. Go back to the bridge. Hopefully finish up your quiet day. Instead you heard the unmistakable sound of crushing, scrapping metal and the entire gathered audience gasp in concern. You turned back to the seal just in time to see Mino’s fighter come crashing back onto the flight deck. Narrowly missing other fighters and handfuls of crew members. Once he had skidded to a complete halt Mino released the hood and jumped, with a superfluous amount of enthusiasm, from the cockpit to a round of cheers from the crew.

“I’m alive!” He shouted happily. “I think I broke my arm...but fuck it! I’m alive!”

His eyes scanned the crowd until he met your infuriated gaze. The smile on his lips hardly faltered at all.

—

“You’re on medical probation with that broken arm, Song.” You said almost the second he entered your quarters later that afternoon, after having his injuries catered to in the infirmary. “And you’re lucky I don’t have you removed from my ship completely for the fighter you destroyed.”

“Captain. Good to finally see you again.” He smiled, taking a seat in the chair across from your desk. He casually crossed one leg over the other and placed his casted arm on top of his thigh. “It feels like it’s been years since you welcomed me onto this immaculate ship and then never came to see me again.”

“I am the captain of a ship whose crew is over a thousand. Do you think I have time to babysit every single one of you?” You asked slamming your pen down finally looking up at him. “That’s definitely how you behave.”

“I just couldn’t figure out why you’d been ignoring me.” he said with a sigh of relief, clearly ignoring your words, “now it seems so clear.”

“And what reason seems so clear to you now?” You questioned in a huff of frustration.

“Obviously, you’re afraid to fall in love with me.” he grinned, “I suppose I don’t blame you. You have a great crew here but none of them, I've noticed, have been brought on for their good looks. Well, with the exception of you, if you ask me. Not that you aren’t also a great leader. I’d say it’s about half and half. Half the severity of your hair bun, half the severity of your leadership. It makes for a whole...lot of sexy.”

“Song, you’re the best pilot this ship has ever seen. I’d hate to have to have you removed for blatant misconduct and sexual harassment of a superior.” You hoped he could tell by the look on your face that you weren’t playing his game.

“My apologies, Captain. I meant no disrespect.” He said solemnly. You could see the grin forming before he muttered, “I must have misread the situation.”

“There is no situation, Lieutenant.” You said sternly. “I’m serious. Watch your mouth on my ship or I’ll have you transferred to the docks.”

He looked up at you wide eyed, finally sensing your seriousness. The docks were career suicide for a space pilot. It was essentially being trapped on earth, unable to fly, unable to do anything but watch the stars pass overhead. Older generations likened it to to working the graveyard shift at an actual graveyard. “I’m sorry, Captain. Please, I’ll do anything.”

You sighed. “Just do your job, Song. Nothing more, nothing less. And if you ruin any more of my equipment trying to show off, I promise you, you’re gone.”

“Thank you, Captain.” For once it seemed he was sincere.

“You’re excused, Lieutenant.” You said looking back down at your paperwork. “I hope I won’t have to see you again soon.”

He stood from the chair and took a few steps towards the door, “What if I wanted to see you again, soon?”

You looked up from your work unsure you’d heard him correctly, “Excuse me?”

“Um. Weren’t you going to ask about my injury?” He asked innocently.

“Does this look like the infirmary to you, Song? Do I look like someone who deals with injuries?” You asked with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t know.” He pushed his hair back out of his face with his uninjured hand and smiled. An actual, genuine smile. Not something smug but something real. It took all you had not to audibly react to how handsome he truly was. He looked down at his toes, “I think the painkillers are setting in.”

“Go... rest then.” You said quietly forcing your eyes back down to your papers.

—

Almost a month had passed and you were pleased that Mino had stayed mostly off your radar. At least in the sense that he wasn’t being needlessly destructive to get your attention. He was only being needlessly obnoxious and constantly hovering around you. With his injured wing he was unable to fly which meant he had plenty of time to hang around your bridge. Which he did, everyday, under the guise of learning the navigation system.

“Captain,” the second officer said stepping up behind you as you sat reading your charts. “There’s an unidentified ship that's been circling our location slowly for the last hour. They're also getting closer with each rotation.”

“I’ve noticed them, barely. Their movements have been very subtle.” You noted, “Have you attempted contact?”

“Yes ma’am. They’re receiving our messages but are apparently refusing response.”

“You feel they’re a threat?” You asked watching the nervous body language of the officer.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, “I don’t like to make assumptions based off of such little information...but something feels wrong.”

“Captain.” Mino said suddenly at your side

“You’re on medical probation.” You didn’t even satiate him with a glance in his direction before shutting him down.

“I can do this.” He whined.

That made you turn to look at him, “There’s nothing to do yet. If you weren’t so trigger happy all the time maybe you could have avoided the injury you already have.”

“I got this from showing off, not from combat. And I’m basically healed already.” He argued slipping the sling he’d been wearing over the top of his head as if that meant he was suddenly cured.

“I said there’s nothing to do yet, Mino!” Instantly Mino raised an eyebrow at you. He knew he’d gotten to you or was at least getting close. The second officer eyed you suspiciously as well. “Lieutenant Song. Please, step back and await any further direction….from...somewhere else.”

“Yes, Captain.” He smiled to himself before taking several steps back, but still close enough to listen.

You moved to your chair and sat down, considering your options carefully. If the ship was friendly you didn’t want to come off as too aggressive. If it was unfriendly you didn’t want to make contact unprepared. You sighed, a sense of worry overwhelmed you. Your gut told you this wasn’t going to go well and that you should risk coming off as aggressive for the sake of your crews safety.

You requested that the second officer open a line of communication and turned to Mino with mild reluctance. “Will you please go down to the hanger and have six combat fighters prepared for flight on my order?”

“Depends on if I get to be in one of those fighters.” He said running his tongue over his lip, thirsty for the chance to be back in the air.

“Lieutenant… don't make me say medical probation again.”

He cleared his throat and looked away from you like a teenage girl having a tantrum. “Fine. I’ll get your fighters ready.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Song.” You said with a slight eye roll.

You waited for confirmation that your pilots were ready for flight before opening the line of communication. “This is the captain of the Galactic Guard’s fleet ship, the G.S.S. Mobb. Please identify yourself.”

Waiting for a response you turned to your safety officer and requested shields up.

“If you do not identify yourself appropriately we will have to assume that you are a hostile intruder of this quadrant and we will have to take action against you and your ship. Again, I request that you please identify yourself to avoid any unnecessary action be taken.”

Radio silence. The knot in your stomach grew tighter. It seemed silly to look out at a ship in the distance and assume intentions but you definitely felt threatened. Finally there was a return message. It was clear from the first few words that the female voice that came over your system was a robotic translation.

“This Uag’r Barlak. Leader of the Kronon star system. Your Galactic Guard has wrongfully taken control of a star system that does not belong to them. May your death and the destruction of your ship act as a message to your Guard that tyranny will not be tolerated by the Barlakian’s. We are the resistance.”

“Are the shields up?” You asked urgently.

“Yes, Captain!” a voice called from one of the controls officers.

“Send the fighters!” You ordered, and watched as the ship that had been circling you neared.

They immediately began shooting their distance cannons at your ship, and you could see almost two dozen combat fighters release from their hanger.

“Get me the flight deck.” You said nervously gripping the edge of the table you’d been standing over.

“This is the flight deck, Captain.” said a voice over the intercom.

“We need at least a dozen more fighters in the air, right now.” You paused, “Is this Lieutenant Kang?”

“Yes, ma’am. We have a dozen fighters preparing for flight. They should be up and out in less than thirty seconds.” He said knowing and quickly trying to avoid your next question.

“Where is Lieutenant Song?” The air went silent. You could almost feel the heat of your rage as your neck grew red with anger. “KANG!”

“He’s in the air, Captain.”

You took a deep breath and looked down at the table. It was a 4D gridded map of the space around you. Your ship, the Barlak ship, the fighters. You could see it all happening in front of you in real time. Your eyes passed over the combat happening outside your ship and you wondered passively which fighter was Songs.

“Lieutenant Kang.” You said after a deep, calming breath, “Stay alert and keep your line open for any further requests.”

“Yes, Captain, of course.”

You watched the battle rage on for nearly an hour. Mino was superb, as always, flying circles around enemy ships and taking them down. You had several other amazing pilots as well, taking out their small combat fighters and destroying the larger ship cannons. By your count however, you’d lost three of your own fighters. So far your biggest loss of this deployment. Your heart ached for your lost pilots but you didn’t have time to be sad about it.

“Shields?” You asked watching a fourth fighter narrowly miss a laser cannon shot. Instead your ships shields took the brunt.

“Seventy-five percent, Captain.”

“Admiral Yang has sent transmission, Captain. He wants to know if he needs to send additional assistance.” Your second asked hesitantly.

“We’ve got this.” You responded tight lipped. You hated that your admiral would undermine you like that.

You weren’t wrong. With one of your pilots taking out the enemy ships second to last outer cannon, they finally cut their losses and jumped into hyper speed, leaving three of their smaller fighters in the lurch.

“Kang, bring your fighters back in. Our outer cannons will take care of the stragglers.”

Several of your bridge crew high fived and cheered. You let out a long breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding onto. You received congratulations left and right, but there was something you had to do. You left the celebration of the bridge and made your way swiftly to the flight deck.

“Where’s Lieutenant Song?” You asked the second you reached the flight deck command center.

You observed several injured pilots of the ones that made it back to the ship. Several of your fighters looked nearly destroyed. You’d never seen your ship in such disarray. It should have bothered you more. It bothered you that it didn’t bother you. It bothered you that your sole concern was why you hadn’t seen Mino’s fighter in the hanger. Why he wasn’t limping around somewhere being showered in sympathy by his peers. Why he wasn’t annoying you for attention while you were trying to focus on the true issues at hand.

