#admittedly all the others beside metal were bad too. BUT AT LEAST I RECOGNIZED THEM-

[asheronangel]

[day 17] why is it that bootlegs hate shadow specifically

[its-nebula]

Locked Room Lovin'

Rantaro x Fem!Reader

Warning: NSFW

Thank goodness that your day was almost over. You couldn’t wait to rush out and go home, take a load off. Working in a library might not be that difficult, but it sure was repetitive. You were just so incredibly bored, and now it would be your off day. You yawned as you started to do your closing activities, namely, checking in all the books that had been returned, earlier in the day.

You scanned every bar code that you saw absent-mindedly, thinking instead about how you would be able to collapse on your bed and sleep as soon as you walked through the door.

The library was nearly empty at this time of night; go figure, it was 8:30 on a Saturday. The only people still looming around were the usual book-worms that would more than likely be gone by the time the lights turned off. You’ve worked at the library long enough to know and recognize some of them by name, though you rarely ever interacted with them.

“Okay, S/O! I’ll see you Monday afternoon, I’m getting out of here.” Your boss told you, and you politely nodded. “If you need something, don’t call. My kitties need attending to, and especially Mr. Whiskers, he’s been feeling a little frisky lately.”

“Riiiight....uh, see you Monday.” You waved to her, and she sashayed out of the library doors. Not long after she exited, the other people in the library started to exit as well. 9:00 was growing near, and you couldn’t wait until you were the only one left. After the last person you saw bid you a good night, you sighed of relief. All you had to do was put the books back in their respective places, and you could begin true relaxation.

Humming loudly to yourself, you pushed the book cart around, knowing exactly where each and every one should go. 

“GAH-!” You jumped in surprise as you saw a green haired gentleman sitting down in one of the beanbags, his nose stuck in a book. He seemed to be focusing pretty hard, until he glanced up at you. You recognized him as Rantaro, and he took off the headphones he was wearing. 

“Rantaro, you s-scared me.” You held your chest, chuckling lightly. “I thought there was nobody else left in the library.”

“I see that it’s already 9:00. Guess I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Oh, you’re fine! You can probably stay here until I’ve finished up.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t want to intrude more than I already have. Besides, I think I’m done for tonight anyways.” He started to get off the bean bag, stretching his legs in the process. He ran a hand through his hair, then looked at you. “I could help you put those up, if you so desire. I wouldn’t want you to stay longer than you have to.”

“Oh, Rantaro, you don’t have to do that!”

“It’s really no problem, Miss L/N. I need something to take my mind off things. Besides, we wouldn’t really want you to overwork those pretty little fingers of yours, would we?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he grabbed about half of the books that were left on your cart.

“I...suppose not.” You were honestly too tired to argue, and plus an extra hand never hurt.

The two of you put the books away, and surprisingly, he didn’t even need your help. After all was said and done, he looked at you with a smile on his face.

“That wasn’t too bad, right? If it’s not too much trouble, can I ask for one favor?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“That room behind the counter, that’s where you keep the books you’re about to give away, right? Would you mind if I took a couple of your fairytale books?”

“Go ahead.” You shrugged, searching for you card so that you could lock up for the night. “Be careful, it automatically locks from the outside.”

“I’ll be careful.” He turns around and disappears into the room, as you finally find you keycard. Happily wearing it around your neck, you went into most of the other rooms in the library to turn the lights off. As you went back to where the storage room was, you could see Rantaro excitedly picking up books; more than he looked like he could carry. He had one foot in the door, trying to keep it open.

“Do you need some help?” You offered, holding the door open for him. 

“Thanks, I couldn’t-” He wasn’t able to see past the large stacks of books, and he collided with the wall, causing him to fall, with books of varying sizes raining down on him. He rubbed his head, laughing nervously to himself. You couldn’t help but laugh as you offered a hand to help him up, moving away from the door.

As you started helping him pick the books up, you couldn’t help but hear the sound of the door shutting behind you. Your eyes widening, you quickly whipped around to see that the metal door had completely shut. You wiggled the useless doorknob in an attempt to get it open. “Shit! I think we’re locked in!” You exclaimed, slamming yourself against the door.

“Woah there, calm down.” Rantaro grabbed your shoulders, stopping you from ramming your body against the door. “Can’t you call your boss?”

“My boss... is busy.” You rolled your eyes. You looked away defeatedly, covering your face with your hands. “She’s going to kill me when she finds us in the morning...”

“Hey now, Miss L/N, what about the authorities?” 

“She would absolutely kill me if there was a big gaping whole where the door should be when she gets here. She doesn’t get here until 10:00, and she’d yell at me because she’d be held liable so early in the morning, and...”

“Okay, calm down.” He put a hand on your shoulder, and all you could do was slide down along the wall out of embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry Rantaro, now you’re going to be stuck here with me all night... I feel so bad...”

“At least I’m stuck here with the Librarian’s pretty assistant.” He smirked at how you seemed to get flustered, sitting down next to you. “Well, Miss L/N we might as well get to know each other.”

“...you can start by calling me by my first name.” You looked at him. “S/O.” It could be worse, you realized. If you were stuck with anybody, you were glad it was the admittedly hot guy you’d regularly seen around the library.

“I’m sure I don’t have to introduce myself by now. The name’s Rantaro Amami.”

You yawned, rubbing your eyes.

“Well, I’m not already boring you, am I?”

“No, no! It’s just that I’ve been here since like 2, and your voice is just very calming to me.” The words just came out of your mouth, and you realized what you said. “Sorry! I didn’t mean for that to sound weird!”

He chuckled. “I get that a lot, it’s fine. If you need to sleep, I totally understand.”

“No! I’ll be fine for a while, I swear.”

“Mhmm~... Well, suit yourself.”

The next couple of hours or so were exclusively spent on you and Rantaro getting to know each other better. The two of you shared anything that you could think of. You told him all about how you came to be a library’s assistant, and how you’ve been working there for a quite a while. You told stories about your boss, who was increasingly diving more into “crazy cat lady territory” everyday. Rantaro shared stories about his adventures that he went on. He listed off all the countries he’d visited, and the countries he had left to visit. He solemnly explained the story about his sisters, and how he just wanted to find them so badly.

“And... that’s why I come to the library every day. Read up on the cultures and traditions of the countries I have yet to visit and any things I should be cautious of. That’s what I do.”

“I admire how determined you seem to be.” You told him with a reassuring smile. You squeezed his shoulder, and he looked back at you with a sad gaze. “I’m positive you’ll find them one day.”

“Thank you, S/O. Talking to you...it actually helps a lot.” He looked away. “Well, I’ve run out of things to talk about now. Any suggestions?”

You shrugged, resting your head on his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter to me. Being in here with you... I’m strangely comfortable. You’re such an easy person to talk to.”

A few minutes of silence passed. The two of you just enjoyed each other’s company, before you felt Rantaro’s hand on your chin. He turned your head towards his, and before you could process what was going on, the two of you were entangled in a sweet kiss. You closed your eyes, lazily kissing back and wrapping your arms around his neck. 

The two of you stayed like that for a couple minutes, before you pulled apart. Your faces were within centimeters of each other, and you could hear him quietly laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“I guess I have a confession to make. I’ve wanted to do that to the Librarian’s pretty assistant for a while.”

Your eyes widened. “You have?”

“Call it a stupid crush, but there’s always just been something about you, S/O. I’ve always wanted to get to know you on a more... personal level.” He runs a hand across your thigh, and you giggle sleepily. You connect your lips with is once again, your fingers getting tangled in his now messy hair.

You positioned yourselves so that you were sitting on top of Rantaro’s lap. You deepened the kiss, enjoying how his hands were squeezing your hips, trying to pull you closer towards him. As sleepy as you were, you were enjoying this immensely.

His lips parted from yours, and kisses peppered your jawline, all the way down to your neck and your collarbone. He held you in place as you drowsily giggled from the sensation. You could feel his breath against your skin as he stopped, and you couldn’t help but noticed his hands had reached a little higher on your back. “Are you sure you want to do this...? I can tell you’re tired and all, and- oh.”

Rantaro watched as you slipped your shirt off, throwing it to the side. Admittedly, he’d been getting a little tired too, but if anything woke him up, it was that. He smirked at you, taking the opportunity to take his own shirt off. “Well, I do love a woman who knows what she wants.”

“Shut up and kiss me...” You groaned before connecting your lips to his once more, not hesitating to stick your tongue straight into his mouth. You smiled in the kiss as his hands reached up to undo the straps of your bra, slipping it off with ease. You bucked your hips into his, causing him moan out loud. You could feel how hard it was getting, and it turned you on so much.

He bit his lip whenever you threw your bottoms to the side. His hands were free to explore your body now, and he took full advantage of that. He felt how soft your breasts felt in his hands, he felt how sensitive your nipples seemed to be. He did the honor of sucking on one of your buds, while his hand traveled to your lower half. Already, he could feel the heat radiating off you. 

He took off his jeans and boxers, and you could feel just how hard his dick was in your hands. “Why don’t you put those pretty little fingers of yours to work?” He asked breathlessly. You happily obliged, stroking him and watching as eyes rolled into the back of his head, not able to contain the groans that escaped his lips. Leaning in, you sloppily kissed his neck, and all he could do is grab tightly onto your ass, refraining himself from cumming. 

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He practically rushed and fought to get your undergarments off, and repositioned you so that you were sitting on top of his lap, himself lined up at your entrance. Rantaro held onto your hips, and he licked his lips as he asked for one last confirmation. “S-S/O... are you sure this is what you want?”

“Rantaro...” You whispered into his ear. “Give it to me.”

He guided you so you easily slid onto his throbbing erection, and you kissed him as you moaned into his mouth. You two got into a slow , but steady rhythm, as you moved in a way that made him repeatedly hit exactly the right spot. He bit your lower lip as you moved back and forth, up and down.

“You feel so damn good...” He closed his eyes. You noticed he was even drooling a little between every grunt and moan. You were about to reach your own climax, as evidenced of the increasing volume in your sounds.

“Rantaaaro~” You whined, throwing your head back. “I’m gonna-” You didn’t have time to finish your sentence as you had your climax.

Rantaro’s body stiffened as that happened, especially as your walls tightened around him as he could feel himself pulsating. Squeezing his eyes shut, he let out a long sigh as he reached his orgasm as well. Letting go of your body, he collapsed on the floor. You slowly crawled beside him, feeling happy, satisfied, and more than ever, exhausted.

“You should probably sleep now.” He whispered to you as he reached for his shirt. “I’ll wake you up if anybody comes.”

“Mmmm~” You put on his shirt, beaming drowsily at him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing the back of your neck. “Thank you for an amazing night, S/O.”

You woke up to Rantaro’s light snoring, as he was still holding you close. You were about to go back to sleep, but you noticed the door was slightly cracked open, and there was a note next to you.

“Dear S/O,

Next time, consider calling before you indulge in intercourse with one of our loyal patrons!”

Rolling your eyes, you smiled knowing that you would almost certainly be yelled at as soon as you walked through the door. But that was a problem for the future. For now, all you wanted was to go back to sleep in Rantaro’s loving arms. And that’s exactly what you did.

[whump-town]

Family Fic

Kind of? I can’t seem to finish this and that kinda sucks so the ending is very abrupt but I just can’t with this fic for some reason. I don’t know where to end it. I can’t envision an ending. It kinda sucks but I do like certain parts so I don’t want it to just sit in my drafts so here you go:

“No.” Emily Prentiss and Aaron Hotchner are standing in front of a house that is very on fire. The house their UNSUB was supposed to be in. “Aaron,” her tone is a mix of a whine and an exhausted plea to leave this one stone unturned. “Please--” her shoulders drop as his eyes move away from hers and she knows what he’s going to do. “I hate this fucking--” the heat is like a punch to the face.

She loses him to the smoke the second she enters the house. Her lungs crack and burn, she can’t hear him bent over exhaling the smoke in thick coughs, but she can hear her own wheezing coughs. The smoke stings her eyes, and every instinct she possesses screams for her to get out.

“Hotch!” Despite her training-- everything she’s learned as a profiler and a spy--, she’s panicking. She can’t hear anything over the roaring flames around her, and while she is no immediate danger while she stands, it worries her more not to know what kind of situation Hotch has put himself into as well.

God Garcia is going to kill them.

She hears something hit a wall, it’s a very distinct noise. 

A Hotch noise.

She shouts his name but her voice is lost to her own ears. Pushing past the fear weighing down her chest, she steps closer to the sound. It takes a moment to work through the smoke but she finds the door to the other room and makes out two figures. One of the figures, long and slimmer than the other, falls and hits the ground. The bigger one, wide shoulders and biceps the size of her head, leans down over the other, and starts hitting it. 

It takes her a moment to realize Hotch is a pretty big guy but he’s got a runner’s thin frame. There’s no way he’s the man on the top doing the punching.

“Hey!” She raises her gun, the metal burning her palms. Her brain is going a mile a minute. Will her gun blow up in her hands? Is it too hot? “Hey--” she realizes it’s either she stands and watches as Hotch is beaten to death or she risks whatever the heat has down to her gun. 

Well… the good news, the gun doesn’t blow up in her face.

The bad news?

Hotch is a heavy son of a bitch.

With her fingers hooked underneath his vest, she pulls with all her might. The air is thin and each breath she pulls in is exhaled in quick, wheezing coughs. Hotch owes her so badly. They’re past a coffee or a breakfast muffin. The man owes her his firstborn child. Actually, she does love Jack. Right now, she loves Jack way more than she loves this limp pretty eyed, high cheekbone having--

Get a grip, Emily. 

Right. 

When she hits the door, she pulls with all her might and collapses onto the porch. On her back, wheezing as she looks up at the sky she really hopes Hotch made a call to the others. She has a faint memory of him radioing in to inform Dave and the others that the entire house was on fire but she also thought she saw her dad standing at the door a moment ago so she’s not sure she can trust her brain at the moment. 

“Hotch?” She doesn’t get up, just vaguely kicks at where she’d dropped him. She connects with his chest, she can feel his vest take the brunt of her kick. “Hotch, next time you run into a burning building… I promise you, I’m leaving you in there.”

Her reply is a pained grunt as he sits up and vomits on the porch.

She remains on her back, eyes closed, and shakes her head. Reaching up, blindly, she pats his back. “Let it out, big guy.” She grimaces as he gags more, swaying as he empties his stomach. After a minute, she starts to get a little worried. He just keeps puking. 

She sits up, fighting a hitch in her own stomach at the sudden movement. “Are you still--” aside from the queasy feeling that settles over her, she’s filled with immediate unease. “That’s not good.” 

Hotch looks over at her, on his hands and knees and sweat dripping down his brow and rolls his eyes. “You don’t say,” he grumbles, coughing into his elbow. “Did you call the others?” 

She shakes her head, “you didn’t call them before?”

Hotch spits, trying and failing to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. With a grunt, he lays down beside her. Sighing, he closes his eyes. “They’re on their way,” he says, “I called them before I-- Well before I ran into the house.” Admittedly, that was a bad call on his part. 

Emily shakes her head, “I can’t believe you did that. Did you at least warn them about your bad idea or are they going to be as surprised as I was?”

Hotch grimaces. World Worst Boss. “If it makes you feel any better,” he turns to look at her, “my right shoulder is out of the socket and I can’t feel my fingers.”

She scowls at him, “no.” She sits up, “no, of course, that doesn’t make me feel better!” From her new vantage point, she can now see the storm of cars making their steady advancement towards them. “Shit,” she mumbles. “You have to get up. We have to get off this porch before Dave sees us.”

Dave.

Damn, he’d forgotten about Dave.

They get up-- he staggers and Emily catches him against her body. It takes all of her strength to keep them both on their feet but with a moment’s time, he rights himself once again. Entangled, both leaning heavily into the other, they face David Rossi Italian wrath.

“I-I don’t--” Hotch doesn’t dare raise his voice above a whisper as Dave gets closer. 

He’s laying into them, that much is clear. However, Hotch knows a handful of Italian phrases, and besides the obvious “stupid” and what Hotch thinks is the Italian equivalent of a jackass he’s completely lost. 

They stand and wait out the anger knowing that he’ll be quick to forgive once he realizes they’re both a little worn down. 

“You do realize you’re not fireproof, right?” The sudden switch to English is startling but it prompts Hotch back to the present. The black swarming his vision falls away for a moment and he’s able to see Dave. 

Dave keeps talking but Emily is aware of the Hotch’s unsteady swaying has turned to a dangerous lean. “Hotch,” her attention completely leaves Dave and the older man makes an annoyed huff before seeing what Emily does. “Hotch!”

She just… she knows right before his knees give out from beneath him. 

Desperation. She feels hopeless as she kneels on the ground beside him.

“Hotch?” His cheek is clammy against the palm of her hand. Cold when it should be hot. They just ran out of a burning building. She just pulled him out of fire, he should be hot. Warm to the touch. “Hotch, please answer me!” 

Arms wrap around her shoulders and she’s lifted to her feet, physically moved away from him. She recognizes the arms, knows it’s Morgan, but she still fights with everything she’s got to get away from him. “No!” She kicks out but she doesn’t land a solid blow. 

“No, Morgan!” Her fight dies as the paramedics load Hotch onto a stretcher. He’s too still but she can see his breath fogging up the oxygen mask on his face. He’s limp but he’s alive. “Morgan, please.” She’s pulled him out of a fire, the least they can let her do is go with him.

At the door of the ambulance, just as Emily’s becoming desperate, the paramedics turn and motion her to them. “She needs to get checked out.”

She has the whole ride to think about her actions. What they mean. What they looked like. 

It’s a distraction, a way to push her mind away from Hotch’s worsening breathing and the way he writhes on the bed. Out of his mind in pain they haven’t identified a single source to. 

He reaches for her.

She pulls away. 

“Garcia is going to be so mad at you,” she deflects. If that’s not the understatement of the year… She wants to be cross with him. More than anything, she wants to look at him right now and feel something other than the intense desire to pull him into her arms and not let go. Which seems pretty… non-platonic despite her best attempts to be strictly friends.

So, she tells herself that she feels nothing.

Nothing. 

She feels nothing.

Underneath the oxygen mask that he keeps getting dirty looks for talking off, he hoarsely replies, “if I manage to get home. Dave’s likely to kill me first.” He shuts his eyes, body tensing as the gurney he’s laid out on moves and jostles his dislocated shoulder. His skin is cold and clammy and he’s certain that if they don’t knock him out soon he’s just going to pass out.

A nurse notes his obvious distress and places her hand on his good shoulder. “Agent Hotchner,” she calls until he manages to open his eyes. “Just a little while longer, sweetheart.” They just need to get him through the x-rays and she can get a line of saline and painkillers pumping into his system. She just needs him to hold out a little while longer.

He makes a sound, a congested wet sound. “His oxygen is falling,” the nurse notes. Her tone doesn’t give away the urgency of her statement. Emily can feel the urgency shift. Before they were just federal agents. The scuffling shoes all moving along pick up speed and Emily’s stomach ties itself into an awful knot.

Hotch’s lips pale as his wheezes grow in intensity. He writhes on the bed, blinking rapidly. 

“Hotch,” Emily calls, letting her fear get the better of her. This time she takes his hand but he’s limp. “Aaron!”

The last thing she hears as he’s pushed away is a cry of distress.

“We’ve lost his airway!”

--------------------------

He spends three days in the hospital.

She doesn’t see him once.

“He’s been asking for you,” Dave informs her from behind a well placed magazine. The pages obscure his face, leaving her with only his judging tone. His implication. “Funny,” he adds, “he stopped once they took him off the heavy stuff.” 

Emily huffs at that. She knows exactly why that might be-- drugs cloud the part of Hotch’s brain that makes him afraid of the comfort he seeks. She keeps that to herself. “I wonder why,” she plays off cooly, sitting herself down beside Dave.

He turns his head, frowning at her, but doesn’t say anything. It’s a very “dad” kind of frown and she takes the hint that he, also, knows exactly why it is that Hotch would ask for her, of all people. Then again, if he hasn’t got the balls to call her out on it. She’s not going to tell him.

“Hey, princess,” Morgan greets as he makes his way down the hall. He smiles at her before turning his attention to Rossi. “They’re fighting him into a wheelchair right now,” he informs Rossi. “I figured it would be better to come get you. He’s less likely to…”

Emily smirks, “be a raging asshole to Dave?” 

Morgan smiles and nods, “essentially.”

Rossi huffs at that, shaking his head. It’s true. David Rossi has poured that kid-- well, not a kid anymore-- into more hospital wheelchairs than he cares to count. Hotch has been a trouble magnet since the day he joined the BAU. However, while he knows exactly how to navigate the ‘tude that Hotch is going to send his way he also knows one person who will get substantially less. “Send Emily.”

Morgan and Emily’s head both snap towards him, their smiles replaced by confused frowns.

Dave goes back to the magazine, “he’s going to be an ass either way. So long as we don’t send Derek in there, it doesn’t matter who goes in.” He shrugs, “besides, I don’t want to.”

Morgan huffs a little, looking at Emily like ‘can you believe this?’. Except, she can. Of course, she can.

“I guess it’s gotta be you then princess.”

Great. 

She hasn’t seen him in three days but he still looks the same. Actually, he’s strangely more attractive. 

His facial hair has grown out, leaving a peppered half-beard on his face. His light brown eyes are bloodshot, it’s hard to tell if that’s from his lack of sleep or the smoke. But he’s whole and he’s breathing on his own. 

“You look like shit,” she informs him, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall opposite of him. They’ve taken his shoes (probably Morgan), leaving him to wear the socks the hospital provided. They’re an ugly beige color but she knows they’re comfortable. It’s a perk of the job how many hospital socks they get. 

He grunts, not looking up from where he’s bent his body to lean his forehead into his palm. His elbow resting on the wheelchairs arm. He rubs once more along his temples before looking up, a grimace pulling his lips down. Whatever pain meds they’ve got him on aren’t doing the job. “I see you’ve come with your best attitude, Agent Prentiss.”

She pushes herself away from the wall, rolling her eyes. “I pull your heavy ass out of a burning building and I get Agent Prentiss?” She positions herself behind him, kicking the locks on the back. “How was your visit, Agent Hotchner? Did any hot nurses give you a sponge bath?”

He huffs a chuckle, it tapers at the end a hiss of discomfort at his arms curls around his sore ribs.

She’s leaning over the wheelchair to push him, her nose close to the back of his head. He still smells like smoke and not at all like his cologne. It makes a nasty feeling swirl in her stomach-- her mind wandering to the sight of him on the gurney. Struggling to breath. 

“You alright,” she asks, softly. They’re not in the hall yet so there’s a good chance he might tell her the truth.

Slowly, he lets out a soft pained grunt and leans back into the wheelchair. One arm pinned to his chest by a sling, the other remains protectively held to his side. “I’m okay,” he manages after a second, even a nod. “I just… I want to go home.”

With a grunt she pushes him forward, “I couldn’t agree more.”

It takes two hours to get loaded onto the jet. 

She spends the car ride to the airport listening to Hotch and Morgan argue over whether or not it’s going to be “physically demanding” for Hotch to put on a pair of shoes. Hotch refuses to walk around in socks. Morgan only makes it worse by insinuating that without his help Hotch isn’t going to be getting much of anywhere. 

Fortunately, the two end the argument with childish huffs and turn away from one another. Emily was at the brink of pulling the car over and yelling at the both of them. 

From then on, there seems to be an unspoken understanding that Emily is to dictate things between Hotch and the other’s. 

“Give him the shoes,” she says, arms crossed and a perfect scowl placed on her face. She raises an eyebrow, daring Morgan to say anything. 

With his shoes, Hotch is far less combative. 

“Let Morgan help you,” Emily asks. “The last thing we need is to send you back to the hospital because you got a concussion bouncing your head off of asphalt.” She keeps her frown in place, knowing it’s what keeps her at the top of their alpha-male food chain. Besides, she likes to think they’re a little afraid of her.

“You’re a natural,” JJ comments, both of them watching the men limp their way up the stairs to the jet.

Emily rolls her eyes, “I’m just really good at dealing with dumbas-- HEY!” She points her fingers at the pair, “Derek stop being an ass and Hotch stop being a baby and let him help.” With a shake of her head she looks back to JJ. She rolls her eyes, “men.”

It takes everything she has to convince Hotch to sleep on the jet and to leave the paperwork for another time. Which really means she takes the paperwork from him and tells Reid that if Hotch gets his hands on the pens she’s hiding in his messenger bag it’s Reid’s ass. She doesn’t push it by making him lay on the couch, where he would be more comfortable. He does fall asleep though. His head crammed between the headrest of his chair and wall but he’s out enough that she’s able to wrap a blanket around his shoulders.

He’s asleep when Garcia calls to give him a proper tongue lashing. Her anger melts quickly at the sight of him. 

How is she supposed to be mad when he’s bundled up like a grumpy burrito?

He wakes up once or twice, mostly just to squint around him and grumble nonsense to himself. Each time Emily looks up from her book and pats his thigh or his arm until he settles back down. Just like a baby. He’s still groggy when they land making it much easier to pack him into her car and take him home. 

She feels weird about leaving him at his apartment. All alone. “Are you sure--” she doesn’t want to push him but she doesn’t want him to overexert himself either.

Hotch shakes his head, “I’ll take the elevator.” He looks up at the building, “and Jack will probably end up sleeping in my bed, tonight. I won’t be alone.”

She frowns, she can’t exactly argue against that. “Okay but you’ll text if you need anything?”

He nods. Jack knows what to do if anything happens. Besides, she’s his speed dial so it’s no problem. 

“Okay,” she relents. “Don’t do anything stupid?”

He smirks, “like run into a burning building?”

She nods, “exactly like that.” 

He hesitates to shut the door, mouth open but he’s not sure what he wants to say so he offers her a tight smile before shutting the door behind him. He takes off towards the building, knowing she’s going to wait for him to disappear into it before pulling off. 

He just can’t wait to be home. 

Hotch closes his eyes the second the apartment door behind him slides shut. The faint smell of Johnson’s baby lotion greets him with the familiarity of a warm hug. When he opens his eyes, he’s got something even better waiting. Standing in front of him, their toes lined up, Jack is squirming with the anticipation of his father’s attention. 

“Hey daddy,” the toddler greets with a toothy grin.

He’s exhausted. Good and proper he can barely stand exhausted. He kicks his shoes off at the door, smiling when Jack reaches between them and grabs his suit sleeve. “I’m not going anywhere, buddy,” he rasps, voice still recovering from the smoke inhalation. “I promise.”

Jack nods his understanding but doesn’t release Hotch. His little grip stays firm as Hotch sets his go-bag down and attempts to get out of his jacket. Adamantly, Jack lets go of his sleeve and grabs hold of the belt loop of his pants. Hotch understands that tonight is going to be a clingy night, probably spent with the two of them in his bed. 

“Will you watch toons with me?”

Honestly, he couldn’t think of a better plan himself. “Yeah,” he smiles, “let’s watch some toons.” He stops to toss some pills into his mouth, most are for infection and muscle something but at least one is supposed to be the pain he’s trying very hard to not let ruin his mood. 

When he gets to the couch, all he wants is to curl up and sleep. He can’t be certain why but he doesn’t even think twice. Hotch lays his head in Jack’s lap, looking up his son. Jack’s attention is on the cartoons on the TV, reruns of MickeyMouse ClubHouse Hotch let him save to the DVR last winter. One of his little hands is in Hotch’s hair, softly patting it down the way Hotch does to put Jack to sleep. The other hand is holding Hotch’s shirt, keeping him there. 

After a moment, Jack frowns down at him, “you stink.”

Hotch huffs a laugh. Jack’s often brutal when it comes to the truth. Rossi always reminds him that there’s really only one person he could have gotten that from. With a smile he repeats, “I… stink?” He’d suffered through the humiliation of a sponge bath the day before and he’s wearing deodorant so he doubts it’s that bad.

Jack nods, “yeah.” He leans down, eyes still on the TV, and sniffs Hotch’s hair. He crinkles his little nose, “smell funny.”

“Oh,” Hotch mumbles. “I smell funny?”

Jack nods and turns his attention back to the cartoon. Hotch just lays and watches his son smile at the TV. Jack keeps playing with Hotch’s hair. Occasionally, he looks down and pulls the thick strands into weird directions. 

“Aaron?” Jessica comes into the living room, he’d forgotten about her. She smiles at the sight of them, leaning down to kiss both their foreheads. “You boys okay or should I stay the night?” She’s already collected her things, purse in hand. 

Hotch shakes his head, “we’ll be okay, won’t be Jack?”

Jack nods, he wraps both his arms around his father’s head. “I’ll protect us,” he reassures Jessica with a nod of his head. 

Both adults share a laugh before Jessica taps Hotch’s shoulder. “I wonder where he’d get that from?” They share a soft smile… both thinking of Haley. “Well, be good Aaron. I don’t want any phone calls from Jack telling me you’ve been misbehaving.”

Jack gets a kick out of this idea, “yeah daddy.”

Hotch smiles, “I’ll be on my best behavior.” Jessica’s just shut the door behind herself when Hotch’s phone goes off. Jack tenses but Hotch ignores the call for a moment to reassure Jack that he’s not leaving. The team might be called out but there’s no way a doctor is letting him anywhere near the field right now.

“Look,” he shows Jack the contact photo. “It’s just Pops, you wanna answer it?”

Jack eagerly takes the phone, “Pops!”

Hotch looks up, watching.

“Jack!” Rossi greets. “Is your daddy around?”

“Uh-huh! We’re watching toons!” Jack smiles down at Hotch and Hotch smiles back. “Mickey!”

Rossi hums, “oh you’re watching MickeyMouse? Well, I’m sorry to have interrupted that.”

Jack keeps grinning, “ ‘s okay because daddy promised he wouldn’t leave.”

“Oh did he?” Rossi 

--------------------------

Jack Hotchner spent his afternoon being chased around the back yard by Uncle Derek. His happy laughter blending in with Henry’s, the other boy’s equal excitement coming from his Godfather’s endless magic tricks. The boys gorged on hotdogs, watermelon, Capri-suns, and ice cream- all provided by their Papa. Who, as of last time either Hotch or JJ inquired, was their favorite person ever.

“Hey, buddy.” 

Judging by the little tears swelling up in Jack’s eyes right now, Hotch makes the safe assumption that he has found himself at the bottom of the list of Jack’s favorite people. He bends down, squatting so that he’s the same height as the five-year-old. “Buddy,” he cups his son’s cheek, wiping away his fat tears with his thumb. “What’s wrong?”

Jack sniffles, miserably, taking his little fist and rubbing at his tired eyes. “You lefted me,” he sobs, batting Hotch’s hand away so that he can step closer. Jack leans into Hotch’s chest, pressing his face into his father’s neck and wrapping his arms around him. 

Hotch scoops him up, smiling tightly to JJ and Prentiss who’s attention Jack’s soft hiccups have drawn in. He doesn’t have to say it for them to know why Jack is clingy. Besides being exhausted from a hard day of play, there’s still a small part of Jack that remembers George. The man that hurt daddy and killed mommy. 

He lowers his gaze, flush creeping up his neck. He can remember, vividly, the night Jack told him about the sound of the gun going off. That he’d known, somehow, that mommy was dead but that it was okay because he knew daddy was coming to the rescue.

“He remembers Dave.” His breath came in quick, rapid session over the phone. He had to tell someone, to make this helpless feeling go away. “Fuck,” his chest ached and, voice no louder than a whisper, Dave could hear the panic laced into his tone. “He heard it. He heard Foyet-”

But that was back when they, rightfully, thought he was coming unhinged. Losing his grasps on life… 

He’s… better now. There’s no other options available. 

He’s better now. He may not be the best at this single dad thing but he’s doing better than his own father. Even if that means sitting up all night when storms roll in because thunder and lightning sound like gunshots to five-year-olds. Every year explaining to Jack’s teacher’s that Hotch’s family is not in their lives and that Haley’s own doesn’t extend past an aunt and a grandfather. 

“Did daddy leave you,” Dave steps up. His cigar snuffed out but his chilled drink sloshing around in his left hand. He makes an exaggerated sad face when Jack nods with a pouty little frown, not out of mockery but empathy. To win the boy over. “Come to papa,” he offers, opening his arms to take Jack. 

Hotch does have a family, one that’s very present in his son’s life. Jack has papa, Aunt JJ, Aunt Penny, Uncle Weed, Miss Emily, and Uncle Derek. They’re just by no means conventional.

“It’s alright, Jack.” Emily comes up to play along too. She soothes a finger over his cheek, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Daddy is a big ol’ meany sometimes.” She shakes her head, fingers running through Jack’s soft hair. She’s not sure what Hotch uses on this boy’s head but he’s always had the softest hair. “We still love him though, don’t we?”

Jack peeks up over Rossi’s shoulder. He has this habit of playing with Hotch’s hair, the lower part near the base of his head. He takes the small strands and twists them in between his thumb and forefinger. He’s done since he was a baby. He does it now to Rossi’s hair, his eyes half-lidded. “Uh-huh.” 

Rossi rubs Jack’s back, a smirk on his lips. It’s crazy to think about the sheer number of times he’s had to convince Hotch that he’s a good dad. That all kids have tantrums, get grumpy, and need constant reassurance- just like Hotch, Rossi notes. Just like everyone. “Come on, bambino.” Rossi presses a kiss to Jack’s head, “Aunt Penny is making smores. What do you say, should we join her?”

“Hotch?” Will has the cooler open, offering Hotch a beer. Will had brought a six-pack of Heineken, knowing that Hotch wouldn’t bring any and that he wouldn’t drink unless pressured. JJ had made sure to remind both Derek and Will to attempt to at least get Hotch to drink two beers before the night’s end. Because they’re all supposed to be having fun and he needs to loosen up a bit.

Will raises that second beer up Hotch is torn. He can see the attention snap to him. 

“Sir,” Garcia calls from behind him. She’s not wearing heels so there’s no signature tap-tapping to give her rapid approach any warning. Just the hardly discernible sound of bare feet on the deck. “Lighten up,” she asks, with just the hint of sadness. She takes the back of her hand and lightly taps his shoulder. “Take the beer. Live a little. You deserve to have a good time too.”

Hotch swallows thickly. He doesn’t want to take the beer. Honestly, he’d rather drink a Capri-sun or one of those obnoxiously colored drinks Rossi kept steadily supplying Jack and Henry. Besides, Capri-suns won’t upset his stomach when he has to take his pain pills later. Not that he wants to but Emily had described them in great detail to Jack so he would know be very sad if Hotch doesn’t take them

“Do you all have no shame?” Emily comes up from behind them, having just made her way from the pool. Most likely seeking refreshments that aren’t alcohol. Her arm slings around Garcia’s neck and settling on them an unsurprised but nonetheless happy smile. She glances at Hotch, he earns a sympathetic smile. “Dave told them to leave you alone,” she informs him. 

Hotch looks sheepishly to the ground. To be fair, he didn’t want to come anyway. He’s got fair skin that stays hidden under a suit all day. As far as sunburns go, there’s nearly no way he’s getting off the beach without an intense burn. Not to mention he’s still pretty uncomfortable from the smoke inhalation, dislocated shoulder, and messed up ribs.

[just-a-gay-toku-girl]

This chapter comes to a close

As you’ve seen by my posts I’ve recently been watching through Samurai Sentai Shinkenger, and just last night at the time of writing this I watched the final episode. This is significant to me because it was the first sentai I watched all the way through that was from before I became a sentai fan (Which was around the halfway point of Zyuohger). Why did I pick Shinkenger as my first? Partially because I like the suits, partially because the opening theme is a bop, and partially because I had seen parts of power rangers Samurai and I was just curious. So having finished the series (still having some movies to watch) I thought it would be fun to give my thoughts on the show and its characters, no note just talking about my thoughts on the show as a whole(Beware as I won’t shy away from spoilers). Starting with...

The Villains 

Arguably the villains can be just as important to the success of a show or movie as the main characters are. They need to be intimidating and powerful to make them seem like a real threat to the team, and I think the Gedoushu manage to accomplish that well enough. The suit designs for the main generals are ok, very intricate but not overly so (The exception to that being Dokoku who just has a bit to much going in his design IMO). One of my favorite things about this group is their main goal: raising the level of the Sanzu river so it’ll flood into the human world, To do this they have to create negative emotions in humans. It’s not often that bad guys in these shows actually have a goal besides just world domination. This actually gives the individual monsters more purpose than just attempting to destroy the rangers, plus it means that whenever they attack their scoring at least a small victory as the river will raise ever so slightly. Another small thing to mention before I get into the main villains as individuals is that despite being evil there seemed to be a bit of comradery between at least the main 3. It wasn’t brought up too often but a scene that stuck out to me was at the end when Dokoku and Shitari seem to be just the least bit saddened by Dayu’s death. Granted that could just be them being thankful that her death made Dokoku stronger but I digress. Onto the individual villains from least to most favorite

Shitari

There’s not much to say about Shitari since I can’t actually remember him doing much throughout the show. He may have helped with the plots of a few filler episodes and commanded a few monsters but that’s about it. Really the most notable thing about him is that his actor also plays Brook in One Piece so part of me was always expecting him to ask to see Dayu’s panties.

Dokoku

Surprisingly the big bad of this season just barely escapes being the worst villain. Much like Shitari he doesn’t actually do much throughout the season, what places him higher than Shitari is two things: 1. he has a reason for being idle throughout the show being that unlike other Gedoushu he can’t stay in the human world for more than 3 minutes without drying up severely and being out of commission for the next week, though we never are really told why that is. 2. When he eventually DID actually do something he was damn powerful. Easily walking through the shinkengers in their first battle. Not to mention it was clear even with monsters that seemed more intimidating than him they still were afraid of him and his power.

Dayuu

Honestly I don’t have much to say about her either. Most of the villains were decent at being villains but for the most part kinda unremarkable. What puts Dayuu and Juzo is just the fact that they had backstories and pretty interesting ones at that. Dayuu after finding out the man she loved had married another woman was consumed with jealousy and burned him and his wife to death. That is friggin metal as hell and I love it. In a series like this where full scale invasions from aliens are common place in rare to see something so small scale like this to be treated as serious as it is. It really makes her feel more human as a villain, which I dig.

Juzo

Juzo was easily my favorite villain in Shinkenger. And no not just because he was played by my favorite character from 555. Like Dayu he had a really interesting backstory that made him feel a lot more human (Despite the whole point of his arc being that he wasn’t human.) Basically he found out he was dying and decided to take a couple people down with him which led to him becoming a Gedou. In the earlier episodes he seemed to be sort of an anti hero, not necessarily working for the Gedou and even saving Shinken red’s life on a couple of occasions just because he wanted so desperately to fight red himself. That is until close to the end of the show when he basically said “I don’t care if my family’s souls are suffering because of me, let them suffer.” to show there really wasn’t a shred of humanity left within him. Not to mention he had an amazing death scene that I won’t say anything because it’s best seen for yourself. 

Now with the bag guys done I’m gonna move onto the actual shinkengers. like before it’ll be least to most favorite

Shinken Green - Tani Chiaki

In this case saying Chiaki is my least favorite really just means I didn’t like him as much as the others but I still did like him. Admittedly there wasn’t much to Chiaki in terms of an arc, just that in the beginning he had an inferiority complex that made him not want to follow orders but that kinda went away after one episode. What I liked more about him was his personality, very happy-go-lucky while still taking his role as a shinkenger seriously. He’s also very friendly, being the first to make friend’s with Genta when he joined the team as well as having a good relationship with every other ranger and even Jii. He really is fun to watch but not much else.

Shinken Pink - Shiraishi Mako

Mako is a very kind person and wants to help those in need, however she only helps those in need and as soon as they don’t need her she leaves them. She’s one of the older Shinkengers thus earning her the affectionate nickname of “Big sis” from the rest of the team. However that’s basically all there is to her. She doesn’t change that much and overall has the lowest amount of character focus episodes. But she’s cute so that puts her above Chiaki.

Shinken Blue - Ikenami Ryunosuke

Ryunosuke is easily the most dedicated to his role as a samurai,he’s kind, hardworking and he’s loyal to a fault which ends up creating an internal debate for him when he discovers the person he’s pledged his life to isn’t the actual Shiba head. Being that he was a kabuki actor his movements and mannerisms are very lively and wild, it’s really just a joy to watch how his actor portrayed him. He definitely carried the show’s energy for the most part. I also loved watching his interactions with the others and when he’s forced to work with them. Some highlights of his include the episode where him and Chiaki get glued together and the episode where Genta tries to follow him around to learn to be a samurai.

Shinken Red - Shiba Takeru/Shiba Kaoru

I lump both of them together mainly because we didn’t see enough of Kaoru for me to really make a judgement of her yet I still wanted to mention her. I’ll say this, I did like her. She was definitely worthy of being the first female red ranger. I appreciate that despite her recognizing herself as the strongest she never tried to put the others down for being weaker than her, even berating her retainer for doing just that. I’ll admit the thing at the end with her “Adopting” Takeru was kinda weird but it showed she recognized the team was stronger with Takeru.

As for Takeru himself I really enjoyed him. Stoic, intimidating, and cold at the beginning but as time went on and he developed relationships with the rest of the team he slowly began opening up to them more and more. So much so that by the end he was joking around just as much as they were. And the twist of him not actually being of the Shiba household I thought was executed pretty well, I would’ve been genuinely surprised by it had power rangers not done the same thing. He was a really solid character and easily one of my favorite red rangers.

Shinken Gold - Umemori Genta

Genta was a unique 6th ranger in that he was mostly comedic relief, but a damn good one. He had me genuinely laughing out loud a few times. despite being a comedic character they managed to have a few serious plots with him that turned out alright. Not much more to say about him, he’s funny and (as the show called him) an extraordinary good boy

Shinken Yellow - Hanaori Kotoha 

Easily my favorite of the shinkengers, Kotoha is the youngest and therefore least experienced of the team. Originally her older sister was meant to take the role of yellow but fell ill before the events of the show leaving Kotoha to take her place. This of course makes her feel inferior to the others and ike she isn’t a real samurai, just a substitute for her sister. Eventually though after Jii learns of her insecurities he helps reassure her that everyone thinks of her as a real samurai. Although this part of her character isn’t really seen until close to the end, it was that which made me love her character, hell I even shed a tear or two during her last character focus episode. Plus she is downright adorable so there’s nothing not to love about her.

Final thoughts

Overall I think Shinkenger was a really good show, easily in my top 5 sentai (although that’s not saying much since most of the sentai I’ve seen have been pretty Meh). As I mentioned the suits are really well designed, and the opening song as well as the fight songs are just badass. The characters are all really good with the weakest of them just being the ones that were under developed. The story while not necessarily ground breaking it was still enjoyable to watch and I wouldn’t mind coming back to it pretty soon, but for now I need to move on to a different sentai.

I contemplated for  a while what sentai to watch next, between Goseiger, Goonger, Dekaranger, Magiranger, Bioman and a few others. Ultimately tho I decided that since one of my favorite things about sentai is the crossovers I should go back and watch all the crossovers, so I’ll start with the season that made these team ups an annual thing. So if I ever make another Long ass post like this, then you’ll be hearing of the fight to protect earth against the evile Baranoia army in Chouriki Sentai Ohranger

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 9: The Matriarch

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Cadence reveals the last person to hold the Amulet of Nero was Isadora de la Rosa; unfettered mafia boss and matriarch of the New Orleans vampires. And she isn't happy about a couple of out-of-towners wandering around her territory without permission.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Some might say Lily enjoys it a little too much.

Before they even step foot in Flechette they have to stop no less than five times to get her to calm down.

“Calm down — calm down?” The last time Nadya saw her like this was after Maricruz’s birthday, and no matter what Jax said she’s still not unconvinced a couple of the Shadow Den’s donors weren’t on something; if you catch her meaning.

“How could I possibly be calm at a time like this? Don’t you realize what’s happening Nadi’? We’re living a real life True Blood fantasy right now.”

“Yeah, see — don’t even think about mentioning that once we’re inside, please?” Cadence tugs at the collar of his shirt uncomfortably. “They know every reference, no matter how obscure. There are no strikes in a place like this; if you bring pop culture into their world they will kick us out — and that’s only if Izzy’s feeling generous.”

“Why do they care?” asks Nadya.

“For the misconception of it all. Flechette may be a cover, and Izzy is certainly no dominatrix. But most of their money these days comes from loyal customers and members. The de la Rosa dynasty is accustomed to a certain amount of wealth and status. Risk that… and it isn’t uncommon for you to go ‘missing.’”

Adrian’s surprise is quickly clouded by narrowed eyes and a stern frown. “That’s against your Accords, though, surely.”

“In the same way unauthorized Turning is against the rules of your Clans.”

That sobers Lily up pretty quickly. She and Nadya exchange glances; both trying to hide their worry from the other. But Lily pulls her a little bit closer by their linked arms and Nadya doesn’t exactly stop her.

Admittedly Nadya would feel a lot better if Katherine had joined them for this, too. But only claimed humans were exempt from what Cadence describes as a pretty lax ‘feeding policy’ beyond the club’s front doors. “And no,” the huntress hadn’t even given Nadya the breath to ask, “that’s not a thing Cade and I have done. I like my freedom a little too much for that.”

He looks her up and down warily; eyes lingering on her very healthy and very not-bitten neck. “You are claimed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t feel a —”

“I said yes, Cadence,” she lifts her bracelet and lets the compass-esque charm of Clan Sayeed catch on the nearby neon lights. The hardest part is not letting it feel like a ball and chain weighing her down and reminding Nadya of her problems back home.

She’s got enough of those in front of her at the moment.

He acts as their local tour guide along the way; pointing out places and spaces every once in a while with a fun little factoid about the city’s histories; the ones both human and supernatural. It’s a good front — for most of their trip Nadya’s so interested in listening and imagining that she almost doesn’t notice what Cadence is really doing. It doesn’t hurt that the vampire sounds so sure of himself, too.

But then he’s halfway through a story about some stone troll (still yet to be seen, still yet to be believed) that tried to run for city Mayor and that’s neither distracting nor interesting. It’s just talking for the sake of talking.

“You’re rambling,” Nadya realizes — and realizes at the same time it was a much more astonishing revelation in her head than it is out loud, “like… nervous rambling.”

The blond scoffs. “What? If you weren’t interested all you had to do was —”

“Nope—I hear it too.” Lily’s eyes narrow, and beside her Adrian looks like he’s playing everything back on a mental tape recorder. “Trust me — I’ve lived with it long enough. That’s some Grade A tongue-twisting. Why’re you nervous?”

“I’m not… going to be able to convince you, am I?”

His blue eyes flicker to Adrian; some kind of Older Vampire Solidarity thing, but if Nadya and Lily are suspicious then Adrian sees no reason not to join in. Broad shoulders slump in his sweater and Cadence gestures for them to keep walking.

“I don’t hide that I have a history with the de la Rosas. When I first arrived in New Orleans the laws were far more lax and by all accounts Carlo let me off easy for coming onto his territory in secret.”

Lily’s eyebrows raise. “Even if you didn’t know what you did was wrong?” And Cadence nods.

“Even then. I served my dues and paid my debts. In his last days I would have even called him an acquaintance — which is saying quite a lot if you ever met him.”

“I did,” Adrian nods in agreement, “and that’s… high praise.”

“Isadora took over the Family affairs in the middle of the Mardi Gras crisis. We worked together then because we needed to — and because Izzy’s a cunning woman.” A strange look glazes Cadence’s eyes behind his lenses; something Nadya might almost call nostalgic. “She has an acute sense of smell for power; when it shifts, where it goes, and how to attain as much of it as she can. A short while after Kathy and I returned from New York she paid me a visit at my office.”

“Not for tea, I’m guessing?”

Of course not. “The overall purpose of it was a goodbye. All debts, no matter how small, were cleared. She made it clear she would have nothing more to do with me — and by extension, neither would the Family. The New Accords bind us legally and magically; through them I will always have a say in matters concerning the vampire community here. But beyond that…”

His words trail off into the night air but they don’t need to be heard for the visitors to understand them clearly. Beyond that, Cadence is risking a lot to bring them to Flechette; to Isadora.

It’s a knowledge that clearly makes Adrian uneasy. “Once we arrive, if you need to leave — it might be better that way.”

“Without me there’s nothing tying you to the city. The moment you step inside she’ll already know when you arrived. And the first thing she will want to know is why you didn’t declare yourselves until hours later. You may be spared, Adrian, for your title up North. But I don’t see Lily walking out without at least a decade of service to the Family dragging her down.”

Cadence pushes up his glasses with a resigned sigh. “This is the best way. But I know the risks. Don’t worry about me.”

His smile is strained and doesn’t last long — quickly he turns and resumes leading them on but this time in a stony and stifling silence.

Nadya feels a squeeze on her arm and finds Lily’s eyes completely devoid of their earlier delight. It’s a look she recognizes; one similar to the moments before their descent into the Council Chamber.

Just like then, she squeezes back. Their pinkies linked in a silent promise to one another; I’ll keep you safe.

They go down a block or two more before Flechette comes into view around the corner. Actually — it’s pretty hard to miss. It stands at the end of the street, borders the last of the buildings distinct to the French Quarter. This whole time Nadya’s been under the assumption that without Cadence guiding them they might not even know what to look for.

But now she’s pretty sure she could have found the place without her glasses.

There’s no ignoring the club bass pounding so loud it almost shakes the pavement. Like he reads her mind Cadence immediately explains in a lowered voice; “Fae wards seal the sound around the block. Works great for the music… and any other noises that might draw attention.” Thick black metal bars seal off the windows. Nadya and Lily exchange half-chuckles; reminded of the city.

Two men in suits stand on either side of the entrance. Nadya watches one with a clipboard in hand undo the hook of a velvet rope and allow a couple inside. She pretends the dark stains on their clothes illuminated by the neon lights are fake campy homemade blood. For her own sanity.

A large rose hums with electricity over the second floor windows. Below it; Flechette in large blocked capitals.

“What’s it mean in English?” Lily asks with a nudge to Adrian’s shoulder. Because of course he knows French. Nadya once watched him spend an entire work evening on a conference call with some biotech company in Lyon. He’s actually pretty good.

“It means dart, or arrow, something along those lines.” But the translation is nothing without the answer, so they all turn to the nerd.

He surprises them with a shrug. “Hell if I know. It’s always been the name of Carlo’s business. It was a photo house when I came to town; specializing in ones you definitely didn’t want to show your mates on the front lines. Catering after that, hired performers after the second war, and an escort service briefly when the dot-com boom hit nationwide. The club was actually Izzy’s idea after she came back up from Miami. A small group of our kind pitched in to own one together for an unlimited feeding source. It’s definitely been their most successful venture.”

“All of which had to do with sex; in one form or another.” Adrian states dryly.

“Sex sells, baby. Even sexy caterers.” Lily bumps her hip into his — he’s so taken aback that he nearly stumbles off the curb. Nadya doesn’t even try to hide her laughter.

The hairs on the back of Nadya’s neck stand up alert as they pass the queued line. Envious eyes drilling holes right through her; judging her and Lily and Adrian and Cadence, too. All of them like they’re on a shiny silver platter.

She makes the mistake of looking back when a scoff catches distant in her ear. The offender couldn’t be older than a college kid — obviously shirtless underneath his black leather jacket and for a moment she sees something glinting near his upper lip and it almost makes her stumble. But a quick look into his eyes and Nadya notices right away they’re the wrong shade of red. Too bright, too wide, too human.

He blinks and the colored contact shifts in place.

“Nadya, come on.” Adrian calls; and Lily tugs at her sleeve until the pair of them fast-walk passed the rest and through the sleek black door held open for them begrudgingly.

She looks into the doorman’s eyes, too. Those aren’t contacts.

“What happened back there?” Lily whispers at her side. Up ahead Cadence starts to lead them down a short hallway and in the dark humidity Nadya has to make a conscious effort to remind herself she’s not going to find the Baron at the end of this tunnel. “Did that kid say something to you?”

Nadya blinks back to reality. “What — no, no. He… he was wearing colored contacts.”

“So? I have every color of the rainbow back home. You’ve seen me in ‘em.”

“Yeah…” and Lily’s talking sense; they both know it — but the knowledge doesn’t shake the unease from her bones.

“What was it then?”

“He was doing it to look like one of them.” One of you. “Did you see his face, Lil’? He was so young.”

He makes Nadya think of who she was at that age. How little she knew about the world — not even counting the vampires, the Ferals; the scary truths hidden in the dark. She’s a good person — she surrounds herself with good people. But the Vegas of the world; the Lesters and the Priyas and anyone else who would even consider the awful act of Turning someone that young? They’re all too real.

When will I start to see those memories, Nadya wonders, how long until they tear me in two?

Lily’s steps falter; she hesitates. “Are you sure you can do this right now?”

It doesn’t matter whether she can or not. “It’s something I’ve gotta do anyway.” Luckily they follow Cadence and Adrian through a doorway covered by a velvet curtain shortly after; so she doesn’t have to keep talking about it.

From the outside it definitely didn’t look like Flechette could hold this many people. The building has several stories but only one floor — she has to crane her neck up high to see lights in iron-wrought fixtures all the way up top. Between the floor and ceiling various cages hang on heavy chains; scattered for space and each one with a dancing individual — a big one a little too high up for Nadya’s comfort sports three.

Servers in different states of undress — but all bearing the same thick black collar and silvery rose-engraved pendant — flit back and forth through other similarly curtained entrances with trays. Trays of drinks, one passes with three glass bowls of multicolored pills, and oh look that one has a fancy assortment of plugs… the use for which Nadya will very happily keep from her head.

Some members are dancing, others are grinding — all of them care about themselves, the person(s) they’re with, or the ones closest to them giving a show. She had expected to feel a lot of unusual things here but relief was not one of them. Not that she’s complaining.

But even though Nadya can’t tell by first glance who here is human and who is vampire; she knows for a fact the last time she was in a room with this many of them things were drastically different for her. She wasn’t a Bloodkeeper back then. Well — she was, but none of this was happening to her.

So it comes as no surprise when she locks eyes with someone—certainly a vampire—and feels something wet in her mouth that definitely isn’t there. Slick and succulent and all she has to do is bite — harder this time…

Nadya forces her eyes down and lets Lily weave her through the path Cadence carves for them. “Do you think this place is campy,” Lily calls over the music only growing louder the deeper in they go, “or do you think camp is based on places like this?!”

“I think we need to hurry up!”

“Spoilsport!”

Everything’s going just great until she’s yanked to a halt.

With one hand as a blinder Nadya shakily raises her eyes to see what’s happening.

Just up ahead Cadence and a short and balding man are locked in heated debate. The music mostly drowns them out but she catches an angry “bastard” and Cadence’s accented “demand you let us through” before it all dissolves back into noise.

“Adrian,” Lily hisses, and even that makes Nadya feel a little fuzzy, thoughts that aren’t hers starting to filter in through her best friend’s touch. Lily somehow keeping her grounded and making her feel less present at the same time, “we gotta get her somewhere — I don’t know, just somewhere not here.”

Somewhere not here sounds amazing. Yes please!

The sleek black shoes step out of Nadya’s sight — there’s a thud and the nearby laughter and conversation goes quiet. Which, of course, somehow makes Nadya’s situation feel worse.

Adrian holds the smaller man up by the front of his ruined suit; feet dangling a good foot from the ground and up in his face, words she can’t understand because she never mastered the art of lip-reading hissed between his fangs.

Cadence tries to push him back but Adrian snaps something that gets him to back off. He jerks his chin in Nadya’s direction and for a moment she holds his red-eyed gaze and doesn’t… quite recognize who she’s looking at.

And that has nothing to do with her pounding head. It has everything to do with Adrian — and Adrian alone.

Sweat beads on Nadya’s brow and stings in her eyes — she’s five solid seconds from passing out when the curtain Baldy is guarding gets pushed back and a woman dressed like she’s ready for a Victorian funeral stands as barrier. She observes each of them silently — or Nadya doesn’t see her lips move anyway — before her eyes fall on Cadence and grow hard.

Adrian drops the doorman and gestures for the two of them to come forward. It’d be a real freakin’ help if she could hear anything right now.

It helps that once they’re off the main club floor and the (surprisingly sound-muffling) curtains are closed behind them she finds immediate relief. She can hear again (and not the echoes of memories — all the better) but boy does her head hurt.

While Lily rubs the small of her back, one of the collared servers offers her a tray with a glass of water and three white pills.

“You have no reason to worry, they are for the headache; nothing more.”

The woman speaks out of sight which is ominous enough but Nadya really could care less. She’d do anything to stifle the pain, the memories; and practically launches the pills into her throat before chasing them down until the water glass is empty.

“Th—Thank you.”

“Of course,” Nadya hears the shifting sound of cloth on leather while she rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms, “I would have you collect yourself before we proceed.”

She goes to lean against Lily — where’s Lily?

“Wait, what do you mean pro—ceed…”

A larger and rougher hand than Lily’s comes down on Nadya’s shoulder. Strong enough to hold her back; keep her at bay. And when everything, including her full range of sight, finally comes back…

She really wishes it hadn’t. She’d like to take her thanks back too, while she’s at it.