“Where is Lieutenant Song?” You asked again to someone else this time.

The crew member looked up from where he was collecting debris, “He went straight to the infirmary, Captain.”

“Thank you. Is everything under control down here? As well as it can be?”

“Yes ma’am.” The crew member nodded.

“Do you need anything from me?”

“No ma’am. We’re just fine.” He responded sincerely.

You nodded, your head somewhere else completely. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you ma’am.” He nodded and went back to his business.

Your hands shook nervously as you made your way to the infirmary. You’d been stopped several times and tried to remain as calm and collected as possible. Hoping that you didn’t seem too much as if you were desperately trying to be somewhere else. As expected after the attack the infirmary was chaos. As many injured pilots that you’d observed earlier, there were twice as many here with injuries much more severe and the damage to your own ship had left a few bruised and battered crew members needing attention. Even still it didn’t take you long to find Mino, you just searched for the one nurse who was blushing furiously and giggling like a middle schooler.

You snatched the curtain sectional and tugged it open. Mino was sitting up, shirtless, on a gurney. He was mostly bandaged already, a charming smile on his face. The nurse had been applying ointment to one nasty looking cut on his side.

“Captain.” He said snapping you from your obvious stare.

“Um.” Your eyes shifted from his smooth, muscular chest to his amused eyes. “I thought you’d look much worse.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“I’ll need to speak with you once your done here. About your disregard for direct orders.” You turned towards the nurse he’d been flirting with. “Are any of his injuries severe?”

“No ma’am.” She smiled something small, the way you were asserting your dominance and aggression was very clear to her. “He should be done here shortly.”

“Good.” You said and turned back to Mino who was biting his lip as he watched you. “My quarters then. As soon as your done here, Song.”

“Aye, aye.” He smiled cheekily. As you turned to leave, in his most suggestive tone yet he finished with, “Captain.”

You stopped for a beat, wanting to say something, took a deep breath and thought against it. You walked away without looking back. You weren’t sure what you were going to do once he met you in your quarters. You’d made the request too hastily. Your internal arguments began immediately. What you had wanted to do was kiss him, to finally wipe that perpetually smug smile off his face once and for all. You’d wanted to have your hands on him like that nurse did. Taking care of his wounds. Wounds he’d earned protecting your ship.

The thought made you stop in your tracks, in the hallway near the bridge. You reached out, clutching the wall for support. This was not going to be good, you’d let him get under your skin, every layer. He was too handsome. You’d been too lonely. You were letting your more primal desires take over from what you knew was your more evolved train of thought.

“Captain?” You looked up to see your second in command looking at you with concern and realized that you still had your hand pressed against the wall, and were panting deeply as if you’d been running.

“Yes?”

“Is everything okay? Do you need help?”

You straighten yourself and cleared your throat. “I’m fine. I…” You wanted to blame it on an anxiety attack, something generic. Stress from the battle, but something like that would only be seen as weakness. “I’m fine. Thank you for your concern. I’ll be in my quarters for the rest of the afternoon if you need me.”

“The ship is going to be fine, Captain. You made good calls today. Get some rest, you earned it.” He said patting your shoulder gently. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

You’d been in your quarters only a minute, it felt like. Only long enough to down an entire pitcher of water and let your hair down around your shoulders.  Still your mouth felt dry when the knock sounded on your door. You cursed under your breath and turned towards it, sitting on the edge of your desk as casually as possible.

“Come in.” You called.

“Captain, you wanted to see me?” Mino said stepping inside your office.

“Shut the door please, Lieutenant.”

You watched as Mino turned and closed the door. He looked back at you over his shoulder with a cocky smirk and your heart started racing immediately.

“Anything else, Captain?”

“Lock it, please. And you can wipe that smirk off your face while your at it.” You commanded. You would remain in control, at least that’s what you told yourself. Even if you didn’t quite believe it.

Mino did as he was told and then stood in the center of the room at attention. His hooded eyes watching you relentlessly. You wished he’d look somewhere else, your awards or your desk, the carpet, or just anywhere but your body. You already felt like your body was a flashing neon sign begging for him to take you. The way he stared, tongue rolling over his lip, only confirmed it.

You pushed yourself from your desk quietly and stepped towards him. He was still shirtless. Too bandaged on his one shoulder to have been able to slip back into his undershirt, so he had the arms of his flight suit tied around his waist to keep it from slipping all the way down. Although it was still low enough that you could see the start of his Adonis lines.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, sincerely, observing the cuts and clear bruising beginning on his skin. You stood face to face now. Too close.

He could not hid the shock on his face. Eyebrows raised and mouth drawn back in surprise. “I thought you didn’t care about-“

“Please, just answer my question.” You sighed, he exhausted you.

In every way shape and form Song Mino exhausted you. He chipped away at you. Like a fool, you’d believed, chipping at an iceberg with an ice pic. And yet somehow his persistence wasn’t as futile as you assumed it would be.

He turned his head just slightly. Your faces just inches from one another. You bit your lip as he swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn’t think he’d ever get here, but the air around the pair of you was thick, and he couldn’t help but believe you were waiting for him to kiss you. He wasn’t entirely wrong.  

“I’m going to be just fine, Captain. Don’t you worry about me.” He said quietly, softly.

You didn’t move, he assumed you wouldn’t, so he tilted his head even closer testing the waters. You kept your eyes on the wall opposite you, as his eyes trailed over your skin, “What you did out there was stupid, Song.”

“It’s not the stupidest thing I’ve done and I’m sure I’ll do worse in the future.” He whispered because his lips at this point were already so close to your ear he could practically taste you.

You gulped. “Thank you, for saving my ship.”

“I’d do anything for you.” He said, his breath hot against your skin. Your eyes were burning holes in the wall across from you. “Just tell me what you want me to do and consider it done.”

“I can’t.” Everything inside of you was conflicted and fighting. You wanted him so badly but you risked the job you’d worked so hard for.

“Can’t what? You can’t tell me? What if I guess then?” His lips brushed softly against your skin and you thought you might cry. “If I had to guess, I’d guess that you want me to…”

Your breathe grew heavy in your chest as he raised his hand to your collar, pushing your shirt to the side, exposing a patch of your skin. You inhaled deeply. His fingertips were rough on the skin but his palm rested gently on the top of your breast. It was a lot of physical attention you didn’t feel prepared for.

“Please, don't tease.” You begged quietly, the anticipation too much. His eyes trailed over your face, catching the pain in your gaze. The tremble of your lips. The unsteady way your breath caught in your chest. The heavy pounding of your heart under his palm.

“If I had to guess. I’d guess you want me to kiss you. Here.” He pressed his lips against your collarbone and instantly moaned at your scent. “Here.” He said kissing another patch of sensitive skin. “Here.” He said sucking the skin of your throat gently between his lips. “Here.” He pressed another kiss against your jaw just below your ear.

Your hands flew up from your sides wanting to touch him. To hold his broad, muscular shoulders. But you stopped yourself, palms hovering just over his arms. You whimpered, it physically hurt you how badly you wanted him. Mino showed no restraint. He wrapped one arm around your waist and pulled you into his body.

A gasp escaped your lips. His mouth continued its attack on your neck and chest. It was as if he was eating up every gasp and whimper you released for him. His hand lowered from your waist to squeeze your ass. You could feel him growing hard between you two.

“Stop.” You whispered. His hand released you immediately. In the back of your chaotic mind you couldn’t help but think he wasn’t so terrible at following orders after all. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

His bottom lip rolled under his tongue as he eyed you hungrily, “You think you can’t...but, you do want to?”

“Shit.” You sighed. “Yes. Fuck. Yes, I want to. It doesn’t change anything. I can’t do this. It’s already gone too far.”

His finger trailed a line up your neck slowly, until he was cupping your head in his palm. “If you promise not to say anything, I promise not to say anything. We can do whatever we want, no one has to know.”

“That’s not how it works. If we were to get caught…”

“We won’t. I swear. No one will ever know. Can’t you keep a secret?”

You stepped back, the air becoming too thick in the room. You hit the back your legs on your desk and took a much needed seat.

“I can’t give you anything. I won’t. You wouldn’t get any special treatment. I’d still need you to behave, to listen. I can’t ever promote you. I wouldn’t-“

You didn’t even notice him move towards you. You just felt his lips on yours and felt your body sink into his hands, like ice melting in a fire. His tongue was soft and strong against yours. The hand on his bandaged arm held your head in place while the other found the waist of your pants. His long fingers slipped inside of the fabric and between your thighs easily. Your back arched from the touch and Mino let your body follow its desired movements. Still protecting your head he laid you down on the desk.

“I don’t want anything from you. Except this.” He whispered against your throat as you panted desperately beneath him. His fingers circled the moistening patch of cloth between your thighs. “This...is yours and yours alone to give. So I ask, may I have this?”

You nodded, “Yes.”

He didn’t waste any time finding his way underneath the thin fabric that kept him from you. His fingers pressed slowly and stiff inside you. Your eyes fluttered shut. You felt almost embarrassed that it had been so long since you’d been touched by someone else that the sensation could have made you cum then and there.

You realized that you still hadn’t touched him. All you’d wanted to do and your hands had never met his skin. You grabbed his hips, lifting yourself from the desk and moved your hands over his taught, warm skin, up his back where you could feel every muscle. As your brain began to make a list of things you wanted to do to him, you realized that it was too late now, and you might as well just do it. Hands on his shoulders you pulled him into you, latching your mouth onto his flesh. He was salty and soft on your tongue.

“Help me.” He groaned at the feeling of your mouth on him. “Help me get these pants off of you.”