Isadora de la Rosa sits as a blooming rose on an onyx canvas; dark waves of hair almost blending in except where the shine catches the light. The brightest part of her (and the room at large) is the crisp white of her pinstriped pantsuit. She watches Nadya with an unreadable deadpan and a cigarette between her long fingers. With all the black in the room the smoke can’t hide as it curls up into the air and dissipates.

Her desk, large and not unlike Adrian’s back at the office, is flanked by the Victorian funeral woman and another, much younger girl dressed similarly. She can’t be more than Nadya’s age. Maybe closer to the human boy back outside in line.

Nadya could do without the three large suited bodyguards holding three stakes to her three friends’ hearts though. If there was one thing she had to complain about, it would be that.

“You’re really leaning into the whole mafia vibe now, I see.” Cadence quips, and there’s a little quirk of his lips as the (much shorter) man behind him struggles to keep the blond held back with the stake right over his heart. It wavers and ends up more near his stomach.

He throws a look down behind him. “Looking well, Tony. Be a peach and push up my glasses for me?”

‘Tony’ hesitates — then slowly pushes them up from where they were perched dangerously on the tip of Cadence’s nose.

“Thank you.”

“Shut it.”

It’s not unlikely that the man restraining Nadya is a vampire too; but there’s no harm in trying to get herself free, right? She wiggles — the grip tightens so hard her knees almost buckle. “Ow ow owowow!”

“Get your hands off of her!” Adrian barks; and judging by the shadow that flickers over the dark, crow-like features of the vampire holding him, he’s giving her the best fight of everyone.

Lily immediately goes for some part to bite — Nadya’s got some serious respect for that. But not if it costs Lily her life—er… undeath.

And all the while Isadora de la Rosa just looks on. Not with amusement, not with malice; more bored than anything. The perpetual exhaustion with everything she must witness reminds Nadya, achingly, of Kamilah.

Cadence sighs. He’s the only one who hasn’t bothered with even the slightest escape attempt. “Adrian, stop.”

“Listen to him, Mister Raines,” Isadora finally says; but instead of looking at him she’s focused on snubbing her cigarette in an ash tray so black Nadya almost thinks it’s the desk, “you aren’t exactly giving the finest impression of your so-called revered Council of vampires. Compose yourself — and die with dignity.”

I’m sorry, do what with dignity?!

She raises two fingers as if to signal, but in a panic Nadya cries out before she can bring it down to act.

“Wait—please Miss de la Rosa, please don’t hurt him—them—anyone!”

It would have come off less whiny and beg-y if Nadya had some plan to distract Isadora, all of her vampire mafia guards, all the vampire mafia fetishists on the other side of the curtain, and get everyone out alive and intact. But she doesn’t — so the look the vampiress gives her — the one that screams ‘I had no respect for you to begin with but you’ve definitely lost some regardless’ — is justified.

Finally Isadora raises a single brow. “Well?”

“W-What?”

The younger of the women near her desk giggles under her shroud. The other shoots her a look — maybe? She definitely looks that way and it definitely shuts her up.

“I assumed you had more to your impassioned plea,” de la Rosa leans back in her chair, “but if that is not the case…”

Nadya opens her mouth but all that comes out is a long, deep, and extremely masculine groan. Oh thank god that wasn’t her.

“Why are you pulling this, Izzy?” Which is apparently not a nickname that’s public knowledge because oh dear god they are so going to die right now. “This is a stunt your father would pull.”

Isadora’s features flicker in obvious annoyance. “Did anyone ask you, Cadence?” She snaps. “Tony, cut out his tongue.”

“Tony don’t you dare.”

Tony probably would — if he could reach that high. “Didn’t I tell you to shut it?”

“Anthony.”

“Y-Yes ma’am!”

Calling it chaos would be a kind understatement. And Nadya can’t even tell if Cadence is doing anything on purpose; all of these little irritants that make one woman laugh and distract another and fluster Tony and make Isadora look ready to—

Nadya blinks and Adrian’s a blur — then he’s a blur with a stake that he hurls to the floor before taking his captor’s head in both hands. He doesn’t look like Adrian again and the sight of it has her more terrified than anything that’s happened so far.

“Let. them. go.” He grits in even measure. “Or I rip her head off.”

To her credit Isadora takes the threat coolly and in stride. “Will you now?”

“We came here willingly, Isadora. None of this hostility is necessary.”

“We shall have to agree to disagree on that.”

“Let them go and we can talk — like civilized people.”

Slowly she stands, does up the button at the bottom of her blazer and smooths down her skirt. More Wall Street than kinkfest. “What about this has given you the impression I want to talk about anything? You have power, Raines, I’ll give you that. So I forgave you for slighting me once. But you know what they say… Happens once, shame on me. Happens twice… ensure it doesn’t happen a third time.”

Lily squirms. “That’s… not a thing people say, like at all.”

“Lil’.”

“Well it’s not!”

But thankfully Isadora is too fixated on Adrian to have noticed.

“Examples have to be made,” she continues, “and what message would I be sending my Family if I were to let you wander my city unpunished?”

Adrian growls. “There were extenuating circumstances.”

“There are always extenuating circumstances with you.” But Isadora doesn’t meet Adrian’s eyes as she says it — Nadya catches her looking away from Cadence with a sigh. “I have a responsibility to keep me and mine safe.”

“We aren’t the threat.”

She answers with silence and pursed lips. The tension in the room shifts uncomfortably — and just like that Adrian seems to realize he’s the one holding a woman hostage. Conflict paints thick across his face as he takes in their options, the faces of the foreign vampires watching his every move.

Resigned, he lets the de la Rosa vampire go. Steps back with hands held up.

Nadya lets out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. It sends her into a coughing fit and draws his attention — distracts Adrian just enough for the older of the veiled women to come up at his side with a new stake sharp at his ribs.

But it’s with an unparalleled relief that she sees her Adrian again in his concern.

“Nadya, are you okay?”

She nods and swallows air like it’s in short supply. “Fine and dandy. Are you?”

He doesn’t answer.

Only now they’re back in the same predicament and this time without any element of surprise. And she does not want to die in a fetish club in New Orleans…

At least not without telling Kamilah how sorry she is.

The dark rug muffles the tap-tap of the Southern vampire’s heels as she approaches Adrian; closes the space between them. “If you’re going to threaten anyone, Raines, next time it had better be me.”

“Noted.”

She clenches a fist at her side but has the willpower not to raise it. “Why are you back in my territory anyway?”

Behind her, Cadence swallows audibly. Before Adrian can even open his mouth she’s turned her back on him. Knows now he’s not the one she should be questioning.

The pained frustration of decision furrows Isadora’s dark brow. “You idiot… can’t you see, Cadence, that this is exactly what I meant when I said I wanted you far away from us? You invite trouble — worse than that, you are oblivious to the fact.”

His broad shoulders slump. “You’re the one who brought out the stakes.”

“I gave you what you wanted. Why do you insist on complicating my life? Why could you not take your lead and leave the Quarter?”

He recoils, affronted. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “What? I — this is my home just as much as it is yours.”

“I think we both know that not to be the case.”

“Izz—”

“No, not you,” she presses a finger to his lips; Cadence falls silent, “someone else… you.”

Nadya’s nerve drops out of her stomach when Isadora decides to round on her. Nadya does not handle herself well in front of powerful women in business attire, and if her current track record is anything to go by she’s not exactly going to be their saving grace here.

“Me?”

“You, yes. What was your name again?”

She feels like she’s eaten fancy cheese; but she endures. “Nadya, I’m Nadya.”

“And why do you keep such unusual company, Nadya?”

Well that’s not what she was expecting. “How do you know it’s not the other way around?”

“Because you don’t look like a pet human. At least not like the ones out there.” Isadora waves a hand towards the main club. “And because you seem to have an acute understanding of what is happening here. You have not dissolved into panic, and you wear the claim of a vampire not present with us on your wrist.”

The heavy hand leaves her shoulder and Isadora approaches sultry; catlike. She reaches forward and takes Nadya’s hand in her own — strokes her thumb over a knuckle and for a moment she almost thinks the vampiress is going to kiss the back of it.

Instead she turns Nadya’s wrist up and examines the way the dim lighting catches her bracelet. Isadora speaks low, now; so low Nadya strains to hear her.

“Is Kamilah Sayeed here, as well? How is she doing these days?”

“You know Kamilah?” Of course she knows Kamilah. Why are you even surprised?

Isadora doesn’t break her hold. Nadya knows exactly what will happen if she tries to take it upon herself to separate them though. “That was not an answer.”

“No — No she’s not here. She stayed in New York.”

Isadora seems amused, which in Nadya’s opinion is a welcome change from murderous. But they definitely can — and probably do — exist in the same house.

“Why are you and your friends in my city?”

Nadya tries to look over her shoulder to Adrian. Hoping; praying he could somehow give her something to say. Because all she can think is the truth and telling everyone the truth isn’t exactly part of the plan.

Adrian sees her panic. “She’s got nothing to do with this, Isadora. Leave her alone.”

“See the more you say that, Raines, the more I think you’re not telling me the truth. So, Nadya, I’ll ask again.”

“Isadora —”

He’d probably do better yelling at a brick wall. She finds it all too easy to ignore him; let him fade into the background as she leans down and close to Nadya’s face. Tilts her chin up with a dark and manicured fingertip.

“Why are you and your friends in my city?”

Vampires can’t hypnotize people, right? Like, Adrian and Kamilah would have made it a point to tell her if vampires could hypnotize people, right? If Jax and Maricruz had shared some innate vamp-y hypnosis secret with Lily, then Lily would have told her, right?

Nadya can’t say she’s ever been hypnotized before so she isn’t certain but wow does it feel like Isadora’s trying to hypnotize her. Making her look deep into her eyes, red and practically glowing with pupils narrowed into slits and the way her voice curls around her words is… is really pretty and…

Holy mother of crap can vampires hypnotize people?!

While Adrian struggles to peer over Isadora’s shoulder to see exactly why Nadya’s gone so quiet, Cadence doesn’t have to. He’s had enough of whatever the heck this is, apparently, and pushes Tony off of him and into the nearest wall with startling ease.

“No — this is too far, Isadora, she’s human for god’s sake!” He gets to them before anyone else can stop him. “Get out of her mind before you do any damage.”

Not that she listens. Maybe she can’t listen. Nadya’s definitely having a harder time hearing the room around them so suffice to say it’s the same for Isadora, right?

Get out of her mind.

Oh god. Get out of my mind. You can’t see what’s in there.

She feels frozen, trapped and bound in a vice of her own skin. But it isn’t something she’s never felt before. She has, and rather recently too. The only difference is Jameson connected them at her temples. Isadora de la Rosa does just as well using only her eyes.

Get out, please. You can’t see.

Why can I not, Nadya? Show me.

I just can’t. You — You won’t like it. She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it one bit.

How about I make that decision for myself?

“What are you standing around for?” shouts Lily. “Get her away! Nadya, can you hear me? Nadya!”

But Cadence hesitates; hands hovering just over them. “If I break the connection while Izzy’s pressing in… it might not go well.”

Lily looks to Adrian in a panic. “Dude!”

“Cadence, it’s okay. Do it.”

He frowns at Adrian; his glasses slip down his nose. “She’s a powerful psychic, Adrian. I don’t want Nadya to get hurt.”

“She won’t be. Break them up.”

Can someone break us up, please?!

Why are you resisting me? What are you hiding?

“But —”

“Nadya’s not the one who’ll be hurt! Just—listen to me and do it!”

Convicted and terrified, Cadence places his hands on the backs of their necks and pulls.

When Nadya opens her eyes she knows, objectively, that there’s been a passage of time. But the usual sluggishness, the feeling like she’s emerging from a pit of black sludge isn’t there. Somehow, she was both conscious… and not.

The carpet is itchy under her palms and Nadya might have shattered her tail bone into a thousand pieces. It sure feels that way. Adrian holds her halfway upright with a hand firm in the middle of her back. She’s grateful that he’s both worried and cautious enough to keep from touching her directly; and instead his hand hovers just shy of her face.

“Nadya, can you hear me?”

But that’s Lily’s voice — oh, Lily’s there too. She speaks again but slower; “How many fingers am I holding up?”

She squints. Everything is still blurry.

“I don’t… I can’t…” then it hits her, “you’re holding up my glasses, aren’t you?”

They fall into her waiting hand. When everything comes into clear (if smudged with a stampede of fingerprints) view Nadya looks up to see Lily beaming.

“She’s in the clear.”

“No,” comes Isadora’s growl from somewhere not in her immediate reach—thank god, “none of you are.”

It’s a little relieving that Nadya wasn’t the only one thrown on her butt. But Isadora’s recovery is faster and that’s a big yikes. She pushes the worried faces and reaches of her subordinates aside and stands on her own. She tries to smooth herself back to her previous perfection but the damage is done — there’s no changing the tension coiling tightly inside her, or the wild uncertainty in her eyes.

Something happened — Nadya’s foggy on exactly what but she knows that much. Just like she knows the look Isadora’s giving her.

She knows.

A ragged groan breaks the silence and all eyes turn to Cadence who was somehow also thrown off his feet; only he doesn’t have anyone to check up on him. Nadya gives a pleading look to Lily and immediately she’s at his side. He’s groggy, but despite the shaking in his arms he can hold himself up. He’ll live — long enough for her to thank him anyway.

Isadora has never been the type to be at a loss for words. Nadya can see it now; decades of being loud, being harsh; whatever it took to be respected in the world. Whatever it took to carry on the de la Rosa name and legacy.

The city hadn’t even given her the chance to mourn him.

“You shouldn’t be possible,” she whispers, and Nadya laughs — says the vampire.

Adrian looks between them with growing confusion. “What happened?”

She pats at his arm and he gets the hint; helps Nadya and her knocking knees to stand. She’s tired of being looked down on by them, believe it or not, so if she can look Isadora in the eyes then she’s going to.

“You wanted to know why we were here, in New Orleans,” Nadya speaks slowly to keep her voice from betraying just how shaken up she really feels, “well now you do.”

When Nadya closes her eyes she can see it; the Amulet of Nero. In flashes of printed-out pictures on Adrian’s office wall and resting cupped in Cadence’s palms and held dangling by the chain up to the light of this very office; reverent — and solemn, too. A gift from someone given up a long time ago.

All that through Isadora’s eyes.

Nadya sighs and rubs her aching temple. “She doesn’t have the Amulet.”

Neither Adrian nor Lily hide their shock. “How do you know?” he asks. But how can she reasonably say she just does?

When Isadora steps forward one of the veiled women reaches out to try and stop her. Nadya can feel the energy—uneasy-uncertain-doubtful-fearful-of-the-unknown—coming from the Southern vampires like waves of endless nausea. But her hand is batted away. Isadora is the only one certain of anything right now.

“You’re right,” she answers in measured caution, “the Amulet is no longer in my possession. But I can tell you where it is… and, should you be willing, try and help you get it back.”

Murmurs of confusion ripple out from the other vampires. Isadora shrugs them off — her intense focus on Nadya strong; stalwart.

You’ve seen what’s at stake. What could—will—happen if we don’t.

Yes, I have.

Nadya nods.

“We could use all the help we can get.”

[ryder-s-block]

Jaig Eyes (Ch 36)

Jaig Eyes (36/?)

Summary: Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she's involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?

Always can read on Fanfic.

------------------------------------------------

Chapter Thirty-Six: Ret’urcye mhi

I knew immediately that I wasn’t really in the room I was seeing. There was a haziness to it, blurring the edges of my vision as if I was squinting hard. The room reminded me of the control center on the Republic frigates, with a holographic console in the center. However, instead of rows upon rows of computers and military personnel, the room expanded into a type of amphitheater. Benches encircled the room, rising up to various levels until they ended at doors on all sides. All of which were closed and locked, it seemed. 

I was standing a few rows up, looking down at a group of creatures clad in jedi robes. I recognized the clean-shaven head of Windu immediately, watching his brow crease as he spoke quietly with a little green jedi--Yoda. 

Others stood around that I recognized only slightly from either brief encounters, discussions with Anakin and Obi-wan, or from reports I read as a bounty hunter. There was a Twi’lek with magnificent blue skin, her expression passive as she eyed the holoprojector as if she were waiting for it to engage. There was also a female Tholothian, who stood beside a Nautolan I didn’t know. Still, the smile he gave his companion jarred my memory. I’d seen his likeness painted on a Republic attack shuttle, along with the Auberesh words, “Service with a smile.” Fisto. Even bounty hunters knew about him.

The holoprojector hummed to life, revealed more jedi, all standing rather rigid. Some I recognized, such as Plo Koon and Shaak Ti. Others, I didn’t. In the end, there were a total of eleven jedi, both physically present and holographically beamed in.

I’d never seen so many jedi in one place before. It actually unnerved me.

My nerves only got worse when a final hologram appeared, revealing Obi-wan, Anakin standing behind him silently. Anakin’s face was drawn in worry, as if he was lost in deep thought.

“Obi-wan,” Windu started, drawing the attention of all jedi present. “You called an emergency meeting. What happened with Dooku?” My heart stopped at his words. It was a Jedi Council meeting. Something told me, from Windu’s words, that the meeting was about me.

Obi-wan fidgeted slightly, glancing back to exchange a sad look with Anakin before speaking to the Council. “He escaped, as he has in the past. But my report is not of how we lost him, but how we survived him.”

Yoda hummed lowly, leaning on his cane. “Moved, the Force has. Felt it, we did.”

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Obi-wan said respectfully. “Anakin and I had been captured, as well as all of our men. Kida kept everyone from being executed, ourselves included.”

“How was she not captured with the rest of the army?” Shaak Ti’s hologram asked, her accented voice soft, but strong.

“Her ship had been shot down amidst our battle, Master,” Anakin jumped into the conversation, seeming almost eager. “She survived the crash and managed to find us on Vandor.”

Windu stood silently, rubbing his jaw. “Kida’s involvement in your rescue is related to this shift in the Force, isn’t it?”

“She saved our lives,” Anakin started, practically desperate to speak. “She just needs guidance.”

It registered that Skywalker was trying his best to protect me.

“Yes, Master,” Obi-wan cut in, giving Anakin a look. “I had known she was Force sensitive, and that she had a powerful Force signature. But I could never have foreseen…” His words trailed off, as if he was hesitating to say anything further.

“What has she done?” Windu asked, his voice harsh. I crinkled my nose at him, almost wanting to go over and hit him. I wasn’t really in the room, of course, so I could have at least pretended.

But something whispered in my mind that the Force was enabling me to see this for a reason. And that if the Force was doing it, the jedi could possibly sense me. So I wasn’t going to be Force-slapping any jedi masters at that moment.

“Awakened, her abilities have.” Yoda wasn’t responding to Windu. Nor was he asking a question. He said it like he was merely musing the concept. Like he had been meditating, rather than listening to the report. He opened his wrinkled eyes slowly, gazing sadly to Obi-wan. “Dangerous, she has become. Powerful.”

The entire Council turned to watch Obi-wan respond. Only Anakin looked away, his face a conflict of emotions.

“She stood up to Dooku,” Kenobi said slowly. “She displayed abilities even I don’t have.” His face was almost wistful as he continued. “She’d always been connected to the Force--we’ve all felt that. But there was a moment in that room, when she chose to reveal herself, that the Force seemed to flow through her endlessly.”

“I’d never felt anything like it,” Anakin spoke quietly. “It didn’t feel like when a jedi uses the Force, or when a Sith does. It was entirely...different.”

“Untamed,” Obi-wan offered.

“Dangerous,” Windu countered, crossing his arms. “Far too dangerous to have leading troops in this war.”

“Master, she saved our lives. And it wasn’t the first time she’s put herself at risk for the Republic.” Anakin’s words were kind, but the other jedi didn’t seem as hopeful as him.

“Her actions may be good now, Skywalker,” Shaak Ti reasoned gently, quieting the younger jedi. “But someone so powerful with no teaching in the ways of the Force could be tempted easily.”

“Obi-wan was giving her lessons,” Anakin responded, making my eyebrows raise. I wondered briefly if Skywalker had known before or if that information was just him being filled in after my reveal. “He could continue to teach her.”

“She’s too old,” Plo Koon finally spoke, his voice metallic through his mouth piece. To my surprise, the Council seemed to be bickering as I watched. I’d always imagined their meetings to be quaint and tight lipped. And maybe they usually were.

I had a talent for rubbing people the wrong way, it seemed.

“Masters,” Obi-wan said loudly, bringing the discussions to a standstill. “She’s already felt the draw to the Dark Side,” he confessed, his expression sad. “And caved to it.”

My chest got tight as the room remained silent, the Force rippling with their shared concern. The first to make a sound was Yoda, his head shaking as he hummed sadly.

“Too late, we so often are. Clouded, our vision is.” His words weren’t exactly what I expected. 

“She’s had a hard life,” Anakin added in gently. “A slave. Tortured for years. She’s lost everything. Watched her only parent die. All she’s known is war.”

“As have you, young Skywalker,” a Cerean with a white beard said softly. “Yet here you stand.”

Maybe it was because my unconscious body was near Skywalker, or maybe it was because he was so intensely strong with the Force that I felt his emotions shift. They twisted and swelled with frustration.

“I’ve had training. I have the Jedi Order. She’s had nothing!”

“Made it difficult to see, this war has. Hidden from us, many children are.” I assumed Yoda was referring to the Force-sensitive kids the jedi would take from their homeworlds to come and live in the temple. 

“Even you, Skywalker,” the Twi’lek said, her voice pleasantly accented. “We would have not have found had Obi-wan and Qiu Gon not had to land there.” I wondered if that was due to the darkness of the times or that Tatooine was an outer rim planet. You didn’t hear about a whole lot of kids coming in from the Outer Rim to be a jedi.

“The past cannot be changed,” Windu spoke in his baritone voice. “We must decide what to do now.”

The room was quiet for a moment until Anakin spoke on my behalf. “She’s not a bad person. She hasn’t fallen yet. She was desperate to save us. That one moment shouldn’t be the only deciding factor in her fate.”

“Anakin is right,” Obi-wan joined his former padawan. “Kida has proven herself again and again. One mistake should not doom her.”

“These are dangerous waters we are wading into,” Fisto voiced. “She is too old to become a jedi. But her apparent abilities are too strong to be left untamed. Especially in the Republic army.”

“They’ve never been a problem before,” Anakin interrupted. 

“Admittedly,” Plo Koon agreed with a nod of his head. “Her inclination towards the Force may even have saved your life, Master Windu.”

Windu hummed lowly, touching his knuckle to his chin. “Admiral Killian has only ever spoken highly of the girl,” he allowed. “And we cannot deny the good she has done for the Republic and its assets.”

“Perhaps,” the Tholothian leapt in. “But then we must not deny the bad. She is a bounty hunter, after all.”

“Not all bounty hunters are inherently criminals,” Shaak Ti voiced. “Nor should we resort to any possible criminal past to punish her, as we were more than happy to work with her under that pretense before.” The Torgruta sighed, tucking her hands into her pooling sleeves. “We must remember that we have bounty hunters within our GAR even here in the training facilities. If we turn on one for her past as a bounty hunter, we could lose them as well.”

“Indeed, not to mention that the bounty hunters on Kamino knew Kida well,” Obi-wan added thoughtfully. “Many bounty hunters respect Kida for both her abilities and her connection to Jango Fett.”

“Not just bounty hunters,” Plo Koon said. “But she’s done jobs for many crime syndicates, as well.”

“And you think they or a bounty hunter would leap to her defense?” the Cerean asked skeptically.

“Likely not,” Fisto responded. “But as per your previous reports, she has a close connection with the Hutt Clan. Is that bond close enough that it would jeopardize our ability to travel through Hutt space?” He was addressing Obi-wan now.

“I don’t know,” the jedi admitted. “But I know that what connection she did have, it was with Jabba himself. He would be the one to determine if our safe travel remained.”

“This issue is no longer if she was a bounty hunter,” the Twi’lek interrupted. “We are now discussing the threats of what loyalties she holds, should we act against her at all.”

Obi-wan hummed while he stroked his beard. “Yes, Kida has quite a reputation, not just in the underworld, but even in the Republic now.”

“The men look up to her,” Anakin added softly. “And I know there are quite a few senators who consider her a friend.”

“Difficult, this decision is,” Yoda allowed. “Inside the web of our war, she is tied.”

“Obi-wan,” Windu said curtly, commanding attention. “Is she or is she not to be considered a threat?”

My friend was quiet for a long moment before breathing slowly. “She is genuinely a good person. She cares for others. That’s why she even agreed to join this war. She is skilled. Concise. Practiced.” His words tapered off as he looked around. “The last time we discussed this girl’s fate, I gave my word that she wouldn’t be a threat. That her biology did not make her dangerous.” 

I sat heavily on one of the benches, knowing he was about to say “but.”

“But,” there it was. “The way it felt when she used the Force was unlike anything. At first, it was just unruly, but unbelievably powerful. And then Dooku began talking. He got inside her head and the entire room shifted. It was like the Dark Side blossomed from inside her. It overpowered everything in the room. She could have defeated Dooku on her own, had she not stopped herself.”

“She stopped herself?” Shaak Ti asked for clarification.

“Yes. She stopped and the darkness faded when she saw me. It seems,” Obi-wan sighed sadly. “That our opinion has quite an effect on her.”

“That was what Dooku used against her,” Anakin jumped in, his voice dark. “He used her fear of what the Council would think. Of what you’d do to her because she used her abilities.”

“Dangerous, fear is. A path to the Dark Side, fear is.” Yoda hummed in thought as the conversations about my fate resumed.

“We cannot have her in our military. If she turned, she could bring us all down,” the Cerean voiced.

“Decommission her then,” Fisto offered. “She can return to her life of bounty hunting none the wiser.”

“She knew what happened in that room, Master,” Obi-wan argued gently. “It’s...changed her. I’ve never felt her afraid like that before.”

“We cannot leave her to wander with these new abilities,” an Iktotchi male said from the holograms. “It would leave her open to fall to the Dark Side’s temptations. Especially with Dooku now knowing her power.” 

“Prison?” the Twi’lek asked, glancing around the room. “She would be contained. Easily monitored. Her adoptive brother is there, as well. It may even be good for the both of them.”

Anakin shook his head, chuckling darkly. “She can be trusted. She doesn’t need to be put in a prison.”

“Nor do I know if that would stop our worries,” Windu allowed. “Should her powers swell like they did against Dooku, she could massacre the prison. Or stage a break out.”

“You all sound like you want to kill her!” Anakin yelled, looking around at the placid faces. His own expression fell. “Is that what you’re planning to do?”

“It is something we must consider,” Shaak Ti said gently. “As a last resort, should she complete her fall. Destroying the Sith is the duty of the jedi.”

The Council was quiet as they faced that possibility. It comforted me that they at least didn’t seem like they wanted to straight up murder me. Of course, that didn’t take away from the sting of the fact that they were considering murdering me anyways.

“Obi-wan,” Yoda’s voice cut through the tension, drawing my gaze back to his small stature. “Holding something back, you are.”

Anakin and Obi-wan both fidgeted uncomfortably, the younger of the two looking away entirely. His face was warped with distress. Sadness. Anger.

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Obi-wan allowed finally, heaving a slow breath. “When the darkness within her rose to its peak, Kida spoke words I’m sure she was never told before, since she knows little of the jedi and the sith.”

He was hesitating to speak. Even I wondered for a brief moment what he meant until I recalled the horrible voice in my head. And the words it had fed into my mind.

“What did she say?” Windu asked cautiously.

Obi-wan glanced around the room, his blue eyes wide with distress. “It wasn’t the whole thing, but I’m sure it’s what it was.” That didn’t answer any questions. The room seemed to feel the same as me, leaning a bit closer to entice the words from Kenobi’s mouth. He let out another slow breath. “The Dark Side took over, even if it was only for a few moments, when she recited the final lines of the Code of the Sith.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

I bolted upright, my body complaining from the sharp movement. My right shoulder in particular twinged, reminding me of the lightsaber wound I’d received there. A part of me wanted to roll my eyes. Yet another scar to add to the long list.

And then I was jolted back to reality when I felt Anakin’s frustrated presence aboard the same ship as me. Near his signature was Obi-wan’s, which admittedly, didn’t seem to be much more content than his counterpart.

I hadn’t been able to hear what decision they’d made. Maybe they hadn’t even made one yet. The hairs on my arms stood up as I thought about the last thing Obi-wan had said. I’d recited the Sith Code. The voice in my head...it was sith. Despite that, I was still confused. The voice in my head had saved me. Had saved my friends. 

And now the jedi were possibly plotting my murder.

My fear made me hyper aware of the room. A monitor beeped beside me, electrodes slipping under the red fatigues I was dressed in. My armor and weapons, battered as they were, lay piled in the corner. The wide viewport beside my bed showed that we were nestled in a small fleet of Republic ships, the stars looking dim against the bright lights of the cruisers.