You remembered his injury, and felt bad that you’d been too indulged in your own satisfaction to remember. He pulled away, removing his fingers from inside of you, his  hand from your pants. You watched, jaw dropped open, as he placed his glistening fingers on his tongue and then sucked them clean of you.

“Pants.” He grinned at your reaction to his lewd behavior.

“Oh, right.” You shook yourself out of your trance and slid off the desk.

You began to unbutton your pants and then looked over at him leaning against the desk now and changed your mind. Your hands grasped the knotted sleeves of his flight jumpsuit and started untying.

“Your pants, Captain.”

“No.” You shook your head, continuing on. “Yours first. You got to taste me. Now it’s my turn.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He said as you tugged his suit down so that he was standing in a pair of black boxer briefs. The outline of his erection clear as day. “I think you’re wet enough for the both of us.”

“Why do you always talk back?” You asked dropping to your knees before him. Hands on his thighs you leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his bulge.

He looked down at you in awe as you released him from his briefs. His mouth fell open as you looked up at him, taking him between your lips. You liked watching the way the muscles in his stomach clenched and released as you sucked him off,  teasing his tender tip with your tongue. It surprised you, pleasantly, when he started to whine.

You knew he was close when he finally begged, “Let me fuck you.”

“You don’t want me to finish?” You teased.

“Please, I need you.” He gasped with desperation. It hit you that he’d wanted you this whole time just as bad as you’d wanted him. He wasn’t just another flirty fuckboy, not entirely.

You stood up and slowly unbuttoned your blouse and then removed it, tossing the fabric onto the desk next to him. “How many people on this ship have you fucked, Lieutenant?”

He sucked in a hiss of air as you undid your bra and placed that next to him as well. “Not one. Why?”

“You expect me to believe that?” You asked, toying with the button on your pants.

“I’ve only been interested in one person since I got here.” He answered. “You can believe that or not.”

“Would that nurse you were flirting with say the same?” You unzipped your pants and he raised his eyebrow in surprise as you peeled them off your legs to see the quite sexy pair of panties you’d been hiding underneath your professional wardrobe.

“I’m usually not so attracted to jealousy, I’ll be honest, but the fact that you’re typically so confident...the change of pace is really doing something for me.”

You rolled your eyes, “Lay back.”

Again, and still slightly surprising to you, he did as he was told. You stepped towards him, your fingers dragged along his thighs, over his hips, his abs, his chest. You climbed onto the desk, straddling his lap. He bit his lip in anticipation of your next move. You rolled your hips gently, rubbing your wet sex against his hard cock. You giggled lightly as his mouth fell open at the sensation.

“Who's the tease now?” He asked, looking up at your smile.

Finally you lifted your hips, and moved him into position before sinking down on him. A moan instantly escaped your mouth as the stretch betrayed you. You’d wanted to take this slower, to be more meticulous with your movements but he felt too good to mess around. Not to mention his hands, gripping your hips, wouldn’t have let you relent even if you wanted to.

Months of pent up sexual aggression that you didn’t even realize had been building was released from you. You could have been on him all day, he felt so good. Your thighs tightened painfully from the workout.

“Fuck, y/n!” He gasped “I’m gonna...I’m cumming.”

Your eyes widened at the sound of your name on his lips. He’d only ever called you Captain before. One of your hands gripped down on his good shoulder. As you slipped the other between your legs, your fingertips finding your swollen clit.

“Oh god. Oh my god.” He panted, as you rode him clear out of his orgasm. The friction slowly becoming too much pleasure for him. He whined again from the agonizing pleasure of it. “Oh, y/n. My goddess.”

Sweat pearling off your chest, his last words brought you to your finish. You tightened and tugged around him. Your mouth had fallen open silently and you crumbled into his chest.

“That…” You panted heavily satisfied.

He waited to if you were going to finish your thought and then chuckled when you clearly weren’t. “Yeah, that.”

—

Months passed and everyday you didn’t get a message from the admiral that you’d been fired had been a day full of surprises. Mino was actually more discreet than you’d ever expected. He remained ever the menace, giving you endless opportunities to call him to your quarters for reprimanding. Which, it had turned out, Mino loved being reprimanded.

It seemed to be more difficult for you to keep your hands to yourself than it was for him. You just couldn’t help yourself, brushing your hand against his, a playful pinch of his butt when no one was looking just to see the tiny smile on his face as he tried not to laugh. Not being able to kiss him was the most agonizing, because he was better at kissing than he was at flying and he was a fantastic pilot.

You started to really love your intimate moments together. When you’d lay in your bed and he’d play with your hair, brushing it out of your face or off of your shoulder. Letting his hands through it, massaging your head as you rested on his chest.Typically pulled back into a tight bun he enjoyed the silky way your locks twisted around his fingers. You liked to kiss his scars, old and new and learn where each and everyone came from. You loved learning him.

He liked to make you laugh more than anything else. To see you smile was so rare on the ship and he liked to know that he was capable of prying smiles from you so easily. He liked all the things you did just for him and no one else. Mino was funny and he was sweet, he was more than you had ever possibly expected. You knew you were in love with him. You hoped he was in love with you too.

Life hadn't just been secret sex and private romance however. The Barlakian’s had attacked your ship three more times. Each time having learned a little more about your techniques. Each time getting a little more aggressive than the last. It was by far your biggest stressor. Mino was good for postcoital talk about fight plans. He had seen the Barlak ship up close, he knew its weak spots, and the way that their fighters maneuvered. He found them to be almost robotic, easier and easier to battle. But your concern wasn’t their small fighters it was their large cruiser. The one that was damaging your ship with every battle, the fighters were just a distraction.

Whenever he thought you were getting too stressed, too obsessed with the Barlak, Mino was very good at distracting you. There was something almost poetic about the way Mino went down on you. You were usually good about keeping quiet but when he was between your thighs you struggled to bite your tongue hard enough. Which was why he usually did it in your private shower.

It was just art in its purest, most raw form. Your thigh draped over his shoulder, his hands grasping your hips so tightly it felt like being strapped into a fighter harness. The glass of the shower was ice cold against your heated skin but the water felt like summer rain as it poured over the both of you.

Your thighs shook with your orgasm as you drank up the water that rained down on your mouth. When he finished Mino slipped up your body, pinning you against the glass of the shower. His lips captured yours roughly. Your arms slipped easily over his soaked shoulders. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

You could feel the walls around you shaking and you gasped, “How do you make the whole universe tremble too?”

He chuckled lightly, “That wasn’t me, baby. Thank you for the credit though.”

The walls shook around you once more, harder than before. You looked up at him, his hair dripping down into his face. He looked serious and you realized that what had started out as a sexual pin against the glass had become protective as the ship shook again. You found yourself squeezing his shoulders for support. Suddenly the alarms blasted through the intercom. The ship was under attack.

You sprinted breathlessly onto the bridge as the ship shook once more, your hair was still damp.

“Debrief.” You said as your second in command reached you.

“The Barlakian’s. It’s a new ship, it came in fast and close. They must have been tracking us to have known our exact coordinance like that. We’ve been hit a total of ten times. The first was before we could enable the shields. They took out one of our outer cannons. I requested ten fighters to discharge immediately, we’ve lost five. They’re prepping more as we speak. Shields are already at sixty-five. Captain, you have to decide now if we stay and fight or if we pull back.”

“There.” Mino said beside you. You hadn’t even seen him come in. You noticed his damp hair however, and wondered who else would notice that the two of you shared that in common. “This is the weakest spot in their ship. I’ll go out with a cannon shooter and blast it. I would bet my life it’ll take out their entire ship. We don’t have to run.”

“Cannon shooters aren’t as fast as your normal fighter.” You said eyeing the weak spot he’d pointed out.

“I know.”

“That’s suicide.” You barely whispered. He was right though, if he could hit the spot with enough power, it could destroy the whole thing.

“For a lesser pilot, maybe. Not for me.” He said confidently. “I can do this. All you need to do is make sure our ship is out of the blast radius.”

“Captain?” You second said awaiting your decision. “We need an answer, now.”

You sighed heavily. “Call down to the fight deck and have them ready a cannon shooter for Lieutenant Song.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He answered before turning away.

“Mino.” You said quietly, brushing your fingers on his wrist.

“That’s lieutenant to you, Captain.” He said pointedly.

“Lieutenant Song.” You said eyeing the chaotic crew that swarmed around you, everyone was genuinely too busy to pay much attention to the pair of you. “Come back...safely.”

“Give me twenty minutes. I’m just going to go out and save the galaxy.” He smiled warmly, “When I get back we can finish that meeting we were having earlier.”

“Mino,” You said again, trying to get him to understand your sincerity, “please. I need you to come back.”

“If you’re not careful Captain, people are going to start thinking you have feelings for me.”

“People wouldn’t be wrong.” You responded, “Just come back. Okay? That’s all. Don’t do anything stupid. If it gets sketchy…”

“I will come back to this ship. You couldn’t keep me away.” He said, finally with the genuine understanding that you had needed from him.

You nodded and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “You're needed in the hanger. Safe flight, Lieutenant.”

Your eyes burned as you watched him go, but this was neither the time nor the place to let your emotions get the best of you. Taking a deep breath you turned back to your crew and exhaled. Quickly you found your focus, directing the crew to where they needed to be and to be doing the things that needed to be done. First task was to get your ship moved out of the blast radius.

As that was occuring, in collaboration with the flight deck, you made orders for the faster combat fighters to assemble together on the opposite side of enemy ship as the weak spot that Mino would be tending to. Remembering the strategic flaws Mino had told you about the Barlakian’s before, you knew that they would focus on the larger group, not a single cannon ship. Just because they were on a new ship didn’t mean they’d changed their strategy.

Watching your map you were pleased to see how correct you were. Much of the fire power from the ship and the Barlak combat fighters converged on where your smaller fighters had been assembled. Meanwhile you watched as the cannon shooter made its way around the back end, essentially undetected. There was a mild sense of relief that coursed through you but also knew this was far from over and Mino was far from safely back to you.

You could hear the conversation between your second in command and Kang in the flight deck confirming that the ship was a safe distance from the blast zone. You knew that meant that Mino was ready to take his shot. Your second confirmed that the ships shields could withstand a blast and you verified that Mino was cleared to take the shot.

Everything that happened next felt like an out of body experience. As if you were standing just over your own shoulder watching yourself looking down at the map. Watching Mino’s cannon take several shots towards the enemy ship. Looking up out of your bridge window to see the Barlak ship collapsing on itself. Looking back down at the map, to see if the cannon shooter had made its way out of the blast zone as well, just to see that the map had been taken out momentarily and you had no visuals.

A celebration of joy and relief bloomed throughout the ship as you made your way from the bridge to the flight deck. You felt uplifted and in good spirits enough, knowing that the operation had been successful. There was just one last thing you needed to be complete on board with everyone else.

“Captain.” One of the officers said with a small salute as you entered the flight deck. The rest of the crew turned and did the same.

“At ease.” You grinned, “Are all my pilots back?”

“Almost ma’am.” Lieutenant Kang responded. “Just waiting on, Song. We’d lost his shooter for a minute after the blast, but we just found him a second ago. Waiting on contact with him now.”

“Good.” You nodded checking the blip on the radar, he was close. “Very good.”

There was a hint of static on the radio and then a sound that eased you completely. “G.S.S. Mobb flight deck. This is Lieutenant Song. Can you hear me?”

“This is flight deck, we can hear you now pilot.” Kang responded.

“Good. Is the Captain present?” Mino asked knowingly.

“The Captain is present on deck.”

“Excellent. If you could just let her know that her star pilot is heading back home safely, I would appreciate it. She wasn’t getting rid of me that easily.”

You rolled your eyes and the crew chuckled, used to his cockiness and playful banter they didn’t suspect any deeper meaning from his comment. You watched as the cannon shooter entered the hanger, only slightly worse for the wear. He landed easy and hopped out of the cockpit happily.

The feeling of relief, of knowing he was actually safe, had just barely draped over your body when you saw the rogue enemy fighter heading straight toward the hanger.

“Intruder! Blast it!” You shouted out.

It was just a second too late. The fighter got off one shot with its small cannon before your ships guns took it out. You watched, in painfully slow motion, as the blaster hit Mino’s shooter. Your eyes grew wide as the metal began to tear apart from itself, exploding. Mino, after realizing what happened, tried to duck out of the way and avoid the blast. He was just too close and it was just too late. You were running from the flight deck down to the hanger as soon as his feet were torn from the ground from the blast.

“MINO!” His name tore from your throat in a blood curdling shriek.

Your feet hit the concourse faster than anyone could comprehend, headed down the hanger. Several crew members were working towards putting out the fire from the explosion, others were quickly gathered around Mino.

“Get out of my way! Everyone move!” You yelled kneeling next to him. “Baby…”

He winced from the pain, but a smile still crept on his face, “Captain...that’s a bit bold.”

“Oh shut up, Mino.” You gasped lightly at the sight. A shard of metal debris was lodged in his neck, blood oozed from the wound slowly. You wanted nothing more than to remove it but you knew it would only do more damage. You looked up at the crowd of people that had gathered. Most shocked by the scene, some muttering about the way you squeezed his hand in yours. “Someone get a doctor! Immediately!”

“They’re on the way, Captain.” One of the crew said calmly.

“Okay…” you leaned closer to him, kissing his forehead. “Help is on the way. It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna stay right here. You’re gonna be fine.”

“So it’s worse than it feels?” He asked lightly.

“It’s...not bad.” You lied.

“Your face is even less convincing than your words if you can imagine.” He joked.

“I know.” You whimpered.

“Don’t cry.” He said furrowing his brow in pain.

“I’m not.” You said shaking your head defiantly.

“You are.”

You lifted your hand to your cheek and wiped away the wetness you didn’t realize was there. “Mino...I have to tell you something, just in case. You have to know.”

“I love you too.” He whispered, stealing your thunder, but you didn’t care.

You leaned your head against his shoulder and couldn’t stop it as you sobbed freely. “In all the galaxies... in every universe, it was you that was made perfectly for me.”

He let out a laugh, that turned into a cough. You noticed the blood on his teeth before he recognized the taste of copper on his tongue.

“You’re really giving us away, Captain.” He groaned form the pain, “We’re definitely getting sent to the docks now.”

“Good.” You sniffed, “I don’t care where they send us, as long as we get to go together. Do you understand me? We go together, Song.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave you a blood red grin as the medics finally arrived. You moved away on your own accord, wanting them to get him the help he needed as fast as possible. Otherwise you knew they would have had to peel you away from him.

You watched what you could. They fitted a blood transfusion pack, and placed a packing gel around the wound to stop the bleeding. You wanted to complain about their lack of tact as the put him on the transport. He gritted his teeth with the pain, knowing you were there. Not wanting you to think the worst of it. Although you already were.

—-

Later, while you waited for the surgeons update you’d heard whispers from the infirmary about his injury. The debri in his neck from blast has just barely missed his main artery. Any closer and he would have been dead before even you’d reached him. It only made your chest heavier.

You knew by now that word of your actions towards Mino in the hanger, that your relationship, was well known throughout the ship. Nurses eyed you as they spoke quietly. Other patients in the infirmary kept eyes on you too. You realized in that moment, maybe for the first time, how much you didn’t care. What happened next in your career was the least of your concerns. The only thing that mattered now was that Mino survived. That he recovered. That he would be there for you to love.

Once the surgery was over it had been hours later. The infirmary was almost completely cleared when the surgeon came to tell you about the success of the operation and that Mino was resting. They tried to tell you that you couldn’t see him, until you reminded them that this was your ship. You sat beside his bed in a chair, watching the rise and fall of his chest, grateful for it every time. As the early morning hours of the next day arrived and still he slept you rested your head on the bed next to him and closed your eyes for a bit.

As you started to wake up you’d forgotten where you were. Eyes still closed all your brain was willing to comprehend was that the air around you smelled of him and that his hand was playing with your hair like he usually did when you’d lay in bed together. It was the excruciating cramp in your lower back that reminded you that you had been slumped over in a chair.

“Mino.” You bolted up straight and looked over at him. He was smiling at you, still sleepily. He pressed his fingers against the bandage on his throat as if to indicate he couldn’t speak. You had to take the opportunity to joke, “Finally, a moment of peace with you.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Does it feel terrible?” You asked softly. He shook his head no.

“Are you lying?” He nodded.

You grabbed his hand in yours and kissed his knuckles. “But you’ll live.”

He moved his body, making space on the bed for you and patted the mattress.

“You know I can’t.” You said biting your lip, so tempted. “It would be unprofessional.”

He gave you a look that could only have been described with the phrase, Oh please.

“You’re right. We’re already going to be dishonorably discharged.” He grinned and you slipped onto the bed next to him.

Tucking into his side you sighed deeply with content. He wrapped one arm around you, his hand at the small of your back while the other hand went back to your hair. He kissed the top of your head several times before he really settled down.

You closed your eyes but a request remained at the edge of your lips. “Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again.”

You could feel the chuckle in his chest. And then, just a very hoarse whisper, “Okay.”

—-

You walked into the bedroom to see Mino finishing up putting on his dress uniform. His hair was slicked back, and his jaw was sharp. You could see the pink of his fresh scar dipping under his collar. It ended up being nearly six inches in length from behind his ear to the front of his throat. It didn’t matter, he was still the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You sighed, quite wantonly, and Mino turned towards you with a smirk.

“What?” He asked as you stepped towards him. Sliding your hands up his chest and over his shoulders.

“Nothing. You’re just so handsome.” You whispered pressing your soft lips against his soft scar over and over from end to end.

“You look sexy.” He grinned squeezing your butt playfully. “In your itchy wool captains skirt...I can’t wait for you to put on your little hat over that fierce, tight bun.”

You groaned, pulling out of the hug. “Don’t get used to it. I’ll only have this job for about another hour, then it’s only civilian clothes for me.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Lucky for me you look pretty sexy in those too.”

“Maybe it would better if we both just got sent to the docks.” You said with a slight pout.

“Why?” He scoffed, “I can think of nothing you would hate more. You’re a leader, not a nothing.”

“I wouldn’t have to worry about you getting hurt at the docks.”

He smiled, loving how incredibly soft your love for him made you. It was like a drug for his ego that you only ever showed that affection to him. He kissed your forehead swiftly. “You know you’ll have to worry about me wherever I end up.”

You groaned once more, this time in realization that he was right, and rested your exhausted head on his shoulder. Why your heart chose him you’d never know for sure. All you knew was that somehow, even though his olive suit was an itchy, warm wool, and his chest was hard with muscle, you were still more comfortable in his arms in that moment than anywhere else you could think of being.

__

During Mino’s pinning and recognition of service ceremony you sat nervously on the stage between several of your admirals. Your direct leader had eyed you several times and only spoke to you once before it began to remind you of the meeting that would be held in his office following the ceremony.

Despite your nerves you’d been proud of Mino. The crowd was huge. Usually for these types of events it was a few higher ups and some fellow Guard members. However Minos story of bravery had spread like wildfire and he had become a bit of an intergalactic hero. As many civilians as could be accommodated were in attendance and you had heard that there were thousands more outside the event, just wanting to give him thanks with their presence.