I swallowed thickly before swinging my legs over the side of the hospital bed, my body complaining. I turned off the monitor quickly. My energy was sapped, but I was being driven by fear for my own safety.

Despite not wanting to listen to Dooku, I couldn’t help but hear his words in my mind as I gathered my things in my arms.

“You’re afraid. Afraid of what the Council will do with you.”

I swallowed again, pulling the pillowcase loose and throwing my things inside, leaving out my wrist gauntlet. Tugging on my boots, I slung the crisp white pillowcase I’d fashioned into a bag over my shoulder. I’d blend in more in the red fatigues, despite my obvious uniqueness from the clones. 

My wrist gauntlet still worked, thank Ka’ra. I tapped it to life, Apex lighting up since I was back in a signal range, aboard a frigate.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, miss,” Apex said immediately.

But I had no time for pleasantries. “Exit strategy. Now. And keep it quiet.”

“Of course.” Thankfully, despite the AI’s inclination towards sassy disobedience, his systems were smart enough to know when not to talk back and just do what he’s told. The screen on my wrist gauntlet flickered with his calculations as I exited my room silently.

The halls were filled with wandering clones, some in their red fatigues, but most in their armor.

“Afraid of what your friends will think,” I heard Dooku’s voice say again. His words urged me forward, my eyes on the floor as I passed through the halls.

With no official exit strategy, I didn’t realize where my feet were taking me until I found myself entering the corridor filled with officers’ quarters. The tickle in the back of my mind told me that Rex was inside his room, trying to sleep. He was restless, though, tossing his body sideways in an attempt to get comfortable.

His rest had likely been an order from Skywalker, considering the clone captain had been electrocuted multiple times that day.

Was it the same day?

I realized I didn’t actually know if it was.

I swallowed thickly, hearing my wrist gauntlet beep. It drew my eye, the screen showing the way through a diagram of the frigate. It led to the escape pods.

“I’m not taking a pod,” I hissed. I almost wished Windu was aboard, but I knew from my vision that he was back in the temple on Coruscant. I would’ve enjoyed stealing his starfighter again.

And considering he seemed to be gently advocating for my death, I wouldn’t have returned it this time.

“I’ve dispatched Pinky with your shuttle. She should be there by the time you escape. After you’ve concluded whatever you plan on doing once you get your ass moving.” Ah. The cheek was back.

“Shut up,” I grumbled, turning down his volume. 

As he quieted towards a total mute, I heard him say, “A thank you would be nice.” I didn’t give him one, sensing Rex stirring again inside his room. I wondered if he’d heard me outside. It didn’t matter. I steeled myself and stepped forward, rapping my knuckles against the cold metal door.

His head shot up immediately, trained to be tense. To be suspicious. To be a target in war. His movements were slow behind the door. Practiced and silent. There was a pistol in his hand as he pressed the button that opened the door.

“It amazes me that you can be paranoid even on your own ship,” I said as the door hissed open. 

Rex didn’t respond, merely staring at me in shock. A million questions swam in his gaze, but he couldn’t seem to get any of them out. I rolled my eyes--a faked ease that I was using to cover the terrified trembling in my knees--and pushed past him into his room.

The quarters were small, with a single bed with starched clean sheets, a table for his armor, which was piled neatly upon it, and a night stand where his other pistol laid. A door at the back corner led to what I assumed was the fresher. 

“Kida,” he said finally, his voice gruff. “You’re up.”

“How long was I out?”

My curt response seemed to take him off guard. “Not...not as long as we thought you would be. Not even a full day. You were barely responsive at all when we first got you aboard.”

I nodded slowly. “You carried me. Thank you.”

“You saved my life first.” His voice was gentle, but I knew he was itching to understand. 

I sat on the edge of his bed--an action which only heightened his nerves--and regarded the man slowly. He was in his blacks, but he didn’t seem comfortable at all. He fidgeted in front of me, standing as straight as he would when addressing a superior. His trigger finger tapped endlessly at the side of his pistol.

“You have questions.” His golden gaze, which had been fixated on the wall, cut to me sharply. He didn’t have to speak, since I could practically hear his growled ‘duh.’ I sighed slowly. “You already knew I could use the Force.”

“You said you couldn’t use it like the jedi.” He was suddenly defensive. Suspicious. For some reason, his reaction hurt me more than the jedi likely planning my death.

“I wasn’t lying, Rex.”

“Then what would you call what you did on Vandor?”

“I’d call it saving your life,” I bit, my own frustration flaring. Still, I felt that darkness lurking at the edge of my mind. I silenced my rising anger, afraid of what would be waiting for me down that path. “I didn’t… I’ve never done anything like that before. I didn’t even know I could.”

Maybe it was the brokenness of my voice or the surprising water that was rising in my eyes that made Rex’s anger melt away. Slowly, he moved to sit beside me, the bed shifting under me as his weight joined mine.

“That was...incredible,” he offered, still in shock.

“It was terrifying,” I countered, glancing sideways at him. “And it’s ruined everything.”

His golden eyes narrowed in thought at my words. “What do you mean? We’re all alive because of you.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice it, Rex. I can feel your fear. You’re trying to hide it from me, but I can feel it.”

The captain grumbled lowly. “Using the Force isn’t fair.”

“I’m not a jedi,” I argued. “I’m a bounty hunter. We don’t play fair. Now stop avoiding the subject.”

He was quiet for a moment before answering. “I’ve always enjoyed watching you fight. I’ve described it to you before that it’s almost like you’re dancing. But in that chamber on Vandor...something changed.”

“Because I used the Force?”

“No.” Rex shook his head. “There was a moment when your face just...turned. You weren’t desperate to save us. You weren’t even trying to save yourself. You were just...angry. Your goal had shifted from saving...to destroying.”

“I know,” I breathed. “It scares me too.”

He breathed slowly. “Have you talked to General Skywalker? Maybe he could--”

“I have to leave, Rex.” It hurt me to cut him off. It hurt me to say those words. The look of shock on his face faded to sadness and betrayal.

“Wha-- why?”

“The Jedi Council didn’t trust me before all of this. They certainly won’t trust me now. Even now, they’re trying to figure out how to either control me, or kill me.”

“Kida,” Rex sighed. “General Kenobi would never allow--”

“Kenobi is the one who’s been reporting on me to the Council. I’m sorry, Rex but it’s true.” I paused, glancing down at my hands. “One of their options is to kill me.”

“They wouldn’t do that.”

“I saw it, Rex. I saw them talking.”

“How…” his words tapered off. “The Force?” he asked, to which I nodded. “I won’t let them. No one is going to hurt you.”

“You know you couldn’t stop them if you tried, Rex,” I said gently. “I need to go. You know this. I need to figure out what this thing that’s calling me is. Learn how to control…” I looked at my hands again. “This.”

He swallowed slowly, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. “You don’t have to run away from this, Cyare.”

“I’m trying not to die.”

“We can face this.”

“Stop it, Rex.” He stopped, watching my face carefully at my stern voice. “They will never let me be free. I have to figure this out on my own. Without the jedi’s influence. Without the Republic.”

“Without me,” he completed dejectedly. I’d never heard him speak in such a way before.

“I didn’t say that.” Rex looked up in shock, meeting my stormy gaze. I wondered if it was the fear that was giving me such courage in a subject I barely knew. “Come with me,” I whispered, leaning over to grab his wrist gently.

I let him sit in silence, thinking over my words. They were big. And it would be tough for him. His arm turned over slowly, his long fingers curling around my wrist in turn. A small, hopeful smile came to my face.

“No.”

My smile melted, my hand drawing away. His fingers caught mine, though, keeping me from pulling away entirely. 

“Look at me,” he said softly, tilting his head to try and meet my eyes again. “Please, cyare, look at me.” I finally did, seeing pain, but also genuinity on his face. “I can’t go. You know that. My duty is here.”

“It could be with me,” I surprised myself with my words. They were practically breathed out from between my lips, carried with a surprising amount of sorrow.

His forehead wrinkled in pain. “It can’t be. You know that. I can’t desert.”

I looked at my lap again, finally successfully pulling my hand from his grasp. “Right. It was stupid to ask.” I stood, stooping to scoop up my pillowcase bag again.

“Cyare,” he sighed, moving to stand with me. “Kida,” he tried again, failing to make me turn still. His hand grasped my upper arm firmly, turning me to face him by force. “This isn’t easy for me.”

“You could have fooled me, Rex.” I tried to pull away, but Rex’s grip was impressively tight.

“Kida you don’t understand. I don’t call you cyare lightly. I don’t take my feelings for you lightly.”

They were words I’d wanted to hear for a long time. Since we’d been marooned at Cut’s farmhouse. But in that moment, they were almost sour. I’d have preferred he yelled. Preferred he was afraid, even.

I wished that he wanted me to go. That he never wanted to see me again.

This affection, but refusal to go...it hurt too much.

“I have to go, Rex,” I said softly, my voice more broken sounded than I wanted it to be.

“Kida,” he whispered, drawing closer. His lips were by my ear, his breath tickling the wisps of hairs there. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

My eyes closed, tears leaking out when I hadn’t given them permission to do so. I’d never heard those words before. They were beautiful, even in the harsh dialect of Mando’a. But while they were amazing and enveloped me in a warmth, they also stung like daggers. In a burst of emotion, I turned in his grasp, my free hand coming up to grab the front of his black shirt. I pulled his tall frame down, lifting my head to press my lips against his.

He seemed shocked for only a short beat before his other hand came up to rest on my cheek, the first still wrapped around my upper arm. His lips were softer than I would have imagined them to be, considering he was a soldier. Then again, they were fed all of the nutrients they needed to stay as physically inclined as possible. I guess that led to health all around.

The kiss was messy at first as the intelligent man quickly learned the new experience. It didn’t take him long to take over, the hand on my arm releasing to curl around my waist. It was inexperienced. Messy. Frantic. Emotional.

And wonderful.

It practically hurt my lips to pull away. My fist, still clenched in the front of his shirt, released slowly to push his chest backwards. Our breathing was a bit shorter as we stood in silence, quiet tears still sliding down my face.

One of his rough thumbs lifted to wipe them from my cheek. I caught his hand, pushing it away as well.

I sniffed slowly. “Maybe you do,” I finally whispered in response to his words. “But it’s not enough for you to come with me.”

The hurt that radiated off of him stung like a whip across my shoulders. I drew away from him, his door opening at the press of my hand. He followed like he was in a daze, stopping only when he reached the threshold of his room.

“Kida,” he breathed. I could tell he was desperate for words, but there were none for him to speak. 

“Goodbye, Rex,” I whispered. “Ret’urcye mhi.”

The captain was silent, staring sadly at me as the door hissed closed between us. I angrily held back a sob that threatened to come up my throat before glancing at my wrist gauntlet. 

I followed the path Apex had planned for me diligently, my eyes glued to the floor, fingers curled tight around the pillowcase. The escape pods were unguarded, as would make sense since my departure from the medical wing had yet to be noticed.

I opened one, setting my bag inside.

“Kida.” I turned at the familiar voice, a part of me wishing it belonged to Rex. I knew it didn’t, though.

“Please don’t try to stop me, Anakin,” I responded gently, seeing the jedi standing outside the escape pod.

“Where are you going?”

I didn’t answer his question. “Did the Council decide what they wanted to do with me?”

Anakin’s eyes widened for only a moment before he pieced it together. “They’re...still undetermined.”

“I’m not sticking around to wait for them to decide how to kill me.”

“They won’t-” he started, but his words faltered. Even he doubted if they would keep me alive. He breathed through his nose. “It’s wrong of them not to trust you. You saved our lives.”

“Maybe,” I allowed. “But they’re right in that there’s a darkness speaking to me. I need to figure out what it is. I need to learn to control this.”

“The jedi can--”

“Not from the jedi, Anakin. You know I wouldn’t do well with your...rules.”

“Well, neither do I,” he argued. “But with us, you can still do good. Like you wanted to.” Over his shoulder, a clone in 501st armor appeared, his blond hair buzzed short. Rex. He seemed like he’d been running to catch up, but stopped suddenly when he saw Anakin.

It seemed duty would win out again.

“I can’t stay, Anakin,” I said softly, looking away from Rex’s desperate gaze to meet the jedi’s again.

His blue eyes were conflicted, but I could tell the conflict didn’t lie with me. “I know,” he said finally. “Please…be careful.”

I smiled sadly in the doorway, my hand lifting to press the door key that would seal me in and launch me from the port. “You too.” With that, the doors hissed closed and the thrusters engaged, sending me away from the frigate and the GAR, towards where I knew Pinky would be waiting to pick me up.

In the tiny viewport, I saw Rex’s face, his face drawn harshly with sorrow, shrinking as I put more distance between us.

-----------------------------

MANDO’A

Ka’ra--  stars (ancient mandalorian myth--ruling council of fallen kings)

Cyare-- beloved

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum--I love you

Ret’urcye mhi-- Maybe we’ll meet again (Goodbye)

[pkmnsdarkqueen]

You’re cordially Invited, to an absolute Dump.

@raysofpokemuse

Writober day 20: Seven sins-Wrath

(Another drabble)

Now there were a few times Karen came into the bar stressed. It was never anything too extreme though just a general mutter about something that annoyed her that day. She did vent occasionally, but it was mixed in with some humor and light hearted jokes allowing for general room to breath despite her frustrations. To sum it up her anger always felt controlled. There was an element of tact in her words and actions. Raw explosive rage was vast jump from any other degree of wrath she had previously, and such a contrast it took him a moment to recognize that the person who about slammed the door off it’s hinges from throwing it open so hard was Karen. 

“GYM LEADERS ARE FUNCTIONALLY USELESS, AND THEIR ENTIRE EXISTENCE IS POINTLESS!”

She spat not exactly speaking to anyone. In fact it didn’t even seem like she saw anyone either simply glazing over faces while striding towards the stairs. There might as well of been a cloud around her as the waves of fury lashed out around her presence. Without saying a word of hello to Kimi, or Giovanni at the bar Karen took herself up the spiral stairs each step causing the metal to ring under her feet. 

Once the door upstairs slammed shut signaling she was gone Kimi just gave a long whistle which rolled smoothly into a laugh. It was a stark contrast to the mood shift Karen had just entered with, and Giovanni stared at the tan skinned woman utterly lost as to what was amusing about this. Karen looked as if she was about to be unhinged which wasn’t something he had even known she was capable of.

“Oi, don’t give me that blank face rookie. She’ll be fine. Karen starts talking in extremes when she’s that angry. Although the punching bag up there is about to wish it was never made.”

Kimi noted taking the polished fork from his hand to start wrapping it with the set. Taking that as a signal to get back to work he started to pick ta set of silverware out of the bin to polish them up for her to wrap. He had only been there a month, and was still getting used to the way everything worked. Each week he worked with either Kimiko, or Takeshi. This week was Kimiko which meant he was working front of house with her. She was a bit brassy, but overall a good person. The woman was also a long time friend of Karen’s, and practically one of the owners. If she said Karen was alright then he trusted her. Still it was unnerving to see someone who usually fostered an atmosphere of tranquility to be so explosive. 

“Do you know what she’s mad about then?”

He questioned.

“Yeah since she’s yelling about gym leaders, and is that angry then Morty pulled some shit again. Very few people can get Karen that riled up. Morty is one of them.”

Kimi explained having started picking out sets now since she was wrapping much faster than he was organizing. Seeing her start to do his job he grabbed a stack of her napkins figuring he might as well pick up her side too. Although by the time he had the silverware in the napkin she was already half way done rolling. Clearly one of them had been there longer.

“Huh, Morty? What’s the discourse between those two.”

“It’s a whole series of stupidity at this point. Really she ought to tell you, hey you know actually-”

She cut herself off reaching over the bin to scoop up the silverware he was currently trying to fold. He cast her a miffed face clearly wanting to finish at least one, but before he could say anything she’d undone all of his folding already. Great, it wasn’t even right in the first place.

“you should go invite her to the dump!”

“.....Excuse me the dump?”

Giovanni stated dead panning his expression as he said that for two reasons. One, she finished his attempted failed roll in record time. Secondly a dump didn’t sound like some place one would want to be invited to. He especially didn’t see how it’d help Karen’s fuming anger, and well admittedly wasn’t keen on the idea.

“I’m serious it’s a good spot, and you’re gonna end up going there at some point. All the regulars here do including myself. It is a literal dump, but that’s what’s so great about it. You can go smash apart whatever you want there, scream without being heard if you need, and it’s on a beach so it’s kind of nice to relax in the sand when you’re done being mad at the world. I know Karen loves it for that, and her pokemon can train there without breaking anything important.”

Kimi finished explaining. Giovanni paused for a moment thinking over the benefits she just mentioned. Admittedly the appeal of such a place did make more sense with that context. It was a more healthy way to channel anger than lashing out at other people. The draw back though was still the obvious, it was a dump. Being on a beach possibly would make the smell less putrid. Though if so many people visited the place maybe it wasn’t as bad as he was envisioning?

“Don’t I have to work in an hour?”

He pointed out going to pick up another napkin to have it promptly taken from his hand this time. 

“I’m giving you the next few hours off then. It’d be good for her, and you and your pokemon have been cooped up here for a month. It’s not going to kill you to get a little dirty rookie. Besides I’ve ran this as a solo bar tender before, so get.”

Kimi shooed not even showing a speck of apology for shooting down his one excuse. The ex-leader sighed watching her again roll a set of silverware with unbroken muscle memory. As good of a person as Kimi was she certainly had her fire, and he’d learned not to fight it by now. Walking around to the front side of the bar he made his way towards the same staircase Karen had just stormed up to find Karen, and hopefully a still semi-functioning punching bag.

[snowyseba]

Missed Chances - Part III

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes and Y/N are a match made in heaven, practically soul mates, but the problem is that they’ve never met. Theirs is a world of almosts. In the city of New York, anonymity is the norm. Each day you face a flux of new faces, most of them gone as quickly as they appeared. People flow in and out of the ever-changing city day in and day out. You could bump into someone on the street one day and never see them again. Unfortunately, that was the case for Y/N and Bucky. They’re meant to be…if only they ever get the chance to meet and turn their “almost” into reality.

Warnings: none for now

Word Count: 1,784

“Are you serious?” Wanda exclaimed, her bright eyes wide as she looked at Sam in total disbelief. “What the hell is wrong with them? They offered you a lollipop for your troubles?”  

You, Wanda, Natasha, and Sam were listening intently to Sam’s story. After finally graduating medical school and finishing his residency, Sam was applying to jobs around the city. He thought he had found the perfect fit, but apparently it was a little too good to be true. When he showed up for his shift, he was met by the woman who had interviewed him, who looked completely perplexed. Visibly uncomfortable, she asked him to wait outside while she made an ‘urgent’ phone call. Fifteen minutes later, she emerged, her face red with embarrassment as she struggled to make eye contact. As it would turn out, her assistant had called the wrong Sam. They had meant to hire the other Sam, but she called him instead. And all he got was a lollipop ‘for his trouble.’

As far as job search horror stories go, that was just about as bad as it could get. It certainly made your stories seem like a walk in the park in comparison. You couldn’t even imagine what you would have done had you been in his shoes. “Oh my god, Sam, I am so sorry. That’s ridiculous!”

Sam just shrugged good-naturedly. “It is what it is, you know? I mean I don’t know what I would have done if I was in her position. And besides, it would have been a rough commute anyway; I’d be commuting for two hours a day. That’s a lot of time! I’ve got a couple more interviews scheduled for this week, so hopefully one of those will work out. At least I got a funny story out of it,” he chuckled, flashing you a grin.

Natasha just rolled her eyes at that, giving you a knowing look. “And by that you mean a funny story to tell on dates, right?”

Raising his glass, Sam winked at her. “Alright, you caught me. But you’ve gotta admit, it’s a pretty funny story.”

“How can you be so relentlessly optimistic?” You queried, admiring how easily he brushed off this setback.

“Well,” he paused, gathering his thoughts, “the way I see it, I can either laugh about it, or fixate on why I didn’t get the job, why I wasn’t good enough, and all that. And that’s not exactly going to help me find a job, is it? So now it’s just a funny story, and I’m going to focus my energy on acing my interview at New York – Presbyterian. It would be a better fit for me anyway.”

“Are you really still surprised, Y/N? Sam’s been like this the whole time we’ve known him,” Wanda chuckled.

“I know! And it still amazes me!” You smiled at Sam, giving his hand a tight squeeze. No matter what he said, or how he acted like it was no big deal, you knew that somewhere, deep down, he was probably upset, or embarrassed at the very least.

He squeezed your hand back, giving you a knowing look. “I’m okay, Y/N. Really. Hey, Nat, did

You were all seated at a small table tucked away in the corner of some new bar that had opened just a few weeks ago. You could tell it was already a success, considering how utterly packed the place was despite it being relatively early in the evening. The walls were a dark, rich wood, which complimented the leather seating perfectly. Candles illuminated the tables while sconces gave the room a comforting glow. In celebration of the holiday season, garlands of pine adorned the walls, the rich green of the needles punctuated by the metallic shine of ornaments. A live band played their renditions of famous holiday songs, filling you with nostalgia. The drinks were strong, but they were absolutely delicious, you noted as you sipped on yours, a warm, familiar sensation spreading through you. You weren’t quite drunk, but you were admittedly a little tipsy.  

A sudden gust of cold winter air sent a shiver down your spine as the door opened and a group of off-duty police officers made their way towards the bar. Before you could even realize what you were doing, your eyes scanned the group, searching for something, or rather, someone. It took you a few moments to realize just how silly you were being. There was no way that, out of all the bars in the city, he would end up at the same bar as you. After all, you realized, how likely was it that you would run into the same guy three times? Besides, he probably wouldn’t even remember you.

But the nagging thought persisted. What if it was him? If he didn’t recognize you, that would be understandable. But what if he did? What would happen then? There were a million possibilities trapped within that pivotal moment of your meeting. Perhaps you would just never know what might have been. The two of you could very well never cross paths again. You tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to push the thought from your mind.

It was then, though, that one of the officers turned, leaning forward to better hear his coworker. The shoulder-length brown hair, the build, they were both so familiar. Could it be him? That man you had bumped into first at the wine shop, and then again on your way to work? It was hard to tell in the dimly lit bar, but then your eyes locked as he turned to another officer, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. You would have recognized those shining blue eyes anywhere. You were right. It was him.

Before you even fully realized what you were doing, you muttered a quick excuse to your friends, saying you were just going to use the restroom then you’d be right back. It was like there was an invisible string connecting you, a force that pulled you ever closer to him the way gravity exerted its pull on the moon. You were trapped in his orbit and you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted to escape. You took one step, then another then another towards him. He stared at you for a few moments before his eyes widened in recognition and a smile lit up his face, his eyes crinkling as they shined with mirth.

“Y/N?” a voice that you had not heard in years chimed as you felt a hand wrap around your wrist to stop you from going forward.

“Pietro?” You gasped. He was Wanda’s twin brother. The two of you had dated for a year and a half while you were both in college. The relationship ended without any hard feelings, and the two of you remained friends. You hadn’t seen him in a long time, though. He had moved away shortly after graduation and your paths didn’t cross again after that. Not until now, at least.

“It is you!” He grinned, pulling you into a tight hug. If you hadn’t been distracted by Pietro, you would have noticed the crestfallen expression on the police officer’s face. Before you could protest, he swept you off in the direction of your table. “I’m in town for business and Wanda told me to meet everyone here. It’s been a while. It’ll be good for us to all catch up.”

When Bucky arrived at the bar tonight, the very last thing he was expecting was to see you. But there you were, looking just as beautiful as the last two times he had run into you. His heart damn near stopped when you started walking towards him.

This is it, he thought, you’re finally going to get a chance to talk to her.

He didn’t even know what he was going to say. He couldn’t get over the fact that you were here, and you seemed to remember him too. And then, out of nowhere, a man showed up, taking your arm, and capturing your attention. Bucky clenched his fists, ready to intervene if it was some drunk creep. He didn’t know why, but he felt the need to protect you. What he wasn’t expecting, though, was for your face to light up when you saw the other man. You seemed to know him, judging by how tightly you hugged him.

Of course she has a boyfriend, Bucky thought, shaking his head. He had been foolish to get his hopes up over a woman he had only bumped into twice by complete coincidence. What was he expecting? For you to be his soulmate? He wasn’t even sure those existed, anyway.

Sighing, he knocked back the rest of his drink, before placing some cash on the bar, clapping his friend on the back. “I’m heading home, buddy. It’s been a long day.”  

Despite how happy you were to see Pietro, you couldn’t help but feel that this was wrong; he wasn’t whom you should be paying attention to. You had finally found the man who had been occupying your thoughts these past few months. As much as you had missed Pietro, he could no longer even hold a candle to the officer whose name you didn’t even know. It was silly, you supposed, to be so utterly infatuated with a man you had met twice by complete chance, but you couldn’t ignore the lingering feeling that somehow, this was meant to be. Seeing him twice was a coincidence, but now your paths crossed for a third time, and he seemed to recognize you too. Surely that must mean something.

Your eyes scanned the room, focusing on the bar where you last saw him laughing and catching up with friends from work. If you hadn’t been so focused on finding him, you would have noticed Steve sitting at the bar next to the mystery man’s now-empty seat. He would have been able to tell you exactly who this other officer was, but your eyes swept right over him, not even registering his presence.

Your heart sank, dismayed as you realized that the man you had been searching for was nowhere to be found. His fellow officers were still there, but he was gone. You silently cursed Pietro’s timing. If he hadn’t shown up, you would have finally gotten a chance to introduce yourself.

The distinctive flash of headlights passing the bar drew your attention to the heavy wooden door. And there he was. You managed to catch a glimpse of his figure departing through the front door and into the snowy night. Who knew when, or even if you ever would see him again.

Missed Chances Tag List: @learisa @sebastianstanisagift @rotisserierogers @pinkleopardss @adaliamalfoy @swimmeranxiety @memory-of-a-goldfish @heyitsaznfangirl @buckybarnesismybaby @marvelous-avengers @perwinklestopsign @kellieabro @pao-prazz @avengersbabe13 @renner-hawkeyeloves @kchiemia @winenighthoe @hello-i-dont-have-a-name @girlwashere-blog @caramell0w @mysacredstardust @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @cami23593

Permanent Tag List: @221bshrlocked @melissalovesmusicyay @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @mrs-brxghtside @feelmyroarrrr @bucky-bear-barnes @buckyywiththegoodhair @animexchocolate @pvlciv @givemethatgold @defendors @goodnightwife @amrita31199 @stacyscarlet04 @rlsebastianbarnes @shieldagentofthemonth @marvel-fanfiction @jenna-luke @fiercemonaco @clinicalkayla @heaven-bound-angel @theassetseyeliner @girlwith100names @wunnywho @hollycornish @marvelrevival @melconnor2007 @fuckmewintertucker @its-daydreamer23 @assassin-inthe-scoutregiment @sai-kida134 @supernaturaldean67 @ailynalonso15 @titty-teetee @amillionfandoms-onlyoneme @sgtbxckybxrnes

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

i don’t believe in peter pan, frankenstein or superman

Fandom: Supergirl Rating: K Summary: As Alex and Kara help Eliza prepare for a garage sale, a shocking secret is revealed! A/N: *wants to tell a single joke about dragons on Krypton* *ends up writing thirteen pages of what is probably incoherent nonsense*

...

Spring in Midvale is...a bit tempestuous, to say the least.

It brings just as much rain as it does sun; plants blossom in the warm weather one week, only to have the new buds washed away by a freak downpour the next.

Kara doesn't mind the indecisiveness of the season all that much—she likes the sound of the raindrops on the leaves outside, and the sunlight is pleasantly mild, when it decides to make an appearance. So, she's fine with a few stretches of grey clouds, here and there.

“Yeah, well. Not all of us are impervious to the cold,” Alex mutters miserably from inside her jacket and scarf.

Kara just shrugs, not even batting an eyelash at the windchill.

Now, allergies, daylight savings, standardized testing...some of those, Kara does mind, and she'll wholeheartedly agree with Alex's complaints.

Especially when it comes to another annual spring occurrence.

“Girls, if I have to ask you one more time—”

“Alright, alright!”

Kara watches as Alex rolls her eyes and hastily tosses a few more books into the cardboard box situated in the center of the room. Kara moves a bit slower, adding a pair of old shoes that no longer fit, but hesitating with the pair of jeans in her hands. The knees are starting to go a bit thin and threadbare.

“Keep those,” Alex says. “Ripped jeans are cool.”

Kara frowns, not entirely convinced, but does as Alex says, setting aside the jeans and instead reaching for her freshman math book instead. “What about this?”