He looked good, standing tall as he received his Heroism in Combat, Crimson Heart for being wounded during intergalactic combat, and finally his Excellency in the Sky, for being a superior pilot, pins. He told you before the ceremony that he’d wished it was you pinning him, at first he said it as a sexual joke but then again later and more genuinely. Although both of you knew it would never be allowed. Instead it was one of your peers, and one of Mino’s old Captains. He kept his eyes on you the whole time, and you fought a blush every second of it.

After the ceremony you and Mino took your time getting to the admirals office. You had said you wanted to be prompt but Mino had other plans. He squeezed your hand in his as he dragged you around to a few pilot friends that had been placed on other ships. He showed you off more than his newly acquired military pins and it made you blush furiously with every new introduction.

He made you feel drunk off your love for him so much that the two of you stumbled into the officers building. You even felt giggly as he kissed your neck in the elevator. It wasn’t until you reached the Admirals door that your stomach flipped.

Mino could see the change in your demeanor and it made him frown. “You were so happy.”

“I am still happy.” You said faking a smile.

“It’s going to be fine. You and me...were going to be fine.” He promised.

“I know.” You sighed, still with a slight disbelief. You fixed the collar of his jacket, straightened his newly acquired pins, and adjusted his hat so that it sat properly on his head.

“Feel better?” He asked with a grin as you dropped your hands back down to your sides, knowing your need for control was a comfort.

“Kiss me please?” You asked holding back anxious tears.

“Always.” He said pressing his lips to yours. The stress you’d felt oozed off your shoulders and down to the floor. As long as this stayed the same, Mino was right, you’d be just fine.

The air in the office was thick and uncomfortable. Mino and you sat in chairs across from the admiral. His, surprisingly, cluttered desk the only thing between you and his disapproving glare. Mino had grabbed your hand before walking into the line of fire and hadn’t let it go since. You weren’t sure if the admiral was waiting on one of you to speak first as a power move, but you were both waiting for him.

With an almost unprofessional huff, the admiral began, “Obviously you two are here to discuss discharge procedures for having a prohibited relationship between a superior and a subordinate and then not disclosing the relationship once it began.”

“I’m going to stop you there, Admiral.” Mino said with an air about him that told you he’d had this conversation planned in his head already. “That’s just not going to be happening. Neither of us will be dismissed from the Guard today.”

“Song, I’m sorry son, but you’re not the one who dictates how things work in here. That’s my job.”

“I beg your pardon admiral, but...I’m an intergalactic hero. You saw the crowd out there today, right? How bad would the Guard's publicity be if they reprimanded an actual hero.”

“Are you threatening me, Song? Are you threatening the Guard, because you’re going to want to think about that.” The admiral said, growing red under his collar.

You bit your lip in amusement. Now you knew why everyone who didn’t have to deal with insubordinate Mino, could love him so much. It was too funny when it wasn’t you.

“That’s not a threat, Sir. That’s just a fact.” He said calmly crossing one leg over the other, his fingers tightening around yours. “If you don’t give me what I want, it’s going to backfire. I mean, I don’t care either way what happens, but I’m the face of the Guard now. Do you think the people are going to want to see the face of their Guard down on the docks, kicking rocks?”

“Fine.” The admiral said tight lipped, “You’ll remain a pilot, Lieutenant Song. Congratulations.”

“Commander.” He corrected. You raised your eyebrows as you stared down at the floor. He was pushing it, but his face was straight and he wasn’t done yet.

The admiral inhaled deeply, infused with rage. “Anything else, Commander.”

“Just one thing. I only fly under one Captain.”

You’re eyes shot up at that. He was smiling smugly at the admiral. You didn’t even want to look over at the desk for fear of the rage monster you would witness.

“That I cannot do. Your Captain broke rules. She exhibited a relationship with a subordinate. She took advantage of her position. She compromised the integrity of the Guard and of her ship. She will be demoted from Captain and removed from the G.S.S Mobb immediately.” The admiral looked coldly at your hand clasped in Minos. You thought to remove it but his fingers tightened around yours. “Maybe we can find your captain a nice desk job, something more suitable for a lady. Since this position seems to have been a bit too overwhelming.”

“You’re not listening, Admiral.” Mino said sharply, obviously angered. “I will fly only under this captain. If you don’t allow that then you’ll lose your best and now most highly decorated pilot, and the face of the Guard. Not to mention, the recording I now have of this conversation and of you expressing blatant, and quite honestly archaic sexism towards a fellow officer will find itself….everywhere.”

You tried not to look at him too suspiciously, but something told you that his comment about having the conversation recorded was a bluff. It was apparently not a risk the admiral was willing to take, however. By the end of the meeting Mino was a commander, and you had your ship back with a new title as well.

—

Three months passed before you stood on your bridge once more. It was still a few days before take off but you wanted to do a walkthrough of the ship while it was still moderately empty. The repairs, modifications and updates made since the last flight made your heart swell. Your ship, she was a true beauty. The best in the fleet.

Your vacation had been filled with beaches and camping. Sunrises and sunsets. All the earth things you’d been missing out on in space. But it felt good to have your fingers on the controls again. Passing gently over the navigation system. Standing in front of your panoramic shield window you imagined how the stars and planets were going to look up close once more.

“General.”

You turned from the window to see Mino. You could tell he'd been watching you and it made you blush in a way that only he could.

“Commander.” You nodded, “How does my flight deck look?”

“Crisp.” He grinned, “Beautiful. The new fighters are…”

“Do you need a minute alone? A cold shower, maybe?” You smirked.

“Hah. Hah. I saw you fingering that new Navi system, you pervert.” You laughed as he wrapped his arms around you. “Welcome home, baby.”

“Thank you.” You said kissing him. He raised an eyebrow nonchalantly as if everything he’d done was no big deal. So you grabbed his chin pointedly, “Thank you...for making sure I got my ship back.”

“Yeah well...it was mostly selfish. I love a having a strong woman in charge of me.”

“Oh, I know that.” It was your turn to be smug and you loved it.

“Are you ready for this?” He asked genuinely, “You won’t be able to escape me once this ship is in the air.”

“What do you think escape pods are for?” You asked deadpan.

“You’re so funny.” He said flatly.

You sighed and turned around in his arms to look out at the view earth provided you with, and the to the sky, knowing that it expanded so much further than your eyes could ever possibly see. “I get to explore the actual universe with my own personal universe at my side. I’m more than ready for this.”

[serpent-energy]

My Immediate, Bewildered, Emotionally Charged: Post-Election 2016 REACTION (through quite expressive language)

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Post-Election Feelings; Who is Needy?

Can We Divide The Greedy?

Written by Sean Kadagian

Scattered, yet Organized

Hollow, yet always,

is there a prize.

--

This massive, omnipotent, and the great: Economic Wheel--which I capitalize by the way due to its obvious and vast, and clearly apparent greatness-- in which America has created, ever and perpetually being moved in every direction, visible in waves with its motion being dictated by this invisible hand that feeds on pettiness, classism, and greed--its movement has been rapid and inconsistent and now the country divides. We stand, we move, in divided patterns. Static interrupted vibrations to feel across the lands.

Protests in masses of White because the "minorities" know there's no use and worse has happened to them so the whining Whites march in anger because their apparent, and only other possible, savior, Hillary Clinton-- the rigid, two-faced, emmy-award-winning politician who lost to none other but a reality-TV star with one of the weirdest haircuts and owner of the strangest most ridiculous faces to have ever been politically behold. Which would you want? I'd rather a blind date show up and see what they got.

Is this the best America has to offer? Some people say it is. That they grew up in American families, being taught at a young age American values and what to aspire to. But it isn't. It's not the best we got and to think so is naive and ignorant. We have better. But the money isn't in better. At least it wasn't during this political race and the multiple comical debates that so many people had to watch as the dutiful and informed Americans they are. And we were all left with the most appaulling two options in history.

Bullying and ripping on eachother is what America saw their two presidential candidates doing on stage for hours when we were supposed to get down to what's going on in our country. I, for one, am a recovering heroin junky, addict, whatever--among (of course) many many other things. It's been a little over a year since I've been off the junk, but I lost five years of my life to it including multiple overdoses. During the presidential race, I maybe heard mention of it...I don't know, I can probably count it on one hand. And I'd really have to think about it and if they even mentioned it five, loud and clear times.

And I'm not being selfish. It's an epidemic. Each candidate coined it this actual term unveiling the gravity of the situation. Even the current and momentarily remaining president, Barrack Obama said this probably the clearest and most seemingly heartfelt. He sure he is good at what he does though...Who knows if it really is a concern of his, or the others that can really, actually change the current status-quo pertaining to the epidemic. But, and again, like I already said, I can count on one hand how many times it's been mentioned in combination of all three people.

Addicts are dying to a drug many do not fear anymore because once painkillers (opiates and opioids) began becoming more regulated, and OxyContin went off the market not too long after it got sued for originally and initially stating that their drug, which is essentially so close to the feeling of heroin that many call it "pharmaceutical heroin", is not addictive. They got sued hundreds of millions of dollars. Did they care? Of course not. They must be showering in their hundred dollar bills daily. Profiting off the deaths and terrible addictions to what many people originally addicted to Oxys and other painkillers switched to, and with little fear, like I had--heroin.

My greatest problem, which also inludes a kind of question, is I want to know exactly how Wall Street is proffiting off the opium being manufactured to heroin and many millions of pharmaceutical opioids and opiates, sent across seas from Afghanistan (mainly), as well as Mexico? How much are they proffiting and do they feel any remorse or guilt? Or is money really the most addictive and destructive creation man ever gave birth to? I blame money. But I also blame the psychopaths and sociopaths walking around Wall Street proffiting off screwing so many people over.