Alex huffs, clearly annoyed at being interrupted, but schools her features into something a bit more patient as she looks over her shoulder, and considers.

“...Yeah,” she finally decides, nodding towards the box. “I don't think you'd get much if you took it to a used bookstore anyway.”

Kara tosses it in.

She's been on Earth for...a little over two years, now? And thus, she's familiar with the yearly ‘Danvers' Household Spring Cleaning and Garage Sale,’ a ritual that does not actually involve the sale of garages...though Alex did try and convince her, that yes, that's definitely what garage sales are about.

(And...okay. Kara...maybe believed her for like...five minutes. Four. Tops. And then Jeremiah kindly set the record straight.)

“Girls!” Eliza calls, and Alex huffs again.

“Coming!” Alex yells. “Are we good?”

Kara looks at the sizable collection of items in the box, and nods.

“I think so. I...don't really have anything else to put in.”

“Yeah, figured,” Alex says. There isn't much that Kara has that's old enough to warrant tossing out—everything works perfectly fine, or fits perfectly well, will definitely last another year. Most of the stuff they've found belongs to Alex—old books and board games. Of course, Alex first offered them to Kara, but. Kara didn't have much use for an old Chinese Checker set that was missing half the pieces. (And Kara certainly had no use for Clue...as she’d been permanently put off of murder mysteries ever since Kenny.)

But Kara does has more to contribute this time around, at least. Like those shoes, for instance. (And that pair of jeans she sneaked back in the box, when Alex wasn't looking.)

Her sister stands, hefting the cardboard box as she does so. Kara grabs a smaller box, and Alex feigns annoyance.

“Hey, you're the super strong alien...you should take this one.”

Kara smirks.

“Sorry, can't. I'm not supposed to use my powers, remember?”

Alex nudges her in the side, adding a drawn out, “riiiiiight,” generously laced with sarcasm. They both laugh and head downstairs.

“Finally!” Eliza says, once they reach the bottom of the stairs. Kara wonders if they're in for a lecture, but Eliza's clearly too wrapped up in prepping for the garage sale to fit in any scolding. “Just put them over by the door, and then Alex...I need you to go through some of the things out in the shed...”

“What?!” Alex yelps as they add their boxes to the (ever growing, it seems) stack near the door. “You never said I had to clean out the shed...that'll take forever.”

“It's just a few things,” Eliza insists, “some of the sports equipment, and the old camping gear. I think one of the tents is broken...”

“Uggggh,” Alex groans.  And Kara is ready to leave her behind, and retreat back to their room, because she's been out in the shed a total of two times, and both were entirely unpleasant affairs.

Besides, Eliza only mentioned Alex. So Kara’s pretty sure she in the clear.

But of course, Alex isn't about to let that happen.

“Can Kara at least come and help me lift stuff?” Alex asks, and Kara—having zero desire to get roped into this, is quick to remind her:

“I'm not supposed to use my pow—”

“It's just moving junk out of the way,” Alex says, turning to Eliza to plead her case. “It'll go faster, and then we'll be all set for Saturday.”

Kara can see Eliza turning the idea over in her head...clearly taken with the notion of being ahead of schedule.

“But—!” Kara tries once more, but Eliza is already moving towards the office, several empty milk crates in tow.

“Help your sister!” she calls over her shoulder. “But no flying or super speed—just strength!”

Alex chuckles wickedly under her breath as Kara slumps, and emits a disgruntled whine.

“You're the worst,” Kara mutters. And Alex just shrugs it off.

“It’s a sibling thing, get used to it,” she says, and when Kara gives her an inquisitive look, she elaborates, “'if I'm going down, I'm taking you with me.'”

The shed is just as bad as Kara recalls.

Dark, damp, and void of any semblance of organization, it's a dumping ground for outdoor gear, (both broken and functional), gardening equipment (that they never use) and patio furniture that, by Alex's calculations, has not seen the light of day for at least six years.

“Okay, I know mom said just strength...” Alex starts, staring into the shadowy abyss, “but you think you could...?”

Kara sighs, and slips her glasses off, using her x-ray vision to quickly locate the items they've been sent to find.

“Camping gear's all the way at the back,” Kara says, “What sport stuff did Eliza want you to look at?”

“I dunno,” Alex says, pushing a few foam boogie boards out of the way. She nods towards some lawn chairs, and Kara grunts, but ultimately obliges, easily hoisting them out of the way. “Let's do the camping stuff first.”

“'Kay.”

Alex is right, of course; Kara's super strength makes clearing a path a cinch, and, admittedly, it turns out to be an invaluable asset, given that the tents are buried beneath several layers of cobweb-covered junk.

Kara hauls everything out into the backyard, allowing Alex to yank the tents from the shelving units.

“Okay, let's check and see...” Alex starts to say, dumping the pieces out onto the lawn.

A puff of red dust and the moldy remains of what was once a canvas tent come tumbling out.

“...Yeah, I think that's...done.” Alex surmises.

Kara nods, recoiling slightly at the smell of water damage.

“Here, just—put that in the garbage, actually. No one's gonna wanna buy that,” Alex tells her. “I'll start putting this stuff back.”

Kara does as she's told, gingerly taking the tent to the side yard, and shoving it into one of the trashcans.

“Yeeeuch,” she mumbles, shaking her head and trotting back to join her sister. Alex stands just outside the shed, brushing her hands on her jeans, and regarding two items propped up against the shed's corrugated metal siding.

Kara recognizes them as bicycles—bikes.

“Do you need my help, moving them?” Kara asks, wondering why Alex has paused. The whole reason she was out here in the first place was because Alex wanted to rush through this.

“No,” Alex says slowly, “I think I'm actually gonna move these to the garage.”

“For the sale?”

Alex shakes her head. “No,” she says again. “Or. Maybe...” she scratches her head. “I never ride mine, anymore. But, I dunno...” she runs her hand over the seat, which Kara thinks might be black, underneath the thick layer of dust. “They're kinda nice to just have, you know?”

Kara nods, even though she's not really sure she understands.

“Uh...yeah,” she agrees, and her hesitation must be apparent, because Alex turns and gives her a funny look.

“Oh...come on,” she says suddenly, realizing. “You guys seriously didn't have bikes on Krypton?”

Kara crosses her arms, feeling a twinge of defensiveness working its way into her response. “Why would we? They're...archaic.”

Alex doesn't take offense at the comment, instead grabbing one of the bikes and nudging the kickstand up out of the way.

“Well now we have to keep them,” she grins. “Here, take this, I'll go see if I can find the helmets—”

“Uhhh...” Kara is forced to take hold of the nearest bike by the handle bars, because Alex is already dashing back into the shed. A few loud crashes follow, along with some grumbling and more than a few phrases that would have Eliza frowning in disapproval, but at last, Alex emerges, two bike helmets in hand.

“Here,” she says, giving one to Kara. It's smaller than the other—bright blue, with the faded, gummy remains of stickers dotted along the front.

“But I don't—”

“I know you don't need it,” Alex says, clipping her own helmet into place. It's larger, and a plain dark grey.  “But, you know. It's the law, and everything, and you have to blend—”

“No, I—” Kara steps away from the bike, handing the helmet back to Alex. “I don't...want to. Ride, I mean.”

Alex blinks.

“Oh,” she says, taking the helmet from Kara. “Like...you don't wanna go right now, or...?”

“Yeah,” Kara nods vigorously. “I...I forgot I have...some APUSH stuff to finish.”

Alex narrows her eyes. They're in the same class.

“What APUSH stuff?”

“I meant Bio,” Kara says, already heading back towards the house. “We can go...some other time, maybe!”

Alex watches her go, eyes still narrowed, so not buying this.

“Riiiight.”

It's not the same thing, Kara tells herself as she stares at the ceiling in their room, sprawled on her bed and not working on Bio or APUSH.

It's not the same thing at all.

And she's not sure if that makes her feel better...or worse.

Kara doesn't even entertain the notion that Alex will leave well enough alone—she knows, right from the get-go, that her sister is going to keep harping on this until...until something happens. Either until Kara snaps or caves or does something else that Alex can hyper-fixate on.

“I can teach you,” Alex offers, literally riding circles around Kara. She's taken to riding her old bike to school...no doubt an attempt to wear down Kara's resolve.

Kara just shrugs, and keeps walking.

“No thanks.”

Alex sighs angrily. “I just don't get it,” she says. “Why not?”

Kara shrugs again, “I dunno, I just don't want to.”

“That's not really a reason.”

“I don't need a reason,” Kara insists, gripping her backpack straps a bit tighter. Alex has stopped pedaling, allowing the bike to coast alongside the sidewalk. Kara can hear the spokes clicking loudly in her ears.

“I guess not,” Alex admits. “...But it would...kinda be nice to have one.” She thinks for a moment. “You can't be scared—it's impossible for you to get hurt.”

Kara scowls.

“I'm not scared.”

“Yeah, I know. I just said you weren't.”

“Good. 'Cause I'm not,” Kara reiterates firmly.

Alex squints at her. “Well, now I'm thinking that you kind of are.”

“I'm not!” Kara says again, raising her voice. Alex frowns, taken aback.

“Whoa, calm down, I didn't—”

“I'm not scared of your...your dumb Earth bikes. You know why we didn't have them on Krypton? Because we had dragons. These big—lizard—dragon things with wings that were ten times scarier than any of your antiquated...” Kara stammers a little, the Kryptonian and English getting jumbled in her head. “Stuff. Your antiquated stuff.”

And she knows she shouldn't, but she uses a touch of super speed, because she's done talking.

Alex watches her go, still a little...stunned, by Kara's outburst.

“...Dragons?”

“Is it scary?”

“Mmmm.” Uncle Jor hums thoughtfully as he chews. “A little. At first. What do you think, Zor?”

Her father nods in agreement.

“At first, yes.”

“I had to push him, you know,” Uncle Jor tells her, leaning forward and pretending to whisper. Kara rolls her eyes—Uncle Jor is under the impression that she finds his antics hilarious.

(Which, admittedly, she did. When she was five.)

But she is interested in the story.

“Did you really?” she asks, looking from her uncle to her father, and back again. Uncle Jor laughs.

“I see you've not shared this particular story with Kara, then?”

“He has not shared it with me, either,” her mother interjects, joining them at the table. She raises an eyebrow and smirks at Zor.

Her father's smile is sheepish.

“Well...it has never come up before...”

“Zor was certain he would take to flying much faster than I,” Uncle Jor says, leaning back in his chair. “But when we got to the cliffs, he froze.”

“I was merely taking my time,” her father says.

Uncle Jor shakes his head. “He froze.”

“So you pushed him?” Kara asks. Uncle Jor nods.

“H'Raka was going to leave without him!” he claps his brother on the shoulder. “So I gave him a good shove, right off the edge of the cliff.”

Her mother covers her mouth with her hand in an attempt to hide her smile.

“I am surprised the thantho flez allowed that,” she chuckles. Her father looks sheepish again.

“She...did not.”

“She threw him right off.” Uncle Jor nods.

Kara's eyes widen, and her mother abruptly stops laughing.

“Did you get hurt?” Kara asks, trying to imagine the scene. Were the cliffs steep? How far did father fall? Was H'Raka alright?

“I landed in a Hantha tree, thank Rao,” her father smiles. “I broke my arm, but if could have been...much worse.”

“I pray you had the decency to feel badly,” her mother turns and scolds Uncle Jor, who is nodding, wearing a very serious frown.

“Oh, of course,” he says, just as he winks at Kara.

Kara doesn't laugh—in fact, she remains quiet throughout the rest of the dinner, still thinking about Father, and flying, and being frightened.

Eventually, Uncle Jor leaves—he has to meet Aunt Lara at the High Council building. She doesn't join her parents, in seeing him off.

“Alright, Little One,” her mother says, once Uncle Jor is gone. “Something is troubling you.”

Kara shakes her head, but her mother and father know better. Her father rubs her shoulder.

“It will not be scary,” he tells her, correctly guessing the source of her worry. “Flying. I promise, it will be fine.”

“Do I...have to go?” Kara asks in a small voice. Her mother and father share a look—something passes between them, a silent conversation. Kara marvels at their ability to do that—seemingly speaking to one another, without actually talking.

“You must take the test...eventually...” her father says slowly, kneeling so that they are eye level. Again, he rubs her shoulders, soothingly. “You know this.”

“Thara waited until fifth tier...” Kara argues.

And she can see her mother, ready to protest, to tell her that she may not wait, she must take the test before her fourth tier lessons.

But it's her father who speaks, soft and reassuring.

“We will wait until you are ready,” he says, smiling. “And when that time comes, we will be right there beside you. To teach you. To help you.”

Kara feels the anxious knot in her stomach come undone.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

That was one year before the planet started falling apart.

(Though...according to her dad and Uncle Jor, the planet had been falling apart for a long time, but. It didn't become...noticeable until...just before the end, really.)

She never took her flight test.

Her parents never taught her how to ride a thantho flez, or a hover skiff, or...or anything, really. She was too young for some of those things...too scared for the others.

And when at last she found some courage (I'm not afraid, father)...

Well.

By then, it was too late.

Kara sighs, poking her head into the living room, finding Alex lying on one of the couches.

“Um. Hey....” she starts. Alex glances up from her phone.

“Hey.”

And Kara takes that as a good sign...Alex doesn't sound like she's mad at her. If anything, she sounds bored. And that's fine. Kara can handle bored.

“I'm...sorry,” Kara says, shuffling into the room somewhat awkwardly. She takes a seat in the chair across from the couch. “About yelling at you. And calling bikes dumb.”

“And antiquated.”

“And antiquated,” Kara sighs again. “I didn't mean it. I'm sure bikes are...are great.”

“Yeah, well,” Alex shrugs, gaze flicking back to her phone. “They're not quite as exciting as dragons,” she drawls, casting a pointed look in Kara's direction. Kara winces. “But. They're okay.”

“I was just upset,” Kara says, wringing her hands, feeling that she owes Alex some sort of explanation.

“Clearly,” Alex snorts. Kara lets the interruption slide, forging ahead.

“Everything you said...about being scared and...and learning to ride...” she shrugs. “It. Reminded me of my parents, I guess. Kind of. Of...something that...I never...” she adjusts her glasses, looking down at her feet. “Never got to, um. We never...got to do, together.”

She takes a deep breath; that's as much detail as she can muster, right now, not wanting to remember too much, to linger too long on those raw emotions. She looks up to see Alex nodding, sitting up and setting her phone aside.

“Sorry. I didn't, uh,” she scratches the back of her hand. “Know. About...that it was...bringing up some stuff.”

Kara nods. “Yeah,” she says.

“Yeah.”

They sit in awkward silence for a moment as Kara struggles to think of something else to say. Fortunately, Alex puts an end to it, as she raises an eyebrow and asks:

“So...when you say dragons, do you mean...?”

Kara grins. “Like. Dragon dragons.”

“Seriously?”

“Well. Some of them look more like dragonflies, but...”

“And you guys would ride them?”

“Yeah.”

“That's...” Alex allows herself to sink back into the couch cushions. “Whoa.”

“Definitely whoa,” Kara agrees, remembering seeing Thara prepare for her test, practicing, her Winged One—her thantho flez—swooping and circling high overhead.

Alex returns to her phone, and Kara...Kara realizes with a start that, no, she never did learn to fly, back on Krypton.

But she did learn on Earth.

“You sure you want to do this?” Alex asks.

Kara buckles the strap on her borrowed helmet.

“Yes,” she says firmly.

“Because you don't have to,” Alex tells her. “I don't want to like...traumatize you, or something, and then you rat me out to mom.”

“I would never,” Kara says, entirely unconvincing.

“Mmmm hmmm,” Alex smirks. “’Course you wouldn't.”

She slings her leg over the bike—free of cobwebs and dust, and sporting a new set of pegs on the back.

“So, do I just...?” Kara asks, stepping forward somewhat tentatively. Alex nods.

“Yeah, but...wait a sec, lemme make sure...okay, go for it.”

Kara steps up onto the pegs, placing her hands on Alex's shoulders. Alex flinches.

“Too tight,” she hisses. Kara eases her grip.

“Oh, sorry. Better?”

Alex nods. “Okay, so now, you just...hang on, I guess.”

“Okay,” Kara says.

And then, they're off.

Slowly, and somewhat wobbly.

“Oh, this is great,” Kara lays on the sarcasm thick. Alex grunts.

“Would you just—I've never had a passenger before, alright? You're throwing off the whole...” Alex manages to straighten out, and pick up some speed. “Ha! Okay, there.”

And now they're really off—Alex picked a particularly hilly neighborhood for the ride, and soon enough, they're coasting down streets, wind in their hair, pale afternoon sun pleasantly warm on their backs.

They don't ride very fast, or very far—it's over all too soon, in Kara's opinion, but Alex is still paranoid that she'll emotionally scar her, or something.

They come to a stop at the bottom of the hill, tires skidding slightly on the asphalt.

“So?” Alex asks, turning. “How as that?”

Kara beams.

“Good,” she replies. “Really good. Almost like flying.”

Alex nods, humming slightly.

“Well,” she says, “as someone who's flown with you once,” she moves her feet back to the pedals, ready to head for home. “Agree to disagree.”

Kara doesn't fully explain to Alex, just what was bothering her. Kara doesn't know if she herself really understands the scope of it. (That will come later—when she has words for things like survivor's guilt.)

But Alex...Alex must understand some of it, because after the ride, on the way home, she tells Kara—somewhat haltingly, and unsure—about how her parents taught her to ride a bike—that, during the summer, they'd go for long rides on the nearby trails together. She tells Kara that there are still some things, she can't even think of doing, because Jeremiah isn't here to do it with them.

“So if I...you know,” Alex's shrug is hindered, somewhat, but Kara's grip, but Kara can feel them tense a little. “Pressured you, or something, I'm sorry.”

Kara shakes her head, only to realize Alex can't see her, focused as she is on the road. So she squeezes her shoulder, and assures her. “It's okay.”

“Quit doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“That—that thing that you're doing—normal humans can't balance like that unless both feet are on the ground.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“You have to pedal. We can't have an E.T. moment, okay?”

Kara has to think for a moment—which one was E.T.? But then she remembers...and grins.

“You sure?”

“...Honestly, no. It's very tempting. But—secret identity.”

“Right, right. Secret identity.”

“Okay, so. Pedal, and, uh. That's the front brakes—don't use those first, unless you want to flip the bike. Use the back ones—yeah, those. And....there's the gears,” Alex continues to point out  the various parts of the bike. “Don't bother with those for now...you should be fine in two.”

“...Okay.”

“Alright, I think...I think that's it...” Alex says. “Ready to give it a shot?”

Kara nods, her new helmet not quite as snug as the one she'd borrowed from Alex. It tips forward into her line of sight, and she has to push it out of the way.

“Yes.”

It doesn't take long to get the hang of it. Soon enough, Kara's riding like a pro. She skids to a stop in front of Alex, breathless, not from exertion, but from excitement.

“This is fun!” she declares. Alex just laughs. “Here, you wanna...?” she gestures to the pegs.

Alex looks skeptical—Kara is still technically a rookie after all—but she does have superpowers on her side.

So she hops up onto the back of the bike.

And is immediately suspicious of Kara's sly grin.

“What are you—”

“You said no E.T. Stuff, right?”

“Right...?”

“So no flying.”

“What are you—”

Alex doesn't finish, words snatched away as Kara starts pedaling.

Alex never said anything about super speed.

Several Years Later

Alex comes home for Spring Break—it's a surprise; she'd told them she had too much work to catch up on, that she wouldn't be able to visit.

But she arrives, single duffel bag in hand, tight grin on her face.

(Kara's noticed that about Alex lately...her smiles are a little...tense.)

“I didn't even hear you pull up!” Eliza exclaims, wrapping her in a hug.

Kara didn't either...which is very strange.

“Friend dropped me off,” Alex says. “She has family up the coast...we carpooled.”

Eliza is satisfied with this answer, but Kara is not.

Still, she knows better than to interrogate her in front of Eliza.

Her answer comes later...much later. Like, middle-of-the-night later, when Alex nudges her awake, and throws something round and heavy onto her stomach.

Kara groggily regards the item with confusion, running her hands over it, not sure what she's dealing--

She sits bolt upright.

“You didn't,” she says, already grinning.

Alex's smile is no longer tense, or tight—it's small and quirked to one side and so patently Alex.

“I did,” she says, shrugging on her new motorcycle jacket. “Come on.”

And Kara doesn't have to be asked twice.

Notes:

- Kryptonian culture varies, depending on which comic you read; the bit about learning to fly/Jor and Zor is taken from the Injustice 2 title. - Formal speech/minimal contractions on Krypton is a Supergirl: Rebirth thing - Dumb title is dumb...gosh, I hate naming things.

[les-cartes]

((Okay usually people say time heals wounds, especially mental ones but right now it ain’t working very well so I sorta wanted to vent a little... it’s mostly personal life drama between two completely unrelated people on one day then the next. Both of which are friends who I respect a lot so nothing ill against them. It involves two other people and honestly I hold no respect for them but you’ll know who I do and don’t.))

Okay so like four days ago I ended up getting in an argument with a friend over using a new thing in a game, where they could get a ton of experience in a game using a bug where otherwise it would take a lot longer. By cutting the time I mean it’s cutting the time by like 2/3, so instead of spending a whole day to level something they spent like 8 hours max not even trying by abusing a bug. Comes time that they mention it in our group we hang out in and I comment on it again then the argument starts, at the very least between the two of us and no one else. Calls me salty that they leveled something up using a new feature to the game that I could use, and I have to constantly explain to them that it’s not the feature that bothered me, it’s the bug that cut down the time by 2/3. Note not TO 2/3, BY 2/3. So that left me in a sour mood, which carried over into my work day the next day.

So for that day, it was a lot of little stuff compounding like usual. To be honest the day wasn’t that bad, I just wasn’t mentally prepared for it, that is until the end of the day. They usually have the part-timers shift between which ones close for the night for that specific day of the week cuz it’s really not fun. It was the one where I didn’t have to close, I don’t have the responsibilities of closing. Two hours before I get off, I get sent to basically do half the crap for them to close when I basically have those responsibilities every time I close anyway, because no one else cares to learn how to do it quickly. So I do that, end up hurting my hands because I have to pull out metal long rectangular flat pans from the bottom of a flat surface. Finishing that up I had to clean all those pans as well, which is usually around I wanna say about 50 pans. Eventually come out to see that there’s a bunch of people who needs help, and the one person who told me to take out the pans and clean them isn’t doing anything but spraying the floor with water to get it clean, when if there’s someone that needs help, you help them, doesn’t matter what you’re doing unless you’re cleaning something you need to use to complete the person’s request. Then I see a guy who needs help who I recognize and really don’t like helping but I have to, because the lazy bastard who’s still spraying the floor down couldn’t be bothered to come up to help. Worst part for me is none of this would’ve happened if I was one of the people who got sent home because it wasn’t that busy. I’m not hurting on money so I wouldn’t have cared that much and the only reason it bothered me was because it was all people who started the day later than I did. Plus it was one of those days I was excessively tired so that didn’t help either. So back to what was happening, I help him, get his request and they’re chatting with a co-worker who I respect highly and they were talking about something I wasn’t listening to at the time, hear something about my co-worker’s hat and looked to see what the punch line was, then he comments about how I looked as if I had to make sure it was them, as they smacked my arm and it hurt. Then apparently I get yelled at for admittedly acting not in a good way and slamming a door shut. Apparently hitting people if you’re a middle-aged lady is acceptable but reacting from mounting frustration on top of it isn’t. 

I’m honestly really bitter about how the end of that night went even after the meltdown I had shortly afterwards. I’m bitter at the guy I had to help for being an ass hat, I’m bitter at the guy who was apparently too busy spraying down the floor and had to help anyone especially the ass hat, but I’m also bitter at myself for acting like a child and then getting treated as one throwing a fit. It happens way more often than it should if I’m being honest, I just never speak about it. Besides the being treated as a child part, never had that happen much besides with my dad. Like I said I don’t harbor anything bad for the two people I respect, I just feel frustrated still I guess. 

[fortheloveofeos]

Gimme dat sweet Promnis

Sorry this took a bit! I hope you like it :)

xxx

Prompto’s heart was big, sometimes too big for such a smallchild, and it hurt often from the things he saw. Having spent much of his timealone, he learned to care for himself very early in life and was quiteproficient at it. Before Noctis, he hadn’t had a person he could call a friendof trust with so many details about his life. After he’d been introduced toboth Gladiolus Amicitia and Ignis Scientia, his friend list tripled. Beneathall his jokes and his quips, he was a light-hearted individual that consideredhimself blessed by the Six to find himself in his current situation.

Noctis had all but ordered his friends to accompany him outthat night to one of the few clubs in Insomnia that could provide some privacyin the hopes that the prince wouldn’t be recognized. They had all dressed upfor the rare occasion of the four friends enjoying time together outside of theCitadel or one of their apartments. Noctis had long since ditched his behemothjacket where it lay over the back of the dark red couch that sat on. Gladio, ofcourse, had left his shirt open and had traded the leather pants of hisCrownsguard uniform for a perfectly faded pair of dark wash jeans and a pair ofcombat boots laced up his shins. Ignis traded his signature pinstripe shirt forone that a dark green – nearly the same color as his eyes appeared in theflashing and pulsing lights of the club. His jeans were dark and fitted and theperfectly cleans sneakers he wore somehow worked with the ensemble. Prompto hadfound a forgotten black v-neck shirt in his closet and had paired It with apair of skinny jeans and his ratty old pair of converse. While casual, the fourof them looked almost good enough to eat and they drew the looks of everyonethey passed. Luckily, they hadn’t been recognized.

They had claimed a half-circle couch that was hidden alongthe back wall of the club. An air of privacy was given by the sheer fabricsfalling in multicolored waterfalls from the ceiling to form “rooms” wherepeople could request a private show from the dancers hung in cages from theceilings or one wayward prince could drink in peace with his friends. “S’good.I love whiskey,” Noctis hummed as he swished the liquid around his cup. He hadmixed it with some sort of carbonated drink at first but as the night went onhe had taken to requesting the stuff without.

Gladio laughed as he sipped on his beer. “His majesty lookslike he’s had enough.” He shot a look over to Ignis. “I can get him back to thecitadel. You take care of blondie? Gladio finished his beer in one long drink.He snatched Noctis’ nearly empty glass, downed its contents as well, and hauledthe dark haired young man up by his waist. He snaked an arm around his Shield’scenter for balance but otherwise looked alright.

Ignis pushed his glasses up his nose out of reflex andnodded. “Alright. Let me know the both of you have made it in safely.” His LongIsland iced tea was still nearly full and he made no move to get up yet.

“Okay, mom,” Noctis waved a lazy hand in his directionbefore Gladio pulled him through the crowd and towards the entrance of theclub.

Prompto couldn’t help but snicker as he sipped on his owndrink. He had forgotten the name of it as soon as the waitress in the veryshort skirt had recommended it. It was blue and glittery and tasted like summer– and there was a lot of alcohol in it. He’d had two and his head was swimmingat just the right pace. He relaxed back into the couch and took a moment tostudy the strategist in his relaxed state.

The chilled glass was gripped lazily in his long andgraceful fingers while his other arm was slung over the back of the couch. Hisshirt was untucked and slightly wrinkled – both from sitting and dancingamongst the writhing bodies on the floor. His hair had been parted and gelledto the side rather than spiked up as usual. The whole look made him seem botholder and younger at the same time. Prompto hummed in appreciation before hehad even realized what he had done.

“See something you like, Prompto?” Ignis smirked as he sippedon his tea.

Heat rushed into Prompto’s cheeks before he downed what wasleft of his own blue summery drink. He stood so quickly that he bumped into thetable in front of him and knocked over several of the empty glasses. “I-it’sgetting late,” he stammered and made for the part in the sheer curtains thatwould lead him onto the dance floor.

With a sigh, Ignis finished his glass and followed theblonde out into the cool night. Prompto was several paced ahead of him but thestrategist used his long stride to catch up to him easily and slipped hisfingers through the blonde’s slightly clammy ones. “There is no need for you toact so nervously,” Ignis reminded him as they walked on. He was surprised thatPrompto seemed to steady on his feet despite the amount of alcohol he hadingested that night.

Prompto swallowed and nodded. His light hair fell into hisface and he used his free hand to brush it away. “You make me nervous,” headmitted with a sideways sheepish grin before turning his attention back to thesidewalk in front of them.

Ignis smirked and toyed with the skull necklace he so oftenwore. “Tell me, is that a bad thing?” he tightened his grip around the freckledfingers as he pulled him down a side street that would take them directly toPrompto’s apartment. The sharpshooter tended to be directionally challengedwhen it was light out. Given the darkness of the moonless night, Ignis knew hehad to be at least slightly confused.

A shaky breath escaped Prompto’s lungs as he fished aroundhis pockets for his keys. His fingers were slightly shaky as he looked for theright key. He whined when Iggy snatched the keys from him and opened his door,holding it open for him to enter first. “I guess it depends on the situation? Ijust…I don’t know how to act around you,” he admitted with a sad smile.

The Chocobo keyring jingled as Ignis put it in its rightfulplace on the peg by the door. He unbuttoned the dark green shirt he had wornall night and hung it on the coatrack. The black shirt he had worn beneathhugged his sculpted chest and accentuated his biceps perfectly. The squeakPrompto let out of the sight had him smiling. “I merely want you to beyourself. You are who I want,” he said plainly and made for the kitchen.

Groaning, Prompto trailed behind him life a lost puppy.“Yeah, okay. It’s not so simply for me. I’m different from you guys and I justdon’t want to…” he trailed off with a troubled look on his face before hoppingup onto the counter. Ignis tutted at the action but went about the kitchen ashe made a fresh pot of Ebony for the two of them. Knowing where everything was,he had the pot started in record time and shot Prompto a curious look as hestraightened his thoughts out. “I just want to be enough,” he mumbled under hisbreath.

Ignis had opened the fridge to pull out the remnants of thecake he had made a few days before but stilled as the hushed words filteredthrough his ears. He deposited the cake onto the counter and slammed therefrigerator door with more force than he had intended. Prompto gasped as Ignisplaced a hand beside either of his thighs, trapping the smaller blonde againstthe counter. “You are more than enough, Prompto. I do not want to you think youhave something to prove to me or to anyone. I am not concerned with station, ifthat is what bothers you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead beforegoing back to serving the cake and finding two empty mugs.

Their relationship, if that’s what it really was, was stillvery new. Ignis had been the advancer after Prompto had thrown a few flirtycomments his way. He had made a comment in similar nature to Gladio and hadnoticed the way Ignis’ grip on his pin had nearly snapped the metal object ashe had attempted to jot down something for Noctis. A few days later, Ignis hadappeared on Prompto’s doorstep early in the morning and unannounced bearinggifts of a homemade breakfast and coffee from a shop down the street. Theyhadn’t even made it through their croissants before Ignis had, true tocharacter, laid his feelings out onto the table and waited for Prompto to makehis decision. Their fate had been sealed with a nervous and admittedly sloppykiss.

Prompto snapped out of his thoughts when a warm mug of thesteaming liquid had been placed into his hands. The warmth helped settle hisnerves and the slightly bitter contents chased most of what remained of thealcohol from his veins. He hummed his thanks as Ignis settle himself betweenhis legs, the saucer of cake beside them on the counter. Noting that there wasonly one fork for the two of them, Prompto reached for the utensil only to havehis hand swatted away.

Ignis loaded the fork with some of the sweet vanilla cake,decorated with sunflowers and edible gold glitter, and took a bite. Promptowhined and Ignis laughed at his pouting. His blue eyes were wide and his lowerlip was jutted out as he looked at him through the fringe of his lighteyelashes. Reloading the fork, he smiled. “Open up, darling.” Prompto gaspedslightly but did as he was told. He sighed contentedly as the sweet cake lit uphis senses in contrast to the Ebony.

The two finished the cake and the Ebony quickly, neithermuch feeling the alcohol any longer. Ignis put away the dished before returningto his place between Prompto’s knees where he was perched on the counter.Leaning forward, he pressed their foreheads together. “You are more thanenough. You’re perfect. You’re mine,” Ignis sighed.

Giggling slightly, Prompto shuttered as the warmth fromIgnis’ breath fanned out over his skin. His lips were so close that they nearlytouched his as he spoke and Prompto was aching to close the distance. However,the sweet words had the younger man’s heart fluttering in his chest. “You meanit?” he mumbled self-consciously.

“Every word,” Ignis nodded and removed his glasses to placethem onto the counter. His green eyes were bright and honest as he stared intothe sapphire irises before him. His large hands cupped Prompto’s face andtilted his chin up so that he could see him more clearly. As if he knew theworry in Prompto’s heart, he spoke. “You do not need to fear me loosing me. Iwill always be here for you, I swear it.”

In answer, Prompto closed the small distance and crashed hislips against the chef’s. The kiss was sweet and hungry and need and sloppy andperfect. It were as if every feeling and worry had been poured into the actionand Ignis drank it up as if to reassure him and prove that his words were true.Prompto’s fingers tangled themselves in the tawny hair at the base of Ignis’neck and tugged slightly as he disheveled the perfectly groomed locks. Ignisretaliated by nipping at Prompto’s lower lip, trapping it beneath his teeth andtugging slightly.

Prompto growled at the action, pushing back gently againstIgnis to create some space. “No fair,” he spoke lowly with hooded eyes.

Running his fingers through his now messy hair, Ignis shothim a mischievous wink. “All’s fair in love and war,” the strategist spokeevenly.

[leonmckennedy]

My Kingdom for a Prince

A fill for [this prompt] on the kinkmeme:

Noct is captured by a person or people of your choosing and fed exclusively Really Nasty Things for the duration of the kidnapping. Could be foods he flat-out hates, or could be things that people generally don’t consider food. Preferably some combo of both! Like, every other day they switch off or something. (No bodily fluids, though, please!) Anyway, he eats what they give him, or he doesn’t get fed.

[AO3 Mirror here]

Canon Divergence: AU where there was no arranged wedding, so Noctis and the bros were present for Insomnia’s fall. And also Ardyn does some fuck shit. Really, fuck that guy

Warnings: Gross food (obvi), bugs, vomit, force-feeding?

it’s around 6k words… Sorry y’all… I went overboard. After a while the AU started fleshing itself out a bit @__@ 

When Noctis wakes up, his first thought is the passing “god my fucking head hurts. ” He doesn’t move for a good few moments, only groaning when he realizes the pounding against his skull probably won’t let up anytime soon. Eventually he blinks his eyes open, waits for his vision to settle, and attempts to sit up. But it’s impossible, because his hands are trapped behind his back and his legs feel like jelly, and after a few more moments of that specific brand of hell he has his second thought. “fuck .”

Next he takes stock of what he sees around him; he knows he’s lying on concrete, as it’s cold and smooth and nothing like his bed back at the citadel. He wiggles to turn on his side, to get a clearer view of the room around him. It’s small and dark. The walls are a dirty gray, barren, no windows. The light he’s seeing with is but a little sliver filtering in underneath the door on the opposite wall. There’s a small latched window on the door, closed. Underneath it is a wider but narrower slit, also closed.

In the corner there’s a small bed, with no blankets or pillows, essentially looking no more comfortable than the floor. In the opposite corner, a small bucket.

The purpose of this room becomes abundantly clear the more he stares at it, and he takes in a deep breath in an attempt to curb the panic beginning to settle in. It’s a cell. He’s locked in a cell. The prince of Lucis, a prisoner.

Noctis flexes his fingers, testing the strength of his binds. There’s barely any give. He’s not sure he’d be able to break through even if there was, however. Because just turning to his side and moving his hands feels absolutely draining, equally so with the pain throbbing in the back of his head. Frankly, he just feels plain bad.

He makes a few more attempts to sit up and manages eventually, groaning when a bout of vertigo hits him. With his stomach churning and the dark walls spinning before him he almost doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps outside.

Noctis does notice when the door’s window slides open and light begins to pour in.

“Well, hello there.”

The voice is smooth and vaguely accented and Noctis recognizes it almost immediately.

His memories come in bits and pieces.

Insomnia… fell. The signing ceremony went well until it didn’t. The imperials moved in and everything went to hell. Noctis fought as hard as he could but there was only so much he could do when they were so vastly outnumbered. The explosions, the fires, the mass panic as the citizens fled for their lives. And—

“You, ” Noct spits, and his voice is quieter than he wants, too torn and broken.

“Oh my.” The voice comes with a face. The man, red hair all sorts of askew and damning smile adorning his lips, peers through the tiny window. “You aren’t still mad at me, are you?”

“You bastard!” The words seem to burn Noctis’ throat, and he knows now why his voice sounds like that. He’d been screaming, before. “You scum— you bastards betrayed us, and you … when I get out of here you’re dead.”

The man chuckles then, sounding for the world like he’s in the middle of a friendly conversation. It boils the blood in Noctis’ veins— he’s not just mad, he’s seething. He’s shaking, down to his core, tastes metal where he’s biting the inside of his cheek to stop from snarling.

Murderer. This fucking murderer stands in front of him and has the gall to laugh? Oh, he’ll rip this guy’s throat out first chance he gets.

“I take it you’re still sad about daddy dearest? Come now, an entire day has passed by now. It’s not healthy to hold grudges, you know.”

Noctis does snarl, then. He doesn’t have energy for anything, and he knows now that his skull is pounding from the beating he took to the back of the head. Neither of these stop him from dragging himself to his feet and launching himself at the door. It succeeds in doing nothing but making the man laugh, the window being too small for Noct to do much of anything.

“By the gods, my dear boy, we need to teach you some better manners.” The man turns away now, addresses someone Noctis cannot see. “here, give our guest a nice little surprise.”

The man’s face leaves. Noctis is too focused on following him with his eyes to notice the other window sliding open, and by the time he looks down there’s a metal instrument poking his stomach and it’s too late.

The shock has him convulsing and it hurts, it hurts so much but he can’t breathe, let alone scream. It only lasts a few seconds before he simply drops, hitting the ground hard and gasping, finally, when his lungs start to work again. His body shakes, and he takes in breaths that don’t stick, gives heavy coughs.

The man’s laugh starts up again, sounding so far away, and Noct can’t respond. All he can do is roll over and try to breath, focus on the frantic pounding of his heart.

Fuck.

The first night, no one comes back. Noctis slips in and out of a fitful sleep. His dreams are just disconnected memories; the citadel becoming overrun with magitek infantry, the monster like machines dropping in from the skies. People screaming. His father’s face the moment he died, pierced through the back by a man, smiling with a mouth full of tar.

What happened to his friends, he wonders. His Crownsguard who fought so hard to help him escape the palace at his father’s last wish, who stood by his side even when surrounded. Did they go down too, like him? Are they captives too? Or are they like his father, rotting in the center of a burning city, a kingdom lost?

Noctis doesn’t cry that first night. He stares blankly at the barren walls of his cell and imagines death. He feels numb.

The second day, someone approaches his cell. Or some thing , he should say. When the door opens it is what seems like an entire squadron of MTs that swarm in, surrounding him.

It happens at an inopportune time. Noctis had been attempting to conquer the armiger, to pull out a sword or a dagger, something, anything. He’d been trying for hours, unsuccessfully. Noctis isn’t sure if he’s too weak or too inexperienced.

“What the hell do you want?” Noctis asks. He’s not sure how threatening he sounds, with the dry, worn throat, but he tries anyway.

He’s standing, having pulled himself to his feet in the hopes it’d help his efforts. It was an ordeal, as it became more and more apparent how injured he is. He definitely has a few broken ribs, sprained shoulder, still nursing the concussion he knows he got from his head injury. If his hands were free he’d have checked on the rest of his body, as he’s sure there are other bruises and cuts all around.

All in all, he eyes all the MTs warily. Because while he definitely won’t go down without a fight, he knows it would be a very one sided fight.

Two of the MTs grab his arms, holding him in place. Another one approaches him from behind and removes the binding from Noct’s hands. Immediately Noctis lunges for one of them, and receives a swift kick to the side for his efforts.

He falls over, hitting the ground, and watches shakily as the machines start to empty the room, red eyes watching him the entire time. One of them leaves something in front of the door before it closes behind them, throwing the room into darkness again.

Noctis takes a few moments to recuperate before crawling over to the door, eyeing the left object with a cautious eye.

It’s a tray of what Noctis assumes is supposed to be food. Assumes, because it smells absolutely disgusting.

“Ugh….” Noct covers his nose with one hand, trying not to gag. It looks like some kind of soup except it seems more gelatinous than it should be, and smells like rotten meat. He’s not touching that.

The second little window on the door, upon closer inspection, has an indentation meant to carry food trays. The MTs left it open, probably to collect the empty tray when he finished. Noctis holds his breath as he picks up the tray and deposits it in the  window, only exhaling after walking away.

Gods, he’s already a prisoner. Beaten and trapped and hopeless. Disgusting slop would be the cherry atop the sundae, wouldn’t it? hell if he would fall to that level.

All he has to do is bide his time. Recuperate his powers slowly, heal up a bit, then he can find an opportunity to break it. Noctis isn’t sure how long that’ll take, but he is going to do it, that much is certain.

The third day, they come and take away the tray of gross slop, and return with another. Noctis takes one look at it and feels his stomach drop.

It’s a vegetable puree, mostly carrots if the orange color is any indication. It’s not a perfect blend, either, as there are whole chunks floating in it; a few peas, lettuce, something red that might be beets. The dish also smells repugnant, admittedly because of the vegetables.

“Are you fucking serious?” Noct asks absolutely no one, because besides of that murderer from a few days ago no one with the capacity for conversation has come by. The MT who left the tray is probably already gone, not that he’s sure the thing would listen to his complaint.

At least, next to this dish is a glass of water and what looks like stale bread. He downs the water too quickly, the warm liquid sliding down his throat feeling like heaven. After that he tries the bread, but it’s so stale it barely tears apart, and is like a thick gum when he tries to chew it. He eats half of it before he can’t anymore, which is a shame because he’s really hungry.

Noctis eyes the soup, dares to pick up the spoon even. I’m desperate, he tells himself. It looks better than the brown slop they tried giving him yesterday, and he needs to keep his strength up if he wants to stand a chance at escaping. So he scoops the orange goop into his mouth and promptly spits it back out, gagging and turns away.

It didn’t smell too bad but it tasted very not like carrots. It’s all sour and musty tasting. It sticks to his tongue even after spitting it out, and Noctis regrets downing his water too fast because he desperately wants the aftertaste out of his mouth.

Well, that’s all. He places the tray into the window and walks back to the bed, sitting down gingerly.

He’s checked himself over for injuries after being freed, and is fine outside of the numerous bruises he has. There’s an exhaustion that sticks to his bones now that he isn’t in an adrenaline pumping, battle situation. His head hurts constantly. He doesn’t know when he lays down and falls asleep, but he is glad for it.

He sees Ignis in his sleep, first. The man looks worried in his dreams just as he does in real life, giving Noct an exasperated yet caring look. The dream seems to cycle through different memories; stargazing as children, music lessons that Noctis could never get to stick, a time when Ignis had been sick and Noctis insisted on visiting him to make sure he was already. It wasn’t a thing for royalty to do, he was told, to check on a retainer. He had attendants to do things like that. But ignis was too important. He’d go over the young man’s place and made lukewarm soup from a can and wiped his face with a towel to cool him down.

When his first fit wakes up him, Noctis is trembling. He wants to see Ignis so badly. Wants to go to him like he did when they were still so young, to hear sweet assurances in his voice.

His empty stomach cramps and Noctis curls up into a fetal position, trying to listen to his own heartbeat to lull himself to sleep. It doesn’t work.

The fourth day is about the same. They come silently, besides of the vague whirring sounds that seem to follow MTs around, and leave a new tray of food. Just like the previous days, it’s something straight revolting.

Noctis isn’t sure where to start with this dish. It’s green and brown and those are colors that don’t agree with him when they’re on his plate. The brown seems to be chunks of meat, most of which are so overcooked that they’re actually charred black. Beside it is a green goop, of which the sight of makes Noctis groan. What was with these fucks and vegetable puree?

Nevertheless, Noctis ignores it. He downs the new glass of water, sipping it slowly this time, and then places the tray back in the window. He paces back to the bed and sits down. There he begins to stretch his shoulder. There’s not much he can do about most of his injuries, because without access to his armiger he had no potions. And no potions meant dealing with the pain.

He’s also dizzy; the water has been a life-send, but it only does so much for his empty stomach. The hunger makes him feel so weak, yet looking at those dishes makes nothing but bile rise to his throat.

Just a little longer, he thinks. He hasn’t had luck with the armiger, but he’s bound to get it eventually, right? He could escape. He could.

He relives a precious memory of his; Prompto staying over his place for the weekend, an increasingly frequent occurrence. They lay on Noctis’ bed, side by side, playing king’s knight until they’re too tired to stare at their phones so they talk instead.

It’s around the time Prompto began to join the Crownsguard, at Noct’s suggestion. He’s nervous about the training, he lets slip. He’s not sure if he’s ready. Because Noctis is too cool and stronger than he is already, and Noctis trips over his own tongue trying to deny those words.

Of all of them, prompto deserved it the least. Being attacked, having their nice life stripped away under their feet; it wasn’t good for any of them but Prompto is normal. A civilian. He didn’t deserve it.

There’s what feels to be a pit in the bottom of Noctis’ stomach, untouched by the gnawing hunger. It grows from his stomach to his chest and it becomes harder to breath for a few minutes before it evens out. Noctis gasps.

He hates this cell.

“A little birdy told me you haven’t been eating.”

On the fifth day, the man comes back.

“What does it matter to you?” Noctis doesn’t move from his perch on the bed. His stomach doesn’t hurt as much as it did before, but in place of the pain is an all encompassing exhaustion. just keeping his upright position feels draining. Speaking even more so.

“It matters a lot to me, my dear Noctis. I didn’t bring you all the way here just for you to perish.” at that the man backs away from the window and pulls it closed. Seconds later Noctis hears the click of the door being unlocked. “Here, I brought you something—prepared special for our lovely little prince. Made with love.”

When the door opens the man is standing there, look absolutely insufferable with his lips curled up into a satisfied smirk. Everything about him looked terrible, from the scruffy quality of his facial hair to his outfit, layers upon layers with colors that had no business being together.

The man doesn’t come into the room, however. Instead a small crowd of MTs begin to filter in on either side of him, marching right up to Noctis’ bed. One in particular approaches Noctis head on, carrying a tray in its hands.

The last few meals had been absolutely awful but this one is in a league all on its own. There’s a big bowl, filled to the brim with what looked like tar. Inside of the soup are floating chunks of what could possibly be meat or vegetables but are essentially indistinguishable. And then the smell is an entirely different story; it smells rotten all around. like rotting meat or dairy that had been left out in the sun. The scent makes Noctis’ stomach roll and he starts to pull away and finds that he can’t.

The MTs grab his arms, holding him in place.

“Now, now, Noctis,” he says, and Noctis throws his head up in time to catch another one of his god awful smiles. “Be a good boy and finish your food.”

A metal hand grips him by the hair, pulling his head back, and Noctis begins to thrash, the disgust rolling around his stomach turning to dread. gods, no, no. A s much as he fights it he doesn’t have the energy to push the machines off of him. He watches, shaking desperately, as the MT in front of him fills a spoon with that revolting slop and leans in closer.

Noctis tries locking his jaw, but another MT grabs his face and pulls it open. It hurts. It hurts and he can’t stop the fucker from pushing that spoon into his mouth.

It tastes like it looks. like spoiled milk, thick and sour and invasive. He wants to spit it out but they cover his mouth and he’s stuck tasting it, the gross consistency rolling around his tongue and sticking to the sides of his mouth. Noctis shakes his head, a last ditch effort to try to get free, anything, anything other than what’s happening. After a few seconds another hand covers his nose and Noctis nearly starts choking right there.

He’s going to die. He’s going to suffocate if he doesn’t swallow this mess and the taste is starting to burn and he feels the tears pricking at his eyes.

“My, aren’t you a fighter? Sure this is what you want?”

Noctis starts to chew. He bites into a chunk of rancid meat, the juices exploding over his tongue and starts gagging and the tears are flowing freely now. He keeps chewing and then swallows, shivering at the feel of the thick liquid crawling down his throat. He swallows it all down and the MTs, apparently pleased, remove the hands from his face and air graciously floods in.

He gags immediately. The tears are still running down his cheeks and he takes in a gasping breath and he feels his stomach lurch forward. It’s disgusting. It hurts. He wants to go home.

“Good boy.” the man sounds more smug than he should have the right to. Smug and victorious. And maybe it’s true. Noctis takes in heaving breaths and he shudders and it does, truly, feel like he lost. “I have some important business to attend to, but I’m sure you’ll finish your dinner while I’m gone, yes?”

The monster in front of him fills the spoon up again and Noctis shakes his head, a sob breaking out of his throat. “No. No, no, no, no—”

“Ta-ta, my dear.”

Noctis sees the man leave from the corner of his eye before the MTs move in closer, the hands returning to restrict his face again. Another disgusting spoonful is deposited onto his tongue and Noctis flails, trying and failing to spit it out before his mouth is covered again.

Each spoonful feels worse than the last. He hoped that he’d get used to the flavor after a while, but he doesn’t. The taste is revolting every single time, and he’s not free after swallowing because the aftertaste sticks to his tongue and the roof of his mouth. The soup started out warm but by the time he finishes the bowl it’s cold, and he’s not sure if that made it easier or harder to take.

Eventually they leave him. They take the remnants of their awful meal and leave Noctis to sprawl across the ground, spitting and heaving. The MTs close the heavy door, and the room is dark once again.

There always seemed to be this duality to Gladio. He could be harsh, yes, but strangely kind. later, when all the strength Noctis tried to keep fails him and he voids the contents of his stomach into the corner bucket, he thinks Gladio wouldn’t call him weak for it.

Gladio was strict. He would get angry at Noctis constantly back home, for skipping out on sparring lessons or for refusing to get back up after being knocked down. “My arm hurts,” young Noctis had said once, and Gladio had sneered at him.

“It doesn’t stop working just because it hurts,” had been the answer, but Gladio still sat down next to him, sighing heavily and announcing that they might as well take a break.

What he wouldn’t give to have those days back, to be the whiny brat complaining about his lessons. When he finishes puking he lies against the wall, stares up at the ceiling. There are small cracks in the concrete, and he busies himself with counting them until his eyelids are heavy and he falls into a restless sleep.

He also wishes he could go home, but in a desperate fit he remembers there is no home for him to return to.

A prince without a kingdom.

On the sixth day, Noctis regards the door with dread. Strangely enough, though Noctis has no sense of time in this cell he feels as though the troopers arrive earlier than usual. And like the previous day they march inside, surrounding him.

Noctis flinches when they come near, their metal hands landing on his shoulders and holding him in place. He’s seen more of these machines now than he has in his entire life, and it is no less unsettling to see them now than the first time he’d ever laid eyes on them. He wishes he’d been dealing with humans. At least they would talk to him, taunt him, yell at him, anything. Without that Niff man from before to laugh at him, it was just the MTs, and the most they could do is glare with their shining red eyes.

They move so oddly, like puppets being yanked by their strings, and they’re built much larger than he is. Noctis doesn’t like it.

“What,” Noctis starts, and his voice sounds much worse than he was expecting. He hasn’t spoken since yesterday, after all. He’s extremely parched and it hurts, just pushing out any words. “W… what you got for me now?”

Sure enough, one of the troopers brings him a tray.

Only the food on the plate is moving .

“No,” Noctis shakes his head, sucking in a shaky breath when a large hand holds it still. “No, not that. Oh gods…”

Noctis is pretty sure they just reached into the dirt outside and threw it onto a plate. It’s the only way to explain why there are fat, pink worms wiggling before his eyes, directly contrasting what looks like actual mud on the bottom of the plate.

His “meal” is glistening in the dim light. It’s slime, actual honest to god slime mixed in with his dirt and worms.

“I can’t— I can’t do this. Please, please.”

But there are no response from an MT. The one holding the tray lifts up an empty fork and holds it out in front of him.

He has to pick it up. They want him to pick it up and eat it himself. He’d be shaking his head if he could. The hands holding his shoulders down push harder, and Noctis just barely holds back a whimper. He takes in a shuddering breath and just. Thinks.

If he doesn’t do this, it’ll be a repeat of the previous day. They’ll hold him down and spoon feed him and he won’t be able to breath and he’ll choke and—

Noctis takes the fork. The MT holds the tray within arms reach, and Noctis cautiously pokes around the plate. He has a vague hope that maybe if he pushes it around he’ll find something actually edible. Instead, under a clump of dirt and an especially big worm he finds that… it’s not a worm at all. It’s red and big and has little bulbs sticking out of its head and is definitely a real fucking slug.

That explains the slime at least.

“C-can I get a raincheck on this, guys?” right about now he wishes he’d have that gross, vegetable puree from days ago. Even that seems more appealing.

The machines seem to hover in closer, and Noctis knows he’s pushing a limit now. He’s gotta get it over with, he’s just got to do it. With the fork he spears a small piece of dirt, gags when it crunches and he realizes it’s not simply dirt. But he’s done it now, so he lifts it to his lips and pushes it in his mouth.

He takes a bite and it’s disgusting. Whatever the crunchy thing was he knows it doesn’t taste good. It’s a bug, probably. He has to try really, really hard not to just spit it back onto the plate, because he doesn’t know how the MTs will react to that. Eventually he chews it enough to swallow.

Okay, not that bad. If the rest of it goes like that, then he can get through this. He can get through. He takes a chance, spears one of the smaller worms and brings it to his face. Eating it is nothing like a gummy worm at all, but at the very least, thankfully tastes like slimy dirt. Makes him gag, yes, but not the worse he’s ever had.

Noctis is strangely proud of himself for doing it. The troopers around him stare, but they aren’t holding his nose closed so he considers it a good thing. Only… the slug, sitting now in the middle of the plate and thankfully unmoving, bless the gods, is haunting him.

He’s not eating that.

“Alright, I think I’m full.”

No response.

“I’m done. Thanks guys but—”

The MTs on either side of him clamp down suddenly and Noctis feels the panic bubbling inside of him.

“No! no, I ate a lot of it already, aren’t we good yet?”

A hand on his head yanks at his hair, pulling his head back and making him yell out. Another grips his jaw, holding his mouth open and in one smooth movement that slippery monster is on his tongue and he’s thrashing, cries muffled by a metal hand.

The slug nearly hits the back of his throat. The taste is disgustingly bitter, so much so that it has him shaking with his desire to spit it out. He takes in a thick, panicked breath, the last he gets before fingers close his nostrils and he’s left to suffer with the taste.

He starts to chew. It’s possibly the worse sensation; it’s so slippery that it feels like he’s chasing it around his mouth while trying to chew. The consistency reminds him of a gelatin dessert, if gelatin was chewy like an overcooked piece of meat, or leaked copper-like blood.

He can’t stand chewing it, it’s that bad. Instead he pushes with his tongue and just swallows. It goes down so slowly that he starts to choke—but with the hand over his mouth he can’t spit it out, so he forces it down some more.

Once it’s down, and the MTs are satisfied with that they let him go. Not just his mouth or his head but fully, and Noctis stumbles from his seat to his knees, coughing. Two coughs in and the bile pushes up from his stomach and he’s voiding everything. The slug, the dirt, everything. His mouth, his nose, it all burns. He takes heaving breaths. It hurts so much.

The MTs leave then, going as abruptly as they arrived. Noctis watches the marching of their feet from the floor, sees their mismatched gait out the door and into the thing light coming from the wall beyond. Once the last one leaves, however, there’s another pair of feet standing in the doorway.

“My, my, what a right mess you’ve made there. Meal wasn’t to your liking, I presume?”

Noctis looks up, slowly, reluctantly, right into the face of his captor. And he’s never felt such unbridled hatred in his life.

“I’ll let it slide just this once but… and don’t get mad about this, dear Noctis…. you’ll have to start pulling your weight around here eventually. Cleaning up your own messes at the very least. And, here’s a little secret,” The man walks up to Noctis, bends down to level with him and whispers, “By cleaning, I mean… constructing your next meal, if you will. Just because you couldn’t stomach it the first time doesn’t mean you should let it waste.”

Noctis heaves again at the thought.

“Goodbye and good night, my boy. Sweet dreams.”

Noctis sleeps on the ground again that night. He’d only managed to crawl away from the site of his mess , not having the energy or motivation to pull himself to the bed.

He lies at such an angle that his vision aligns perfectly with the corner, so he stares at the junction between the wall and the floor. The more the darkness lingers, the more he stares, blinking into the nothingness ahead, the stronger the feeling in his chest becomes. Like a rubber band wrapped around his upper body, he feels constricted. A few more moments and he takes in a long, shuddering breath, blinking rapidly.

And then the calm breaks.

And then he breaks.

“F….father…” Noctis pulls himself into a tight ball, arms tight around his torso. His next breath leaves as a sob, and he can’t stop it.

His father was a busy man. He had to rule over an entire kingdom, and for all of Noctis’ complaining, he knew as well as anyone how much of a burden that was. Years, of seeing his father attend meetings for hours, being pulled away from family time to take care of urgent business. Years, even, of watching his father gray at the hairline, watching his gait get just that much slower, his body moving just that more heavier.