I still struggle with temptations, because, as we all know, heroin is heroin. And heroin always fixes things. Temporarily of course, but it also grabs you by the crotch after that first shot.

Do they want a youth dying out to an epidemic the government is literally completely to fault here? Sure, some doctors were crooked and would take certain favors in order to write out extra scripts to people, as Florida became known as not too many years ago, the Pill Mill.

It's known. So sure, it's an epidemic. But what do we do?

Do we revert to things like eastern philosophical approaches like meditation, finding our true selves and some peace within, as well as the practice of mindfulness? It's an idea. It's a start. It's an approach. And it's being done with some success. But when an ex junky is truly uncomfortable, out comes the voice tempting one to reach for the syringe one more time. Just to feel okay.

Or is the reason because our society doesn't offer much hope to our youth as they grow to teenagers and struggle with their identities and existential questions, like Do I fit into this society? And then into their early twenties...

With so much competition...With such an overwhelming number in our nation's populus...it sure gets a little bit crowded and just a tad overwhelming up in here...

When a friend wants you to try something saying it makes you feel better and you already don't feel comfortable in your own skin, what is your first instinct? I was a curious cat. And boy did it help. And then ruin...everything. The amount of tears and worry my family had gone through during my days of active addiction is heart-breaking.

And now...

Now, readjusting and re-entering a society that was already one that angered me before my addiction because of its size, intimidation in the amount of people doing what I wish to do...I feel like I lost out on years of learning. And although I'm not particularly an unintelligent person, I have lost years of chances to learn and harnass life skills which I lack and am only now learning

This entry of feelings through words was, at first thought, going to be about the nation and its clear divide because of the election results. But instead I brought up a problem that I went through and am still dealing with, because my learning takes place almost everyday. And this is happening in every single state of our great goddamn America.

--

Donald Trump said a lot of words. A lot of things he wants to not exist anymore. One of which, is the drugs that come through the border like it's water through a siv. He wants that to be eliminated. So many things, to me, it seems he doesn't understand. Although I do, and seemingly always get the feeling that he just says things for shock value and for votes...also for division and exitement. We must remember, he was a reality television star, as I mentioned somewhere in the beginning. He's a show-man who, out of mass division and disagreement and lack of seeing things through one lense instead of way-too-many, became the elected president to take office in January.

He talked about rebuilding America's infrastructure. That's a thought. His 100 Day Plan sounds completely naive and unreachable. I don't know what will happen...but as I merely mentioned one problem pertaining to the heroin epidemic, though a terribly horrific, and worst of all-- realistic problem--other problems such as the now-clearer-than-ever: systemic racism that is evident where minorities live and where and how whites live.

Yes our country is still segregated, and if you don't think so, just take a walk around some inner cities and then take a drive through a suburbia where upper-middle-class whites live. It's just a visual. Most of the time, visuals don't lie. They just tell. The actual blunt truth in so many ways is hard to accept at one's core and then still walk around with a kind of lightness and have empathy for all of mankind. I certainly don't. Though I am moreso than not, a highly sympathetic and understanding, and (well, I'd like to think so) a person than tries to embody and radiate kindness and benevolence.

Working like ants in a farm and buzzing bees to their flowers and back to their nest for more and more honey. How much money can we stack before we can say we've done it?We've reached the final level and now we can explore this world for what it really is, and not what the American media and national blue-tube shining artificial light and colors and loud dialogues demeaning other people, all trying to one up eachother--tells you.

I wish to lift you up.

I see colors, sure. The color of one's skin I am speaking of now, of course . But I know, as it is a fact, that we are all human beings. Really...period. One species. The only difference between I, a considered white person, and another person with black skin (just for this example), is our backgrounds and where we came from. Which is vast. Sure. But my background and where I came from can vary greatly from just another white person's. To have this in the forefront's of our collective conscience is important. To blame, maybe, just the American government. The whole lot. Maybe, no definitely, the god damn mother fucking media. God, it's really starting to just sound like a dirty, scummy word. "Telling you the truth, but of course, only how we see it!" Should be most of their slogans with a white man's face smiling a fake-white, fake-inviting smile.

Usually I get along with all different colors, ethnicities, races, and hopefully the aliens that I'm  waiting for to come down and show me something exciting and meaningful.

What I'm trying to say is, as long as you wish and remain aware of the energy and vibrations (vibes) you are giving off to others, more often than not, the reaction from the opposite person you are interacting with will be that of, nothing more, than a human. True humanness is openness, benevolence, a hint of curiosity, and hopefully a sure feeling of kindness.

If my openness and kindness in turn breaks through the possible shell that another person had to create as a protection to the brutalities and hard-to-handle emotions that any pill could barely touch....if I can break through that wall--a wall in which we all have in one form or another...it's just adaptation to our surroundings...But yes! If I can break that wall, there is nothing like your good vibes being reciprocated with enthusiasm and comfort by the opposite person.

"Come play over here, man. What's your name by the way?" he said with some excitement and curiosity.

"I'm Sean. You follow the Knicks?" I replied with a kind of joy resulting from the clear fact that I'd just broken through a seemingly hard-shelled-wearing human being.

Another human being's shell they created over time for safety to outside stimuli eventually becomes one of familiarity, therefore, comfortability. We like what we know. To open up and break that kind of shield from the discovered dangers of the world, it's a scary process. Makes me wonder why something like romance isn't being preached and put on a pedastal for being one of the most wonderful things in the world anymore.

My journey is to become naked. Metaphorically of course. I can get literally naked anytime I want... Anyway, point is, my aim--my long, elongated aim--is to shed myself and rid myself of my hardened and old and, in spots, witheringshell. Like a turtle that just needs to get out. Maybe then they could run fast. Maybe then I'd be laughing last.

All I know is that I blame Society. There. I said it. Well, typed it.

I blame Society.

Oh, how you raised me!

The fear and the letdown from childhood to the years of my confusing teens.

Excitement to letdown. My creative creations and of how they lay around in the thousands all around my entire life. Poetry. Short stories. Writings, songs, broken instruments, and instruments needing tuning.

So I hope.

I hope because wishing is childish. Look at what happened to my Santa Clause. Sure I don't blame my parents, but maybe Society could've dropped that fairytale decades ago...start raising some realists instead of people still believing that that Utopia we've all daydreamed and drempt of at one point or another throughout our lives still could happen if only people just tried a little harder. Perfection is a myth, yet we are driven, and we are driven, and we are set to be constantly driven, and I think sooner or later we'll be driving straight into these god damn brick walls like drunken fools. Just right into them. Fucking....

Crash.

--

So crash the Market! Erase those irritating, really, meaningless and useless numbers and abbreviations rolling by constantly at the bottom of the screen. Maybe some sexy french girl speaking in english with her seductive accent in a smokey, breathey voice will tell us: "A new era is coming. We must, and we are now starting, as you see: completely eliminate all that is meaningless, useless, loveless...drenched with countless people trying to get one up on eachother...forever attempting this endless climb up a ladder wrongly labeled success...Paradise is in meditation in the most basic form of the word. You now must become aware of your surroundings, your body, others, and how you act towards and around others. Today is the first day of the rest of your life."

If I truly heard something like this I wouldn't give a shit what hi-tech anarchist group hacked the whole thing and gave and laid out this kick-ass short and sexy interrupted speech. I'd be psyched. Ecstatic probably. Do you think you would you agree with enthusiasm as well? Also, maybe, with a kind of exhaustion and some word like finally banging around the outer-layers of your mind?

Are you waiting for something to be done to change these ways that really are so immature and beneath our growth--and when bringing up how long humans have been on this planet, and more specifically pertaining to us: how long America has been a nation--don't you think we should be a little further a long than we are? Just a tad? Not technologically. Referring to products and all the useless fun stuff that's sold in our country while other human beings across seas are starving to death every few seconds....I'm reffering to all that....we're good on that part. So good it's sickening. The fact is: so much of what is in our country is outdated and must be updated with not profit in mind, but of betterment for the entire country. Until a movement in government begins and makes any progress regardless of how slow it is, it's clear that all the fun -isms will remain engrained into our country's way of life. Classism and racism am I hinting towards especially. Sexism...that's a whole 'nother horse. I'll just leave that over here for now...

And Art is scattered in the airs of the internet and searching for reads, views, likes, acceptance, appreciation, and of course, somebody saying: A job well done Bucko. Do you like my face? Maybe soon they'll have reconstructive facial surgery for people just simply discontent with the appearance of their own face, disregarding any actual injury.

But that's how bad power--and the lack thereof--can make somebody. In this instance I am pertaining this reference to the many people in power truly, actually dictating how the millions inside their nation lives. Okay, maybe not dictating because what they're really doing is merely perpetuating a system that's been in place for almost close to a century now. The only positive I see with Donald Trump becoming president and taking office in January of 2017 (what a laugh even writing that out) is that there's no doubt he will create much needed tension and create an exciting kind of friction within the government, and congress. Tell you what, I'll be watching the news everyday once he's president. I can't imagine a more hysterical and perfect man to run the country. He's the epitome of our country really if you think about it. In two big ways. Self-absorbed, pretends to be somebody he's not. I'm not even sure who or what the guy is really about...besides himself I mean. I'm no doctor or nothin', but if I were, I think it'd be a safe to assume that our soon-to-be president Donald Trump might just be a sociopath. Sure is a funny one though. As long as you don't take this thing too seriously that is.

How much more self-absorbed do you think we can really become as a nation? The media, the just so awesome five-minute long commercials on TVwhile I'm just trying to watch Old School and let my brain melt a little bit (meanwhile I'm being told if only only ONLY I had some odd-word for a pillow that I'd dream of the most beautifully seductively enticing naked women in HD, or something better than HD they were saying...I don't know...they're really all just words to me)--and the many billboards throughout the cities and highways all across the country. Yes, you, whoever is reading these lonely, probably overly-extended words trying too hard to get you to understand that...never mind...the writer is of no importance here....I am only, and innocently, wondering, how often do you feel less than because of how often one in America is told by these things (the media, comwmercials, billboards, filtered news stations) that without many certain products, their attraction to the rest of mankind...to the rest of humanity, is nil to lesss than. Hideous. Prozac nation, right?

If one were to think abstractly for a second, yet with a simple lense on, that all humans need is sleep, food, and sex, then one can let go of all the materialistic American bullshit and maybe go on a hike and close your eyes in the sun and tell yourself as long as I can neutralize all the hectic westernized false-needs by false-claims like a burn on one's skin with the right ointment, you must tell yourself that it's okay. That once that thought--that it's okay--makes its way to the very depths of your mind and becomes, in the future, part of your foundational structure in your consciousness and even subconscious, then you will find contentment. Then you will know what peace is. It's transcendental. It's transformational. It's enlightening. To grab, grab, grab, or just lazily watch what's on TV, the individual is feeding their psyche too much negative stimulation. It creates a path for us of shallowness unless we question what is and wha is being presented by the millions and zillions. I believe Trump as President may actually spark this to happen more across the seas of people in the country. I don't believe the average American accepts everything that funny man with a sick hairdoe says. When one disagrees with something, it's either because they have the actual knowledge and know it to be false, or they just feel it deep at their core that they're getting jerked around--then they either wonder why and search for the truth, or if their an apathetic old bloke, they do what apathetic people do: they don't care.

So I ask only you: How much more can they make us American people feel less than whole and perfect, even in our imperfections? You know most none of the crap being advertised to "better our hollow and meaningless lives" is something your average--or any-- actually needs?

You ever think they'll let us be? My creativity is dwindling and I've been forgetting to read. A real statistic for no one to see. Is that how you might possibly feel? Hold on, I have another thought. I'll be right back. Just wait on the dot.

--

Of that which I disagree and don't approve of, I find a deep-seeded kind of resentment inside of me...sometimes lazily and apathetically it lives, and sometimes quite dramatically, and at times seemingly tragically-- it screams. All aimed towards the terribly angering act and overall facade that our government puts on and wears like a designer robe, exposing some terrible truths sporadically, but then tying the belt around the waist and once again recoiling into itself to hide all the things that normal citizens "just wouldn't understand" (in a demeaning voice just like how it'd sound).

I also blame quite seriously and heavily our American society as a whole--if you couldn't already strongly tell.

Yes. Fact.

And this was just a quick entry into a computer that actually baffles me most of the time in all my honesty to give, which brings in itself a kind of embarassment and slight shame that I, a "first-world", white American male of 24 years old, am quite technologically retarded pertaining to all the new phones and new computers that put out their new updates and (at times, so they hope) aesthetically more pleasing devices. It's all just confusing to the point of pointlessness. Settle down guys. Maybe go work on the holograum idea or something or other boys. All these contraptions being manipulated and sold to thinking they are far more superior to the prior device that came out only six or so goddamned prior to this one! At second thought...I don't believe I should feel any type of less for not staying up to date on the countless updates these corporate devices keep putting out. Instead I just don't buy into every new... New, if that makes any sense. I used to like shiny Pokemon cards when I was a kid. But I'm not a kid anymore. I'm fine with what I got. So move on with your whole "You are less if you do not buy and consume and become our latest piece of trash truly pointless product". Because if you have the last couple, I'd skip the next few.

See, I'm not here to prove much more than a feeling of frustration and confusion through language and hopefully some interesting clarity. Okay, now flash back to me talking about my not so bright days of breathing my old, wretched Junky air. I lost five years to my heroin addiction, and even had to be revived once. Basically, and I'll say it again for reiiteration, I lost out on learning the ways and tricks to this world and this cunningly, and oh so deceiving: Planet Earth while most others not sticking needles in their bodies advanced and adapted as they did. All I'm saying is I'm trying in a country that seems to be breaking stalemate and coming out of the closet a little bit in terms of all the skeletons that are just standing there like zombies, now with the doors open, we see them, but my wonder is Now what?

So,

If America is the captain of this planet, and does influence through numerous, simply countless things such as (the easy and known ones:) music, movies, our media, and especially pertaining to what we allow other nations to know, and more specifically: what we allow other nations as well as our own to think...

Oh yes, so if we are the Influence...the ones to Look At when the shit hits the fan...if we are the preached endlessly to be Saviors of this world... Then we must start looking within our own country. We must start looking at the faces of the youth. Ages eighteen to twenty five or something or other. Interview. Ask questions. The right Questions. I can gaurantee all the debates on police brutality and the past killings and (most-likely) future killings to come, as well as the sexy topic of "Gun Control", will be idiotically debated back and forth by people that either know the massive amount of stupidity behind their claims, or we just allow dumbasses for average Americans--many of whom pick a news channel and stay with it and either agree, disagree, get mad at, or fall apathetically into a depression about--those Americans are listening to humans much less than a real...

Human...

Being.

It's all choice.

And many are content with the ladder floating around somewhere inside their noggins, aiming to take that next step towards (corporate) ascension and please the God that will be pleased with their job.

And then there are the thinkers. The searchers. The creative types. Could be left brains, or might be right brain people. I forget. Who cares anyway?

Thing is, the disconnection from those many Americans who come back from a shitty day of work doing something they hate, turn on the news and the perfectly blushed faces with too white of teeth--and they are arguing at random how the whites of the middle class and lower are being forgotten and how it became that way and why they are dissatisfied with their lives, and the person that flicks this on...it only heavily and seriously validates his feelings. So why wouldn't this person eventually vote for someone like Donald Trump? The liar, actor, masoginist, childish man with an odd bleached yellow hair cap...the man who spoke to struggling whites of that calibar during his stops in American towns and cities for talks. That's only one reason some voted for Trump. Not that I can sit here all day and just name the many reasons people voted for him besides discontentment, which branches out to many theories.

As I mentioned, segregation by race, and by class, which, and without any kind of humor, seems to mainly (and not-so-curiously) be those of color: black, brown, whatever...if you're not pure, we won't give you different bathrooms, but your living conditions are going to be shit and your schools are going to be and going to remain a joke offering that close to non-existent chance to excel and go to college and see what one of your stature can make of yourself....No. Most end up in jail from selling drugs, getting caught with drugs, trying to make it in the Hip-Hop scene here in America, or practice practice practice the game of basketball till one can shoot with their eyes closed. Stephen Curry is now the bar that has been raised and set and idolized and instead of philosophers or lawyers or other people with like-jobs, most blacks, and even hispanics, have idols that are more often than not, sports players, and/or rappers. A philosopher or lawyer or doctor won't lay out a possible path for success in packed living conditions and the only dreams seemingly possible is sports or music because of the many that have made it of their "color". How so insanely petty when I type the word out...color. Well, many of them aim for those goals. Is that odd? It's logical. I get it. And most of the time, as I said, me, the one writing all this rubbish out, is a (technically) man with white skin...I'm White...it's how we currently label eachother. It makes sense, again, yes, sure-- but it separates.

Will we ever just look at eachother as human beings?

Is kindness looked at as a weakness and is hardness a characteristic of the stereotypical Male in America? Do many wish to hold onto that coldness and hectic spiraling thoughts that must fester inside their being and psyche?

I gave it up. I had to. I still judge at times. Hopefully judge is the wrong word for it. I don't know. All I know is that when I go into Manhattan I see so many people trying to be people. Wearing designer clothes and big, you know, those too-big kinds of arrogant looking sunglasses? I see girls looking at me in my peripherals and when I look they quickly look away. I question why a lot. And also wonder if the beautiful girls I see in the city that I wish I could just take and bring into my life and see what might happen, if they really have an interesting personality and possibly even a fascinating past..but most I just walk past and see in incriments of five seconds or less and then they're gone.

We're all trying to be somebody during one's years in the 20s. I'm twenty-four and I probably wear a new mask every couple weeks. Maybe less. Sometimes it's every other day.

Who should I be today?

If I pretend everything will be just dandy will it snow so we can build snowmen together with bundles of joy in our hearts?! Oh, and bring a carrot for the nose!

I just want to grow. Grow inside a society that constantly feels too hard for me.

I have things to say.

And I love making strangers smile.

I think if you can make another person smile or laugh throughout your day then you made a positive contribution to mankind and just made their day a little more worth while.

It's a tough life. Of that is for sure.

But it's the ride and the waves!

Still learning to behave.

Oh, and you think Osama was really hiding in a cave....?

Words to dissect,

I think I'll go give this brain a rest before Trump comes out and builds us all Trump Tents instead of my cozy, cozy bed....

So Good Rest for now,

my friend of only friends...

For it's always the beginning.

And then it's the end.

oh yes, and we work!

as busy ants and busy bees pollinating their flowers for their honey-comb hives on the trees.

for peace

one day,

We will find it

And if not all of us before I close my eyes for my final time here,

Then I will leave blessed.

Blessed to have known that such a life of Duality exists,

for if one does not know the lower, darker vibrating energies that cause fear and discomfort-- then one will never know the pure beauty, joy, and ecstasy of life;

I'm in love with the Yins and the Yangs.

So just hold me close, for my bed is only so big.

Now I'm thinking of something of greatnes and purpose.

Oh yes, in my heart of only one hearts...I know

I will find you.