Regis Lucis Caelum may not have been the best father, by any stretch, but he was Noct’s father, and he misses him so, so much. Right now he feels the smallest he’s ever been in years, like he’s eight again and all I wants is to be in his father’s arms, where he could be safe. Where he could take away the pain.

But he can’t. Not because he’s locked up in a dark cell in some hellhole, but because he’s dead. His father is a corpse rotting on the floor in the place they’d called home, and Noctis screams because he’s dead and he’s never coming back.

The worse thing is that he’ll never forget that moment for as long as he lives; his father, ushering him away from the citadel with his Crownsguard, calling on his magic to shield Noctis in his final moments. The view he had, then, of a red-haired man, who he thought was just another stuffy imperial politician, breaking through Regis’ defenses —and what kind of man is he, to break a Caelum’s magic, to overpower his father’s will— and stabbing him.

And laughing about it, too. laughing that same insufferable laugh he’s given Noctis all week, and that smile that sends prickles of rage down Noctis’ spine.

Noctis screams out his grief until his already parched throat is sore, until there’s nothing but weak sobs crushing his chest. He doesn’t know how long he cries. Until his tears dry up, maybe.

When sleep finds him he dreams about his father’s smile.

On the seventh day, the man doesn’t come. None of the magitek troopers come either. Time passes and Noctis stares up at the ceiling, having dragged himself to a sitting position at some point. He waits. He flexes his fingers, vaguely searching for his armiger even knowing it probably won’t work, as it hasn’t the entire time he’s been trapped in this god awful place. He’s partially convinced he’ll never be able to conjure it again.

So he waits, and waits, and waits.

Eventually he starts to wonder what’s happening. The dim light that comes through the crack under the door shifts, as if people are walking by. Or running, even. Noctis hears the telltale signs of MTs, the rattling of their armor as they run, but none of the shadows under the door stop there.

Curious, Noctis gets to his feet and walks over to the door, putting his face against the cold metal and trying his best to make out the commotion outside.

Minutes pass and it gets louder out there; more moments and it sounds awfully like there’s a battle commencing just outside his cell, the precise clanging of metal that could only belong to the clash of a weapons ringing loudly in the air, along with the subtle explosions MTs are known for when they’re destroyed.

All at once, hope begins to bubble in Noctis’ chest. It’s probably foolish to think someone is coming to his rescue, that anyone even knows he’s here, but he figures whoever’s out there fighting off the imperials have to be an ally. They could help him.

“Hey—” Noctis starts, clears his throat because he’s not loud enough. “hey! hello!” he starts to bang on the little window, wishing they’d left it open so he could see what’s happening. “Anyone! hello!”

There’s some more explosions, more clashing. Then suddenly he can feel the presence of another outside of the door. He worries for a moment when they don’t immediately speak, but his fears are calmed when a voice, another human that isn’t that goddamn murderer speaks to him.

“…highness?”

Oh gods. They knew him. They knew him.

“Yeah— yeah, it’s me. Oh gods,” Noctis leans heavily against the door, lets out a laugh that’s a borderline sob. “Please, help me. Please, please .”

The door unlocks. It creaks when it opens, and Noctis barely has enough time to register what just happened before he’s grabbed, pulled into arms that aren’t familiar but are warm and human .

It’s less a hug and more that the man is checking Noctis for injuries. Noctis knows he must look awful— beaten, bruised, smelling like an actual dumpster. But he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed about it.

The man— who’s wearing a Kingsglaive uniform, Noct notices belatedly— pulls back, hands firmly on his shoulders, and looks him in the eyes. “Can you walk?”

Noctis nods.

“Good. Okay.” The man reaches a hand to touch the communicator in his ear. “Guys—I found him. He’s safe.”

I’m safe.

“We gotta move. Stick close to me, okay?” The man faces the door, pulling a dagger from its sheath on his side. “Can’t have you dying after we just found you.”

The man leads him out of his cell and through an MT infested corridor, fighting them off left and right. His heart is pounding in his chest the entire time, but it’s excitement rather than panic, and Noctis can’t complain about that.

He’s free.

Insomnia was destroyed. This isn’t something that has to be explained to Noctis, because he’d seen it first hand. The riots in the streets, the magitek weaponry firing from the skies, the troopers cutting down civilian after innocent civilian.

He doesn’t have to be told it’s destroyed, but just existing outside of it’s walls knowing that its no longer there… it’s a lot to take in.

Turns out he’d only been taken to an imperial base stationed in Lucis. He’s not sure why, when Niff technology allows them to travel far and they could have certainly taken him back to Niflheim, but he is still incredibly thankful he wasn’t that far from his homeland. and also thankful he isn’t dead. He’s battered and broken but alive and he can allow himself to be the least bit happy about that.

Right now he’s sitting in the backseat of a truck, speeding towards a safe-house, and he can definitely allow himself to be happy about that.

“We’ll be there in less than half an hour, highness.”

Noctis had been more than relieved to have a more familiar voice with him. He never interacted much with members of the Kingsglaive, as many of them still lived outside of the wall. So as gracious as he feels for the man who saved him– Nyx, as he’d introduced himself later – he didn’t know him personally.

But driving the car now, the man they’d met up with escaping the base is an influential member of the Crownsguard. It’s Cor the immortal, in the flesh, and just hearing his voice is enough to make Noctis relax a little.

In response to the man’s statement, he nods, head barely moving from where it lies against the back of the seat. Cor doesn’t say anything else, so Noctis assumes he saw that.

“They were worried sick about you, y'know.” Nyx speaks now, turning around in his seat to face him. “We were all looking for you, trashing niff bases left and right. I can just imagine the look on their faces.”

Noctis feels himself chuckle. It’s a little low in his throat and sleepy because gods he’s exhausted, but it’s genuine.

Yeah, he can imagine.

[lifeinahole27]

CSJJ Day 31: “Knead Your Loving”

A/N: Here it is, the final day of @csjanuaryjoy! I am so happy to be the endcap on what has been a fantastic month!! Have some lighthearted smut-glitter with inferences of terrible pornos. Thanks to @sambethe for looking this over and finding all my dumb errors and liking the same silly things I like about this one. (FYI: I have been up for 20 hours and worked both jobs today, finished this fic, and had too much caffeine. Please forgive me for such a title.)

Prompt: My friend keeps lecturing me on the importance of self care and I booked a massage to shut them up.. But my masseuse is the anonymous stranger I fucked at Christmas.

Rating: M to be safe?

So far, 2017 has been… less than kind to Emma Swan. That’s the way she’s putting it right now, at least. She won’t claim it’s anywhere as bad as 2016 – she’ll give it a couple more months before she claims that. But January has not been very gentle with her.

The colder-than-average weather means everything hurts just a little more. Running after criminals in bitter chill doesn’t work as well as in the more temperate weather, so she’s bruised and bumped and has spent more nights with her feet in a tub of hot water than she can really count.

There’s a text waiting for her when she gets home from work, Snow’s cheery message of greeting reminding her there’s a reason she got her a gift certificate to the local spa.

“Treat yo’ self,” Emma mutters out loud, her eyes gliding across the letters as they appear in the message. She can’t remember the last time she did something as simple as relax. She’s been perpetually on the move for what feels like her whole life, but at least the pace she keeps now is up to her instead of being shoved from one home to another in the foster process.

She closes out of the messaging app and dials the number on the certificate before she can talk herself out of the decision. There’s still another week before her son comes back from a winter vacation with his adoptive mother, and it might be nice to hit the reset button in celebration of the new year. Get a massage, clean house, refocus herself, and be ready for whatever the next eleven months might throw at her.

They can’t fit her in until the end of the month, but Emma finds out that Snow went all out on her. The certificate entitles her to a full spa day, with a massage and facial and all sorts of services included. She sets up the appointment for the last day in January and writes it on her calendar. It becomes something to work towards, and she bases all her to-do lists around that single day.

It turns out that, since moving to Storybrooke, Emma has been hoarding more than usual. Maybe it’s because she’s looking to put down her roots for once. When Henry barged in on her over a year ago, she was lonely and walled off, living in Boston and unsure what direction her life was going to take from that point on. Henry at least gave her a starting point.

After a couple months of tension, she worked out a deal with Regina, the woman who adopted her son when she gave him up at birth. If Henry wanted Emma in her life, she was sure as hell going to be there, and Regina finally agreed after much tongue clicking and eye rolling. Thankfully, since the worst of the aggression and wariness wore off, they found they actually get along.

Emma has made several other friends in the small town as well, including Snow. She and her husband, David, have begun taking care of her like they’re her parents. She doesn’t fully hate it, and by that she means she loves it, but she’ll never admit it out loud.

The small town is unlike any she’s ever been to. For one, there’s a decent amount of people, so she doesn’t feel like she’s seeing the same faces every single day. She is, but there’s enough variety to not make it feel that way. There’s also a revolving door on the town limits. Despite the fact that so many people claim they live there, she’s not seen people she met during her first week for months at a time. It’s bizarre.

As far as stress relief goes for Emma, though, she doesn’t really do a lot. She uses the local gym to get a lot of her frustrations out, either by kickboxing or taking spinning classes with Snow. That second option takes a lot of cajoling and bribery in the form of grilled cheese sandwiches for her to get Emma to agree, thus rendering the workout almost useless in the face of the carbs.

The way she most enjoys letting off some steam is by having sex, but in a small town there’s only so many choices, even with the irregularity of the residents. The last thing she needs to do is accidentally one-night-stand one of Henry’s teachers, or a friend of Regina’s. On the list of Emma’s nightmares, those scenarios top it.

Since moving to Storybrooke, Emma’s conquests have been few and far between. But that isn’t to say they’ve been non-existent. There was a romp on Christmas Eve that still leaves her tingling if she thinks about it for too long.

It was good, and that’s the reason she’s still thinking about it a month later. It has nothing to do with the easy conversation he drew her into. It isn’t the fact that a lost girl and a lost boy were able to recognize each other almost instantly, that connection being the starter spark to what was an intense fire of passion as they drove each other over the edge time and time again. Nope, those aren’t why she’s thinking of the stranger with the gorgeous blue eyes that hid sadness and loss. And while the looks and the mattress tango were, admittedly, stellar…

She couldn’t allow herself to fall asleep in his arms. Instead, she chose to flee the moment he fell asleep, without the decency to get his number or leave hers on a note beside the bed. Connections like him only lead to trouble, because it would only be a matter of time before he was either leaving her behind or demanding more than she could give.

Nothing good comes from relationships. Except Henry. He’s the one exception to any rule, she supposes.

When the day of her spa treatment finally arrives, Emma is ready for it. She even leaves her cellphone at home, not willing to accept a single call or text while she’s trying to relax.

She’s immediately bundled into a robe and slippers, compliments of the spa. The robe feels more luxurious than the cotton one she has at home, especially with the thick terry material lining it and the sleeves that dip past her fingertips. She cuffs the extra material and smiles at her reflection, already feeling pampered beyond her norm. With her belongings stored in one of the lockers, she heads back to the waiting area for the next step.

A quiet woman directs her to a little sitting room with a metal basin resting on the floor. This she’s familiar with, even if her own foot bath uses hot tap water from her tub and some of the lavender bubble bath Henry gave her for Christmas. Theirs, however, isn’t lavender bubble bath, and the moment her feet sink into the water, she can feel the tension leak out of her body.

 The woman instructs her to fill out some kind of form about her stress levels and where she carries her tension.

 She ends up circling most of the options, noting all the places she has current bruises from work-related injuries. The woman tuts when she collects the clipboard from Emma, telling her to sit back and relax, and that Killian will be right with her.

Killian. Killian? Oh, shit. Killian.

All at once she can taste peppermint schnapps and rough kisses. She can feel the gear shift in her side as he all but drags her across the console to straddle his lap – no easy feat in an old Volkswagen Bug. Cold hands and cold noses and cold cheeks all brushing and seeking the warmth of the other. An accent and a voice like some manifestation of sexual desire in human form. His lips, and tongue, and eyes, and –

She realizes she’s blushing furiously when the man himself rounds the corner, already starting a routine greeting and introduction as if he isn’t going to find the woman he fucked senseless a month ago waiting for him. Emma can pinpoint the moment he stops glancing at the small bottles in his hand and looks at her because there’s a high-pitched whisper of something that sounds a lot like “bloody fucking hell” tripping out of his mouth before he catches himself.

“Swan,” he says, the oils almost forgotten, as is most of the decorum on both their behalves in a situation such as this. She can feel the flush spreading all the way down her chest, her body remembering every glorious place he touched and how at the simple utterance of that one syllable.

She whimpers, but Killian collects himself faster than she does, launching directly into his spiel about the scents he’s going to use. When he kneels down in front of her to have her smell each one, his voice once again drops to a whisper.

“Relax, love. I promise that no one will know a thing unless you don’t change that terrified yet oddly aroused facial expression you’re currently wearing.” He winks, his smile calm and teasing as he does so.

The words have their intended effect. She huffs out a small laugh while her body relaxes again. She can almost forget all the things they did together by the time he’s declared that her scent for the day is vanilla, until he mentions he’s sure she would’ve been happier with something more like hot chocolate and cinnamon. Thankfully, he doesn’t give her enough time to be flustered about his memory, as he gently pulls her feet out of the water, drying them thoroughly and sliding the spa-issued plastic sandals back on her feet like they’re Cinderella’s glass slippers, instead.

The notion of being naked, save for her most sensible pair of cotton underwear, under a sheet on the table shouldn’t be a big deal. Especially when the man who enters the room again when she’s settled has seen her in much, much less. And is very intimately acquainted with what the sheet and undies are hiding. She hears him pause by the door, and a lone, shaky exhale escape from him.

“Comfortable?” he asks, his voice clear.

Her response is high-pitched, but apparently convincing enough that she sees him pop into view above her. He smiles down at her, explaining the process of the facial and eye zone treatments. She has no idea what half of them are, but he reassures her that it’ll make her look amazing.

“As if it’s possible for you to be more beautiful,” he mutters. He’s moved away, over to the counter by the sink that the small room contains. She hears him readying products and such, but again, has no real idea of what to expect since it’s her first time for any of this, but if she was trusting enough to leave her pleasure in his hands once (or several times, as the memory stands) then she can do her best to relax and give over to a different kind of enjoyment.

Once Killian begins, he is the face of professionalism. He doesn’t speak unless he’s explaining something to do with what he’s applying. He’s gentle, but confident in each swipe of his fingers over her face. His fingers are the exact right amount of pressure on her scalp as he massages. His breath fans over her face once or twice and she hazards a peek at one of those junctures.

While he’s bleary in the dimly lighted room, she can see the intense look of concentration on his face and she takes the quick moment to appreciate his dedication to his job. It’s clear that when he entered this room, their history stayed on the other side of the door.

The hour flies by, and Emma has to admit that she is nearing sleep in her ultra-relaxed state of being.

“Normally, I would recommend coming in once or twice more to complete the process, but your skin is already so well managed that there’s really no need for a follow up facial,” Killian explains as he removes the last of the masque he’d applied. “This completes the first step of your spa package. I do believe you’re signed up for the half-day getaway, correct?”

“Yeah,” Emma says, almost incapable of forming any other response as his fingers smooth over her chin, her cheekbones, along her brows. She has no idea what comes next, though, so she feels she should at least find her words and ask what else is in store for her. “So, do I leave you at this point and go somewhere else?”

He chuckles softly, and she can feel it  ruffle the hair right at her temple, so she waits until he’s done before opening her eyes and turning to look at him.

“You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” He says it so seriously, however she can see the smile he’s fighting down and the sparkle in his eyes as he does so. “Would you like a refreshment? Or to use the restroom before we begin the massage?”

“Wait, you’re doing a massage, too?”

“Aye, love. As I said, you’re stuck with me. At least for this half of your treatments. It’s not -” Here he pauses, and she can hear the hesitance in his voice for the first time since she got here. “It’s not a problem, is it? Would you be more comfortable if I found you another specialist?”

She doesn’t have a chance to answer before he’s sliding away on the small rolling stool he’s been using, muttering something about being “bloody stupid” and she almost upsets the sheet that’s covering her when she makes a wild grab for the sleeve of his shirt and instead grasps his arm. “Killian, wait.” He stops immediately, turning only enough to make eye contact with her. “I’m okay. This is okay.”

Still he hesitates, and she thinks he’s going to ignore her reassurance and go find another person to handle the massage, but then there’s one small nod and a hint of his smile, and he declares he’s going to get her a glass of fruit-infused water if she’d like to use the restroom while he’s gone.

It’s a challenge to slip her robe on and wiggle her feet into the sandals again, and even more of an obstacle to get across the hallway to the small public restroom where she locked her clothes earlier. She tries to move quickly, but this is possibly the most relaxed Emma has ever felt in her whole life and she cannot convince her limbs to cooperate with any pace other than glacial.

Despite the time it takes her to complete the simple task, she’s still back in the room and under the sheet when Killian returns with her water, and it’s not until she sees the drink that she realizes she’s parched.

“Make sure as you continue your time here, and especially after you’ve returned home, that you hydrate all day. That’s the key mistake most people make when they get massages,” he says as he places the glass on a small table beside her and urges her to sit up and drink. “I’ve got to prepare a couple things here, so my back will be turned to you. Take your time and let me know when you’re comfortable again.”

She takes his advice to take as much time as she wants, sipping the water at his insistence instead of chugging it down.

“So is this where you prepare the giant bowl of baby oil to dump all over my body?”

“I don’t know what porno you think we’re reenacting, Swan, but I assure you there will be no bowls of oil today.”

She laughs, the sound coming out both amused and embarrassed since he was able to so effectively pinpoint where she may have gotten the idea in the first place. Especially since she’s slept with this particular massage specialist and she’s definitely touched herself to the videos in question. She wonders if she just fucked it all up again, but Killian hums along to the quiet, classical music playing in the room and continues on like mentioning porn is just another aspect of his day.

Suddenly, she wonders if it is. She wonders if other women walk into this room and hit on him. She wonders if he’s ever fucked anyone on this table before, or if he would like to, and she has to drink the last of the water a little faster when she very abruptly imagines herself on all fours, Killian behind her naked and glistening and thrusting into her.

She needs to watch less porn.

But it’s that thought that led her into a bar on Christmas Eve, and led her back out of it with Killian in tow as they headed for her car, and then to his place.

“All done?” Killian’s voice effectively pops the little bubble of Emma’s daydream and she nearly slams the glass back on the table before she situates herself.

Her response is almost croaked out, despite the recent hydration, and she prays he doesn’t notice the flush of arousal across her collarbones that’s slowly spreading downward.

“I’ve no idea what you’ve been thinking about in that pretty little head of yours, Emma, but you need to relax again.” He rubs his hands together and holds them a few inches above her face, instructing her to breathe in and out with him as she inhales the calming scent that reminds her of the bowl of peppermints Snow keeps on the table in the entrance of her and David’s home.

Somehow, over the course of the next hour, Emma manages to turn herself over to the rhythmic repetitions of Killian’s attentions as he massages one arm, then the other. His strong fingers gently but firmly apply pressure to hers, all the way to the tips of each individual finger before moving to the other side and doing the same.

He goes from her scalp to her toes before quietly requesting that she turn to her stomach as he holds the sheet for her to move. After he’s propped two towels under her shoulders, he resumes his attentions across her shoulders and along her spine, stopping just short of where he’s rolled the blanket down to her lower back, and she sighs at each knot that dissipates. It takes everything she has not to moan when he drapes a heated towel over the whole of her back.

When Killian rolls the coverings back up to her shoulders, she has to stop herself from being disappointed, especially when she recognizes the weight of her robe being placed across her legs.

“Well, love, you’re all set with me. It’s on to lunch and the second half of your spa day, now. Your robe is here, there’s a brush on the stool over in the corner and an extra hot towel if you want to remove any excess oil before moving on to the salon portion.”

She hears him shuffle around, moving no closer but no farther away from the table as he does so. His hand ends up resting lightly just below her shoulder blade, the pressure of his palm almost non-existent but she can feel it burning through the layers that separate their skin.

“Emma, I gathered you didn’t want any further contact by the way you left things at Christmas, but I wanted you to know how good it was to see you again.” He pauses, his fingers slipping away as he finally moves, and his voice is even softer as he says, “I hope you enjoy the rest of your day here.”

He’s almost to the door when she sits up, flinging off the sheet and temporarily forgetting that she’s in nothing but a pair of underwear as she rushes to get to him before he gets the door open.

“Killian, wait!”

His face is a combination of shock and confusion as he glances down briefly before focusing on her face, but his eyes don’t stay open long as she reaches up to kiss him. It’s when his hands find her bare back that she suddenly realizes what she’s done, and how undressed she is, and a flush of arousal mixes with one of embarrassment. She keeps herself pressed close against him to try and save some shred of dignity.

Don’t get her wrong, if this weren’t his place of employment, she would have no qualms walking about naked as a jaybird, and would probably insist he do the same. But she does like to pretend that she has tact at some points; this moment will just have to go down as an oversight.

“A lost boy can always recognize a lost girl, right?” she says, her arms wrapped tight around him and her hands clutching the back of his shirt.

“That’s right, love.”

“Well, maybe this lost girl can call this lost boy sometime?”

“I’ll leave my card over on the counter. Just as soon as you turn away, so I can be spared an erection as I go to prepare for the widow Lucas.”

Emma snorts at the mental image, and accepts the quick peck to her lips he gives her. She backs away and brings her arms across her chest at the same time, shielding herself from his view and turning her back to him. She glances over her shoulder and smiles at Killian as he keeps his word, sliding one of his cards onto the counter before he gives her one last wink and vanishes from the room.

She flops onto the table, grousing at herself in the muffled freedom of her robe before she straightens again. She’s diligent with herself after that, taking the extra couple minutes to run the hot (more like lukewarm, now) towel across her shoulders and neck. She brushes her hair and twists it up into a bun before she slides the heavy robe back on and slips Killian’s card in her pocket.

The quiet woman from her arrival is waiting outside the door when she exits, and she leads her to another area where they start the process for a pedicure and leg moisturizing treatment and serve her a light lunch. The quiet woman is replaced by a woman named Tink, who enthusiastically asks her life story while working to make her feet resemble feet, instead of rough blocks of sandpaper.

When she asks Emma what color she wants for her polish, Emma smiles wide at the array of colors she presents and chooses a soft pink. She absently notes that it’s a perfect match to the dress she’s never had a chance to wear.

“Nice choice,” Tink says with a grin, grabbing the selection and getting to work. “So, standard small talk question for you. How’s the love life?”

“Complicated,” Emma says, looking up when she hears footsteps going towards the massage rooms and making eye contact with Killian. He presses his lips together in a smile and disappears into the room, and Emma emphasizes when she repeats, “very complicated.”

By the time Tink has moved from feet to hands, Emma almost feels like she has another friend. The conversation is easy, her smiles are relaxed and happy, and she wonders if this is what spa days are meant to do. Besides relaxing her physically, it’s almost as if it’s repaired years of emotional damage as well. It’s like the people in this place are painstakingly putting her pieces back in place, erasing some of the abandonment issues and blurring out bad memories.

She’s shipped off to one last stop when her nails are finished, this time having to discard the robe and sandals and climb back into her own clothing. She’s also shuffled out of the serene spa environment and sent to the salon to have her hair and make-up done.

By the time she’s out of there, it’s almost dinner time and the sun is setting behind the gloom of winter. She resists pulling her beanie back over her hair, instead fluffing the silky curls over her ears to protect them from the cold. She’s headed straight for her car, but she hears a door shut on the side of the building. She leans a little, peering around the corner just in time to see Killian exiting through what must be an employee door.

She considers calling out to him, but instead clambers into her car to text him. It’s only when she reaches for her phone that she remembers it’s at home in preparation of her quiet, stress-free day, and she mentally kicks herself. But it’s not like she knew Killian would be here, or that she would want to call him so soon after seeing him again. She brushes her fingers along the edge of the card she slipped into her coat pocket and weighs her choices. With a smile, she glances in her rearview mirror to see him in his car, rubbing his hands together as he waits for it to warm up.

Snow did give her the spa day so she would treat herself. Maybe this will cross off another item on Snow’s wishlist of “Things She Only Wants for Emma to be Happy” – hope is within reach again for the first time in a long time.

-x-

When the unknown number pops up with a text message less than five minutes after he’s arrived home from work, Killian would use ‘surprised’ as an understatement to his reaction. Sure, she came after him, and sure, she kissed him (with nothing but a delightful pair of knickers with polar bears all over them, his memory rudely supplies), but she also picked him up in a bar and left before he was even fully asleep.

He’d had to run football stats in his head for two hours straight just to stop his body from reacting to Emma, pliant and softly moaning beneath his hands for both the facial and the massage. He’s pretty sure she didn’t even realize she was making the quiet noises of pleasure and encouragement, and thus he worked on deep breathing techniques and tried to remember as much Latin as he could from his high school classes.

The message is a simple one, inquiring if he’s had dinner yet. When he responds that he hasn’t, she replies almost immediately to ask if he’d like to meet her at the Italian place on Main Street in an hour. He sends an affirmative before he really considers it, but even after the message is sent, he knows he’s made the right choice. Emma’s words about lost girls and boys resonate deep and he remembers how talking to her that night felt like talking to a kindred spirit.

While he’s enjoyed Storybrooke’s small and quiet nature since he moved here, he’s also been impressed that it was possible to get lost in the crowd of a small number of people. But that same nature meant that it just took a few well-placed inquiries to find out who his mystery woman had been on Christmas Eve, all without letting on exactly why he was so interested in Emma Swan.

She’s been on his mind ever since, the couple hours of conversation lingering in the back of his mind during every breakfast, every shift at the spa he’s grown to love, every boy’s night with his mates. Her voice has echoed familiar sentiments as she spoke of being alone for the holidays despite a number of friends, and a son who loved her enough to track her down and bring her here.

Sometimes loneliness is more a mental thing than a physical one, as Killian knows all too well.

He dresses for the location, making sure every hair is in place – which is to say that it’s as artfully disheveled as he can make it. In an act of impeccable timing, he arrives just minutes before Emma’s familiar yellow Bug pulls into the parking lot.

There’s this perfect, slow-motion moment when she climbs from the vehicle and he gets a look at long, lean legs. With one last deep breath, he walks over to her car, ready to escort her in for what he hopes is the first of many dates.

-x-

For the record, they always split the massages, so that Killian isn’t doing all the work. By the following Christmas, the loneliness has seeped from both their expressions, leaving behind the comfort and love that’s grown in its place. And no matter how mind-blowing the sex is, bowls of oil are still never invited into their bedroom.

[multi-pursuits]

Posting a list of starters :) feel free to reply or talk to me some more about it and we can get going.

1. Admittedly, being back on earth was refreshing. The idea of getting a taste of his mother’s cooking was more than enticing for Lance to stay. As well as the memorial he’d ended up making for Allura. It was the least he could do, after all. Living on the farm was great, not to get him wrong, but at the same time? He didn’t exactly feel like a paladin.

Lance leaned against the wall, watching with an amused glint in his eye as Shiro and his new husband talked to everyone there. Lance himself was currently in the middle of telling an exaggerated story about Kaltenecker escaping on the farm to Pidge and Matt. It was nice to at least see everyone again. Pidge, Hunk, Shiro, of course, and definitely Keith. Speaking of which, his eyes scanned over the crowd and he didn’t see even a hint of the darker haired former paladin. He furrowed his brows, now intent on making sure he didn’t leave already. Seeing as Shiro made him the best man, Lance sincerely doubted he would’ve just up and left. A familiar glimpse of mullet was what had the brunet relieved, then glancing to the crowd. Of course, he recognized him to be more in the less busy side, where Hunk stood talking to Shay, and Veronica stood next to them with the most interested look on her face.

He could afford a quick break away. Being an entertainer was more than enough stress for him. He adjusted his suit subconsciously, just ignoring the fact he was only stepping away from his dance pad to see Keith. Not anyone special, definitely not someone who hadn’t seen him in terrible conditions. He ran a hand through his slightly curled hair, pushing past the familiar people he knew. It was refreshing to not feel everyone’s hot breath in one area, not to mention the crowded dancing of everyone who didn’t dance like an angel— AKA, everyone but Lance.

Content with that, he found himself sidled up next to Keith, arms crossed lazily over his chest. “Hey,” his eyes glinted with pure amusement, almost mischief. “Not gonna break a move? I’d like to see you on the dance floor.” He snickered, elbowing the other slightly.

2. Things weren’t going the greatest. Shiro was captured, left probably into the clutches of the Galra. First, the Paladins were stuck in quite the hole; they couldn’t form Voltron.