Oh yes, here I come

And if this does anything for your comfort due to all my prior words trying to make sense of a confusing American time, I'll say it, for it is nothing less than the truth

Yes I promise,

that one day in the future,

nearing the end

we'll all just float away....you and me, together, all of us

Like all the atoms and tiny molecules that we all are

We will cease to be

and just

disappear

in mid-air

Evaporate,

The Final Scare.

[idornaseminary]

Chapter One-Hundred Ninety-Nine: Mel

In the dead of night, Mel felt a presence hovering near her bed.

She’d been locked into a fitful sleep, reliving the horrors of the Boggart. No matter where she turned in the nightmare, she would come face to face with the bulging eyes of her father as he clawed at his throat, desperate for air. Her body eventually wrenched her out of the hellscape, and her blurry, sleep-filled eyes were able to make out a dim blue light hovering over her bed.

It took her a moment to realize what it was - a patronus. An eagle, circling just beneath the canopy above her. She blinked in alarm, glancing over at Ella. She was still sleeping soundly.

“Melanie Winter,” came a voice from the patronus. She recognized it immediately as belonging to Doctor Evans. Alarmed, she shot forward, bunching her blanket around her. “Your presence is requested in the infirmary at once. I am afraid the matter is urgent.”

“What…?” Mel’s heart leaped into her throat, but the eagle turned, disappearing through the wall. She watched it go, feeling dread build in her chest like nausea.

After a brief moment of stun, she dove out of bed and wrapped her housecoat around her shoulders, not even bothering to throw shoes on. She cast lumos and hurried down the stairs and out of the Gestona common room.

The stone floors of the main castle were ice cold against her bare feet, but she refused to stop, taking the stairs almost two at a time. In part, this was because she knew the matter was urgent. However, another part of her felt an intense fear at roaming the castle on her own. The shadows in the corners of her vision seemed to take on a whole life of their own, feeling thick and tangible.

When she reached the main floor of the castle, she was so intent on getting to the infirmary that she didn’t watch where she was going. Her bare feet slipped on something wet and she fell, landing painfully on her side and leaving her winded. Wetness soaked through her clothes. Wheezing, she grabbed her wand and sat up, throwing its light over the puddle she sat in.

A shriek built in her throat. She was sitting in a trail of blood, leading all the way from the front doors, down the hall to the infirmary.

“Oh God, oh God,” she mumbled, wiping her shaking hands on her pajama pants. She stood, with great difficulty, and stumbled the rest of the way to the infirmary.

Her eyes scanned the room, searching for a source for the blood, but Professor Owa immediately blocked her vision, grabbing her by the arm.

“Melanie,” she said, her voice shrill. “You’re covered in blood. Don’t tell me - “

“It isn’t mine,” Mel blurted, wrenching her arm away. “But it is everywhere. What the hell happened?”

“Come.”

Grabbing her arm again, Owa led her towards the back of the infirmary. A few students still remained from the battle over a week ago now, but the back corner remained deserted, save for a group of professors crowding around one of the beds. They came into view one at a time - there was Ibori, remaining stone-faced as O’Connor cursed and screamed in his face, her own skin even more pale than normal.

“Would you both stop it!” Evans barked the demand over her shoulder as she hunched over whoever was in the bed. There was blood everywhere. Mel felt like she was going to be sick. “Take that childish argument elsewhere!”

“Melanie Winter!” O’Connor exclaimed suddenly, rushing over to her and gripping her shoulders. “Yazid found him outside. He fought them off as best he could, but by the time I arrived to help, they’d...he’d…” She stopped, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut.

Mel’s stomach dropped. “Move.”

She shoved through the throng and made it to the bedside, her knees buckling as soon as she caught sight of the mess.

It was Vincent, his skin, and clothes so soaked with blood that it was hard to see the source. However, when she gathered the courage to look him straight on, she realized it would have been easier to point out parts of his body that weren’t sliced open and bleeding. Deep claw marks marred his face, his arm twisted unnaturally at his side. His shirt and jacket were in ribbons, revealing his exposed and torn open stomach.

“M-Melanie…” He croaked the fingers on his unbroken arm twitching.

“I’m here,” she said desperately. She couldn’t bring herself to stand, but she allowed O’Connor to help her into a chair that had been pulled up by the bedside. She didn’t care who was watching. She latched onto his hand, her eyes brimming with tears. “What happened?”

“The fool left the castle after dark,” Ibori replied coldly. “Merlin only knows why. I would not have found him when I did, had it not been for the screams of pain.”

“Yazid, that’s enough,” O’Connor snapped, her fingers trailing circles on Mel’s back.

Vincent coughed, blood spilling across his lips. He tried to utter something, but it came out as only a series of splutters.

“What is it?” said Mel, squeezing his hand.

“He is not lucid, I am afraid,” Evans said gravely. Mel dimly realized that she’d stopped tending to his wounds, directly. She caught a flash of the label on the flask in her hand. It was a painkiller. “He’s done nothing since we’ve brought him here but utter your name.”

Ibori came to stand over her. “Now, why might that be?”

Mel shook her head, the room swimming. “I don’t know.”

“It’s the reason we had Elizabeth call you,” O’Connor said gently. “I’m afraid he...he doesn’t have much time left. For whatever reason, seeing you is his last wish.”

Don’t say that, Mel wanted to cry, the tears spilling down her cheeks. She ducked her head, feeling her whole body start to tremble. Taking a breath to compose herself, she looked up at Vincent. His eyes were half-open, staring around the room. His eyes finally settled on Mel, a brief stab of clarity flashing within them. His grip on her hand tightened.

“Melanie,” he groaned.

“I’m here,” she said again, her voice wavering just above a whisper. “It’s me, I’m here.”

“Right,” he slurred, squeezing his eyes shut as a vicious cough wracked his body. “Were right. You.”

The room quieted, hanging on the few coherent words he’d spoken other than Mel’s name. She leaned forward, a warning alarm ringing in her head.

“What?”

“‘Sa secret. Didn’t tell.”

Her eyes widened. She cautioned a glance around the group and they were each watching the scene with varying degrees of shock. Ibori, on the other hand, wore an unreadable expression, his eyes locked on Mel. Feeling unnerved, she turned back towards Vincent to find his eyes had drifted to Ibori as well.

And all at once, she understood.

“Hey,” she said, snapping her fingers in his face. His head lolled in her direction. “Listen to me. It’s going to be okay. You’re not going to hurt anymore, okay? Doctor Evans is going to make things better.”

She knew it was a lie. His eyes were focused somewhere that was far away from this room, any skin not soaked with blood drained of colour. She watched his lips form the shape of her name, but no sound came out. Then his grip on her hand went limp, slowly, like air deflating from a balloon.

It was over.

Hardly enough time even passed for her to process what had happened before the professors were on her case. She was whisked out of the infirmary and into the hallway by Ibori, Owa, and O’Connor, the latter of whom had only just managed to get her sobs under control.

“I understand this must be very painful for you, Melanie,” said Owa, her soft voice echoing off the walls. “Virgil was a very good man. He was well loved by all.”

Mel nodded, saying nothing. Her eyes were locked on a small crack in the doorframe, as though she could will the wood to mend simply by staring at it.

“That being said, his last words were troubling, and I am sure you can understand why,” said Ibori. Unlike the other two women, he was completely devoid of emotion. Hatred towards him was the one emotion Mel could force herself to feel right now. “What secret was he talking about, Miss Winter?”

“Is this really necessary?” asked O’Connor, her voice still thick with tears. “Give the poor girl some time to grieve before we all start interrogating her.”

“These are trying times, Saoirse. We have lost many of her own in the past while, but that does not mean we cannot afford to shirk diligence.” He bore his eyes into Mel, and she tore her eyes away from the doorframe to meet them.

“It’s fine,” Mel mumbled, twisting her fingers together. “It’s not like it matters anymore anyway.”

Owa gently touched Mel’s arm. “Go on, dear.”

“Vincent and I were…” Mel swallowed, avoiding Ibori’s harrowing stare and O’Connor’s bloodshot eyes. She focused instead on Owa’s warm, familiar face. “We were sleeping together.”

Ibori’s jaw dropped. It clearly hadn’t been the answer he’d been expecting, regardless of whether or not he actually believed her.

“Well,” said O’Connor, clearing her throat. Her face had gone bright scarlet, but there was also something else, as though behind her shock and sadness, she was vaguely impressed.

“You expect us to believe that?” Ibori said finally, raising an eyebrow at her.

She met his stare without blinking. “I can go into some of the dirty details if you’d like, professor.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Owa said sharply, giving the taller man a glare. He locked his jaw, saying nothing.

“Now, may I be excused?” Mel asked, the facade crumbling away as grief threatened to swell within her once again. “Or are you going to expel me for sleeping with a professor?”

“You’re excused, Melanie,” said O’Connor. She reached out and gave Mel a brief hug, but the action stirred a surprising amount of emotion in Mel’s chest. She sniffed, turning away from the professors and heading back down the blood-stained hallway, but she could still hear their whispers echoing behind her.

“You’re just going to let her go?”

“For fuck’s sake, Yazid, her lover just died! Give the poor girl a break.”

“Both of you, that’s enough. An announcement will have to be made…”

Mel turned the corner and their whispers faded into silence. The halls were deserted, and only when she was sure she was alone did Mel feel safe pressing her back against the wall and sliding to the floor, her body trembling with silent sobs. She clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress them, pain and rage swirling together to make one violent storm.

Not only was Vincent dead, but he’d used his dying breath to tell Mel exactly who was to blame for it.

The rational part of her knew that she should be planning on how to get the others to work together to do something about it before it was too late, but that part was buried beneath a wave of sadness. The weight of it was crushing, and by the time she was able to compose herself, she hauled herself to bed and buried herself within the blankets, any motivation to do good snuffed out like a flame.