They needed a black paladin, a leader, someone who they could rely on for an idea. It was practically deja vu when everyone was in front of the black mech, staring at it, intimidated. Allura tried first, to which Lance encouraged her, but it didn’t work. Despite her father’s creation of it all, clearly, she wasn’t one to lead.

Hunk, Pidge, they both tried it, yet to no avail. Keith had quite promptly refused to try out, and Lance had laugh that off, as if it were a challenge for him to go first. The real challenge lied *inside* the Lion. He entered with a breezy hum to his undertone, gloves finger tips sliding across the fabric of the pilot seat. Oddly enough, he felt a little less like he could connect with his lion today. As if she were shutting him out.

Really, Lance hadn’t thought much of it. The inside was dark, unlit, creepy as ever. “It’s like a ghost town in here.” He murmured, of course to himself. Finally, he stopped fooling around, settling into the seat of it all. Still, nothing. He let out a huff, placing both hands near the controls. Of course it wouldn’t work, why would it? He wasn’t— well, maybe he was. The dead inside lit up a hue of purple, illuminating his face a mixture of shadows and violet, jaw dropping nearly to the floor. His eyes widened drastically as well, pressing his lips in a flat line.

This really was the choice?

Lance pushed himself out of the chair, tense, almost afraid to leave the cockpit. Still, clenching his fists, he braved a smile and exited out of the open jaw of black, looking to the awestruck paladin’s. Hell, Keith would probably be mad. This was Shiro’s Lion, and Lance definitely wasn’t that close to him. Voltron made its choice, he supposed, crossing his arms with a nervous laugh. “Well... Keith, you wanna try?” He asked nonetheless, eyes landing on the red paladin. “Maybe the sensors are off.” He suggested lamely.

3. Lance really didn’t like Lotor. To say the least, he liked him a lot less than he liked Keith. Which, wasn’t saying much because he actually... really liked keith. Anyways, that’s besides the point.

This mess of quintessence, Zarkon, rebelling, taking the Galra over— it was a lot in his head. It was probably even worse for Shiro, the head of them all. Of course, he seemed a little off lately, but it wasn’t like Lance really had the courage or evidence to bring it up. The alpha had gotten snappy lately, to anyone. Lance wasn’t about to get the brunt of that too.

Nonetheless, things were going alright. Lotor was helping them through (more so Allura), Shiro was making plans, and Keith had discovered his true heritage. Allura was pissed beyond belief at their current black paladin, but Lance didn’t understand why— it wasn’t his fault. No one could control their heritage, for fucks sake. For once, he took Keith’s side on this. Not to mention he was seeing less and less of the hotheaded paladin.

It was late in the day, early in the day, hell it didn’t even look like day since they were floating in space. Lance had been comfortably lounging around on the couch, watching over Pidge’s shoulder in complete boredom of her constant tapping. He was definitely about the go insane. Huffing, he gained the brilliant idea to find Keith. First, he checked the training room; nope. Then, he meandered through the halls just on case, before his feet dragged him to the doors that he knew lead to Keith’s room. He clenched a fist and rose it upwards, knocking on the door and quirking a brow as he listened closely.

“Keith? It’s Lance,” Lance greeted, hurriedly adding on before he was told to leave. “Just wanted to talk. I’ve... been thinking I’m about to explode if I hear another one of Hunk’s rants about specific cooking techniques.”

4. Lance wasn’t jealous. Of course he wasn’t. Why would he envy the asshole king of all assholes at the Garrison? He didn’t. He hated him. Every bit of praise that he saw Keith get was line stepping on glass for Lance. He stood in his spot as Iverson judged the flying simulation, and Lance was practically boiling.

There was no way he should still be making it this far! This guy was impulsive, hot headed, and a dick.

Hunk lightly nudged Lance’s shoulder, snapping him out his irritated daze. His blue eyes shot over to his friend, and was meant with a ‘chill the fuck out’ look. Sheepishly, he grinned, turning ahead more eagerly when he saw Iverson stepping in to give his feedback. He listened closely, but he could barely hear what he said. Even more irritating. Lance eyed Keith simply as he got back in line, and the rest of the cadets were pushed up after that.

Lance did alright... unfortunately, not as good as Keith. He was agile, yes, but the constant firing of ships had him overwhelmed. He’d dived down among the simulated stars, trying to throw off the balance of the beams that shot towards. A cocky smirk slipped across his lips, and just as he pushed the ship forward, everything cut off. He slumped back into his seat with a frown, dreading to turn around and meet Iverson’s gaze.

It was already unamused, and the Commander shook his head. “Control your ship.” He said simply, and Lance pushed himself to stand, brushing past their instructor and stepping back in line. He couldn’t have been the one to do the worst, right?

Waiting up for Pidge and Hunk, he huffed, glad to hear the bell for lunch. Lance didn’t think he could stand looking at Iverson’s wrinkly, one eyed face. “Okay, granted, you aren’t a cargo pilot anymore,” Pidge was already sidled up beside him, Hunk on the other side as they walked through the halls towards the cafeteria. “But you seriously need to stop flirting with half the girls in this school and work on your piloting.”

Lance shot her a glare, muttering something indistinctly about how he didn’t even succeed anyway. “What else am I supposed to do?” He asked, knitting his brows together in genuine thought.

“Here’s an idea; get some help.” Pidge more sarcastically replied, warning an eye roll from Lance.

“Easier said then done.” He grumbled, grabbing a tray and hopping in line, taking the pathetic excuse for food and letting it be dumped on his plate. His eyes shifted over to where he thought he saw Keith, just faintly. Maybe... this whole tutoring thing wasn’t such a bad idea. Sure, he doubted he could stand much more than an hour with the insufferable, well trained pilot, but it was worth a shot. Hunk was already grinning knowingly at him, the trio settling at a table. With an exasperated sigh, he stayed standing, grabbing his tray and looking narrowly at his two friends, as if they betrayed him. “I’ll be back. Hopefully.” He mumbled, with a little laugh, and soon enough he was sitting right beside the asshole himself; Keith Kogane.

“Hey, Kogane.” Lance greeted smoothly, lips quirking up into a charming grin. Friends close, enemies closer. He slapped a hand on Keith’s back, as if they were friends beforehand. Lance nearly shuddered at the thought. “You know, I’m a pretty good pilot. You’re decent too. I bet we could make a great team and give each other some good flying tips.”

5. They had planned this. They’d gone over this a hundred times, even Shiro. Allura had even confirmed that Lance’s idea was pretty solid. Of course, Keith wasn’t enthused with the idea of having him for a partner- all the guy did was joke and laugh it off. Then again, as he thought, he was serious person. He knew what to do, and he was his right hand. The best he could ask for. Also the best sharpshooter he could ask for.

A grunt passed by his lips as the cool, metal material of his bayard sword sliced through a Galran body. They crumpled to the ground, and he didn’t get much more of a reaction to feel another blade grazing the small of his back. The one dammed place he didn’t have an armor plate. He growled lowly in frustration in pain, spinning on his heels to wham his sword back into the enemy who had hit him like that. He could feel the bloody heat trickling down his backside, but he couldn’t dwell on it. He skidded his feet across the floor as he dodged a couple shots, sighing in relief at Lance’s save. He had really saved his ass too many times.

Keith knew he was right. They had no chance of getting out of there alive- it seemed that Zarkon had an unlimited supply. He swore audibly, glancing out the large, thick glassed windows. At least the alien prisoners had escaped.

“Lance, I—“ he didn’t get to continue because he was promptly yanked into an escape pod, thudding against the metal wall with a grunt. He winced, sliding his hand back to feel his back. Pulling it forward, his gloved hand was dripping with blood.

Violet eyes shot over to Lance, darting down to his injury. He couldn’t exactly slump back, but he knew they both really needed to get back to Voltron. The jolt of the pod had the back of his head slamming against the side, letting a soft ‘ow’ emit as he glared out the small window. “Hold on!” He finally got out.

His gut twisted into something terrible. This was quite possibly the worst situation he could’ve been in. The pod was spiraling downward at an alarmingly fast rate, and before he knew it, they were slamming into a planet river, the momentum from the crash carrying them forward to the land beside the riverbed, more sturdy luckily. Everything in his body ached. Head to toe, his muscles were tensed, and he could only imagine how bad his- well, probably both of theirs -concussion was. Not to mention the wounds... and the fact they fucking stranded on another planet.

Blinking away the dizziness, Keith groaned quietly, raising his index finger to press into the comms. “Voltron? Voltron, we crashed-“ nothing on the other side. “Dammit.” He slammed a fist against the seat of the pod, sliding his helmet off. Reaching forward, he gripped the handle tightly, pushing it forward to open the pod. The air was breathable, at least.

Keith shakily stepped outside, gripping onto the top of the sideways pod. “Lance...” he breathed worriedly, turning his head quickly which ended up in another spell of dizziness. “You okay? Please tell me you’re still alive.”

I have more, just ask!

[49scribes-archive]

It Was So Real [Archive]

{--hcllion--}

{ ⚜ } – @49scribes

With a click and momentary lapse of static, a transmission came to life, a distorted baritone hurriedly requesting confirmation of something clearly vital over the line. The abrupt cut in the connection signaling the end of the inquiry, however, wasn’t met with the same urgency on the other end. No verbal response accompanied the quiet echo of footsteps over linoleum, and even a second prompting didn’t accomplish anything by way of provoking a reply, not until a cold thumb gently uplifted a droopy eyelid to compel the redhead on the hospital bed to groan and roll away from the contact, away from the glaring lights of the operating room, a reaction Kisaragi had been waiting for since about six hours prior.      

Full lips found the metallic edge of her radio transmitter, stretching into a feral grin.

❝I owe you a twenty. Over.❞

Admittedly, Yuffie bet as much on the boy she dragged out of Deepground’s catacombs, the same boy currently shying away from his surroundings, not making the night, but only because he was blue when she found him. Naturally, Reeve, ever the humanitarian and optimist, begged to differ with her assessment of the odds, and he steadfastly maintained that the green-eyed wonder would persevere. It turned out, the commissioner was right, but in this case, Kisaragi wasn’t loathe to concede defeat.

Even so, though clearly still breathing, the redhead wasn’t out of the woods just yet. The sluggish lilt to his movements coupled with the confusion of the attending surgeons over what exactly was causing his not quite coma didn’t exactly spell out a happy ending. On the other hand, the no gaping wounds thing and the slowly returning lucidity affair didn’t exactly equate to certain doom either, so it was probably a bit too early to go picking coffin colors.

Those would hopefully stay out of the near future, but as for right now, well, the ninja was quickly growing concerned over her ward’s reaction to the lamps overhead. He may have winced away from the harsh lighting initially, but the longer he was exposed to the fluorescence, the more violent his dislike for it seemed to become. The young man’s one visible eye, the other safely hidden under an impenetrable layer of cotton and gauze, remained so convulsively tight shut, Yuffie had to wonder in just how much pain the stranger was.

Fortunately, tracking the source of his discomfort was easy business, and the brunette was quickly led by her deductions to the light switch, which she flipped with little thought, plunging the room into inky darkness. Impulsive to the maximum, Kisaragi didn’t stop to consider how little she’d initially be able to see once the lamps shut off, but the thought weaseled its way into the girl’s consciousness once her eyes were rendered useless. It occurred to her then that the redhead would likely be better able to follow her movements than she his, at least for a time, at least while she adjusted, but the fact didn’t make the prospect of letting him continue suffering in the light any more appealing.

Yuffie left the far wall of the room, taking a few searching steps in the direction of her ward’s bed, calmed, somehow, by his shallow, panting breaths, much less alarming as compared to the jerky inhalations he was taking while the room was illuminated.

❝How we feelin’, Red? Better?❞

{--49scribes--}

                                     🐰 [[[♠] ⅩℒⅠⅩ [♥]]] 🐰

Waking is not usually an unpleasant affair for Lavi. If anything, the worst part of waking is normally deciding he hasn’t had enough and going back to sleep, which is barely worth even noticing really, except for the fact he rarely sleeps enough, at least on missions.

Then again, he seldom ever wakes up to glaring bright lights in his face, which definitely makes the act of sleeping both a bit more difficult and definitely unpleasant, squinting his eye shut as soon as its opened.

It hardly helps. The lights are just too damn bright, and he can still see them past his eyelids, and he squints his eyes shut so tight a small ache starts to form behind his temples, and he turns and tries to bury his face into something light-blocking in rebellion of the invasive glare.

Its an astounding relief to have those damn lights turn off. Apparently someone caught the hint, and he can only be grateful for that, breathing that he hadn’t quite realized had hitched starting to even out again.

He hears movement nearby, of shuffling and the light bump of feeling around things in the dark. He finally allowed an eye to flutter open, though there was little point to it with nothing to see by, barely able to tell if his eyes were truly open or closed.

One thing he did know, as he was addressed by a voice that he did not recognize at all, was that something was wrong.

Exactly how so, he couldn’t quite pin down. Not like a threat, per se. More just that his senses were… convoluted? Different? Off?

Things didn’t sound exactly like they were supposed to, the smell in the air had a certain sharpness to it that was foreign to him, and he had no idea what that taste was in his mouth but he didn’t like it, running his tongue against his teeth, which also gave off a strange sensation that wasn’t quite right.

And he felt weak. Deep fatigue in his limbs and mind that made it hard to move, but oddly lacking any signs of physical pain he would normally expect… like maybe if he’d lost a lot of blood. It certainly felt cold enough.

Habit of course has him fingering for his hammer at his thigh, finding nothing – literally nothing besides a thin sheet and bare flesh – and going still with a sense of dread. While he went most of his life without Innocence, he’s grown rather fond and dependent on his weapon, and feels wrong without it. More than that, he feels vulnerable, and not just for the fact of being naked, though that raises some questions of its own.

This better not be another fucked up dreamscape thing.

Had he been fighting Road? Or one of the other Noah? Was it an Akuma? No one at the Order called him “Red”, and it didn’t sound like a nurse, and the odd way in which he awoke set off little alarms in his head to be wary.

Even opening his jaw felt strange, and difficult, and the words came out as a hoarse rasp that he didn’t think even sounded like himself, catching himself off-guard.

❝  Whhoo’s t'ere? Wh're ’m I?  ❞

{--hcllion--}

The redhead’s raspy attempts at communication made it quickly apparent that the crash course on bedside manner that Kisaragi never quite finished was going to become a little too relevant for her liking. Near unable to show more delicacy than strictly necessary for the sake of decorum, the ninja sure as hell didn’t make for the best first face that Experiment D1LV7 would see upon waking. This was precisely why she pushed to wash her hands of the entire ordeal the moment she delivered her ward to Headquarters, but Reeve’s absence made it difficult for a department head, a title Yuffie wasn’t even aware she held until her identification card was printed all of two days ago, to sneak off à la English exit style.  

It crossed the brunette’s mind briefly to call for a doctor or nurse, surely more adequately trained to handle the situation without traumatizing the poor boy further, but the noise out in the hall kept her from following through.

Deepground’s base, or what remained of it under the rubble of the old Midgar, was a more expansive location than anyone anticipated. Along with the sensory deprivation tank in which Kisaragi discovered the redhead, prisoners were retrieved from the deeper reaches of the catacombs. Most of them were well on their way into their graves, but hope is an incessant thing, and if the medical staff hoped to save even a few of those unlucky bastards, then she would have to field this green-eyed curve ball on her own best she could.

❝You’re in the Hospital Wing of the WRO.❞

That seemed safe enough to say, right? Hardly anyone didn’t know about the World Regenesis Organization, though that was mostly due to the funds it threw at any and every charity that rose up in the wake of the Meteor Crisis. On the other hand, depending on how long ago the redhead was misappropriated for Deepground’s purposes, there was a good chance he wasn’t ever aware that the Meteor Crisis had happened.    

Stiffly clearing her throat, Yuffie dropped that line of thought, resuming her unsteady progress towards the young man’s bed.

❝And as for me, the name’s Kisaragi. Kisaragi, Yuffie. In case y’didn’t know, I’m the greatest ninja ever.❞

The boast left her lips easily enough, a simple way to lighten a heavy conversation, but the bang that followed it wasn’t quite as calculated. The brunette’s two-sizes-too-large boots caught on the edge of her ward’s bed in the dark, sending the girl careening forward into the uncomfortable seat by the headboard, elbows and forearms hitting the wooden chair hard enough to pulse.

That’s right. Eat your heart out.

Sluggishly, the young woman pulled herself up into a position somewhat recognizable as sitting, large hazel eyes unseeingly turning towards her companion’s silhouette. As much as she would have liked to say that the whole show was nothing short of a masterfully comedic performance, that definitely wasn’t the case. Then again, if her bruised elbows achieved the effect of reducing her next question’s gravity, Kisaragi wasn’t going to complain. Much.

❝D’you remember your name?❞

There wasn’t an ounce of emotion, good or bad, accompanying the inquiry. The few files that the brunette managed to retrieve with her ward did suggest a specific name, but experience dictated that not everything written in official logs could be trusted. Either way, something told Yuffie that this matter wasn’t going to wrap itself up as neatly as Reeve had hoped.

Gaze dipping until it met one green hue, the young woman leaned forward in hopes of discerning a reaction from within the pool of shadows wandering the redhead’s features, face set in an expression unusually serious behind a mess of heavy bangs and raven strands that fell against pale cheeks.

{--49scribes--}

                                   🐰 [[[♠] ⅩℒⅠⅩ [♥]]] 🐰

Its undeniable that his mind is quietly panicking, desperately hunting for clues as to Where, When, How, and most importantly Why. Finding answers fast is made a bit harder due to how sluggish he feels, body and mind not responding how he thinks it should, but he’s trying not to let any of that be too apparent.

Its not entirely unfamiliar, but its not a place he likes to be. He’s had missteps, and injuries, and knock-outs where he woke up somewhere he didn’t know, in the company of people whose intents weren’t immediately clear. The battlefield is a dangerous place. Things like getting thrown by an explosion and waking up with a concussion among the wrong side weren’t entirely unheard of. He had just been lucky that he’d woken up amongst soldiers who didn’t fancy murdering a wounded child.

His mind immediately skips to wondering about injury. Nothing especially hurts, like a broken limb or a gash, but fingers subtly trace for something he might be missing, considering the possibility of pain killers or some other numbing agent, but there’s not much to find. He still doesn’t discount the possibility of a head injury or something beneath the surface.

He doesn’t find much need to ask for an explanation of Where, at least. “Medical Wing” at least reinforces the idea of having been injured or knocked out at some point, somehow. Less helpful is “WRO”, the acronym that he figures it to be doing nothing in terms of summoning even a spark of recognition.

Far be it from the first time he ended up amongst a group he didn’t know, if he had to take a shot in the dark, probably some kind of militia group. There were enough cultures and wars going on in the world that every so often he did stumble upon people and causes he never knew existed, much as he likes to boast Bookmen specialize in knowing all of the secret happenings and history of the world.

All of it he listens with a mostly-clear head, letting the girl do most of the talking and sifting through the information, not trusting his shaky throat to speak until he has something important to add. What finally puts his guard up more fully is when the girl gives the name Kisaragi.

It doesn’t mean anything, personally, but its a name that sounds definitely Japanese, and if there’s one thing he knows of Japan without doubt, its that the Earl has a very, very strong presence, considering most of its population is overrun by Akuma.

That leads his mind to jump immediately into two most likely possibilities by simple process of elimination: either he’s in the hands of Akuma who don’t think he’ll know or be reasonably wary of, or he’s, quite possibly, among what little of the human population exists. That he isn’t yet dead makes a human presence more likely, but–

It hits him like a flash, that mission in the East with Bookman and Chaoji, fighting that Noah with the weird tongue full of eyes. Outside, he’d come out just fine, but inside, infected with that thing’s parasites, he’d felt like he was dying. His mind quickly tries to scramble to put the pieces together, to patchwork hazy recollections of being amongst the Noah and trusting Bookman to find some solution to their problem, as the old man always does.

It leads into another question that doesn’t help matters, that being Where IS Bookman?, and it doesn’t help his state of mind already trying to make sense of his current predicament.

Calm down, he bids himself. Breathe. Don’t panic, just breathe and think.

This could always be Road’s doing, but… there was something important that suggests otherwise. What was it? Think.

Road’s dream broke, and she vanished. Then Sheryl–

Right. Sheryl. The bastard that threw him against the wall and nearly did him in. Apparently that failed, but what came after that? Beyond that, its a haze, and trying to force his thoughts through like normal feels like running into a wall and forces him to leave it for now.

So the next matter of business is who he’s amongst. Akuma? Noah? Human?

If its human, and they aren’t with the Order, maybe, possibly, they could be what remains of Japan’s population. Most other places, humans go about their daily lives blissfully unaware of Akuma, until recently, but Japan is a hive of them. Surely the people would know, and maybe even try to form their own means of combating the Akuma that exist there. So maybe that’s what the WRO is, though what it stands for, he’s still not sure. If that be the case, there’s the possibility they might think he is an Akuma as well, which would make things tense for them.

The one hitch in this train of logic is that he’s not having to interpret or speak Japanese… which repeatedly keeps trying to trip him and derail any semblance of conclusion that at first glance appears like it might make sense.

Lost in spiraling thoughts, he barely notices the trip and bang of her falling, and only barely catches the question for a name, which leads into another process of thinking what he should say. He assumes, anyway, that this current Name must still be “Lavi”, but he hasn’t left the possibilities of present company being the enemy, and wonders if its a test. Maybe he isn’t meant to remember. Maybe they did something to him.

He considers saying “Lavi”, but he could always simplify it down to “Junior Bookman”. Maybe its best he use neither until he gets a clearer picture, just to be safe. He’d really rather not be thrown into another wall.

It would be great to have his weapon back too, but to ask for it would be to possibly give away that he remembers more than he’s letting on, at least at first. He can always feign it coming back to him later if he needs to.

Dismally, he shook his head much as he could manage, trying to find words to add. Maybe he can try testing them himself and see where that gets him.

❝  …ca’nt r’call… y’u know i’ tt?  ❞

[colonialcolone]

Lasting Impressions, Part One

My old friend Johnny Hamlin recently posed the challenge to list ten albums that made a lasting impression on you as a teenager. The challenge? Try not to think too hard about the task at hand and list only one album per band/artist. Without further ado, here is part one of my list, covering ten albums I heard between 1993-1996 (eighth through tenth grades).

THIRTEEN: ‘93-’94

Pearl Jam “VS.” (released October 19, 1993). Though I was already familiar with PJ, having received their debut Ten on cassette in 1991, Vs. set afire an unbridled passion for this band that continues to this day. This set the record for the most copies of an album in its first week and was a huge step forward -- both musically and lyrically. I had a promo poster for this release with a negative space photo of Eddie Vedder performing live with the band -- it graced my wall in high school and college until it would hang no more; the borders long since eroded from years of hanging and re-hanging from paint to concrete block to bulletin board.

Dr. Dre “The Chronic” (released December 15, 1992). I only had this record because of my older brothers, one of whom was an avid listener of “gangster rap.” Oh the genres we assigned... This was a smack in the face -- the stories, language, and rhymes were unlike anything I had ever heard. My brothers liked it, so it had to be good! The ferocity of the language throughout this record is more than a little influential (for better or worse) on the more colorful “adult” language in my repertoire to this day. That is a direct result of listening to this album on headphones over and over. Besides, I cannot imagine my mom’s reaction had I listened to this over the speakers!

Helmet “Meantime” (released June 23, 1992). I didn’t hear this record until 8th grade and looking back, it was quite a kick in the teeth. I guess you could classify these New York stalwarts as “alternative metal” but that does not seem to do this masterpiece any justice. It is noisy, chunky, “heavy” music with a backbone that sounded nothing like the hair metal that dominated the radio airwaves in the early 90′s. The riffage on ‘In the Meantime’ is crucial. Page Hamilton (the only original member still involved with current-day Helmet) sounded so angry! There was some serious Black Sabbath worship when Page yelled “ironhead!” near the end of that second song. Though I didn’t know it at the time, this could have been my gateway to hardcore music, though Sick of it All and -- much later -- Refused opened my ears to many more awesome bands...

Sepultura “Chaos A.D.” (released October 19, 1993). I purchased this record solely on the strength of its cover. “What the hell is going on in that drawing?” I thought, as I strolled the small aisles of the only record store I knew at the time -- Karma. “I bet this is something I should not be listening to...” ...so I bought it. Karma Records was about a 20 minute bike ride down Union Street to Westfield Boulevard, then through Cool Creek Park to the Village Park Shopping Center. I made the ride at least once every two weeks to buy new music, which explains where all of the money went that I made from delivering newspapers. These guys were from Brazil! They had long hair, but didn’t play butt metal! The photos and the artwork inside were insidious and controversial (for an 8th grader). Look, the heaviest record I’d heard to this point was probably Metallica’s Ride the Lightning or And Justice For All, so to hear this Brazilian thrash metal was a whole new experience. These guys became a staple on a radio show I ran for two years later on in high school.

Soundgarden “Superunknown” (released March 8, 1994). I am confident my early love for all things Seattle and grunge had everything to do with Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, and this band. Badmotorfinger (1992) was not exactly accessible to a middle-schooler, but this album, released about five months before I started high school, was all the rage thanks to the strength of lead single “Black Hole Sun,” whose video graced MTV’s 120 Minutes (thank you Lewis Largent, and later, Matt Pinfield) and Alternative Nation, later exploded into the daytime rotation. The tracks that resonate with me are still ‘My Wave’ and ‘Head Down.’ This is mid-90′s grunge at its finest.

FOURTEEN: ‘94-’95

Slayer “Divine Intervention” (released September 27, 1994). I admit I am not as crucial as many of my metal-head friends who cut their teeth on Reign in Blood, South of Heaven or Seasons in the Abyss, but Divine Intervention was my introduction to thrash metal kings SLAYER. Look at that cover! The giant PARENTAL ADVISORY EXPLICIT CONTENT sticker probably stood out more so than did the weird skull and skeleton artwork. Rock Video Monthly featured the music video for the song ‘Dittohead’ and I bought the record shortly after burning up the rewind button on my VCR to watch the video over and over. This is not the best Slayer release, but it made the biggest impression at the time on a kid starting high school. I have yet to see Slayer perform live, still believing that even in my mid-30s I would die at one of their shows, this after hearing countless stories -- no doubt highly exaggerated -- about the brutality of the live crowds. If the crowds were anything like the video mentioned above, I should probably expect a lot of circle pits, chairs and hammers being thrown through panes of glass, and fists flying everywhere! Rest in Power, Jeff Hanneman.

Nine Inch Nails “The Downward Spiral” (released March 8, 1994). “Head Like a Hole” from the first NIN full length release had been burning up alternative radio airwaves for nearly five years, and even though I already had that record, The Downward Spiral stuck in my mind as more influential. This was definitely another “headphones only” release, especially after hearing Trent Reznor scream “God is dead...and no one cares!” on the song ‘Heresy.’ Yeah, this was not one to play around the parents. The video of their live performance of ‘Closer’ at Woodstock ‘94 is, to me, still the stuff of nightmares  -- Reznor coated in mud, synthesizers being played to the point of destruction -- but for me the songs that packed the most punch were ‘March of the Pigs’ and ‘The Becoming.’ The whole album shifts and morphs from aggressive to haunting to beautiful, yet is buried under the foreboding weight of Reznor’s subconscious; it still holds up over twenty years later.

Sick Of It All “Scratch The Surface” (released 1994). For a city kid transplanted to the suburbs north of Indianapolis, getting access to underground music in the pre-”Internet in every home” era was a near impossible task. You had to hope for an older friend with a car or someone who knew of a cool record store or a show in a basement or garage where one could be exposed to new sounds, people, and experiences. It could have been worse -- I could have been born or raised in nowhere Kansas or upper North Dakota! Enter Rock Video Monthly. I have them to thank for a welcome introduction to many of the bands who eventually led to my introduction to punk and hardcore music. Sick of it All were -- at the time -- brutal, uncompromising, New York City hardcore. This release, while admittedly not their best, struck a chord with me. I finally got to see them in late 1999 when they headlined a show at the Emerson Theater in Indianapolis. Their set was incredible, it was my first time in a TRUE circle pit, and to date it remains one of my fondest live show memories.

FIFTEEN: ‘95-’96

Quicksand “Manic Compression” (released February 28, 1995). I did not pick this up until over a year after its release, well after the first single ‘Thorn in My Side’ received heavy airplay. I have no idea what the radio station plays now, but WRZX 103.3FM (X103) was THE alternative station for Indianapolis and surrounding areas. At least until they started playing Creed. Quicksand, a group of ex-hardcore stalwarts (Gorilla Biscuits, Bold, Beyond, Youth of Today) branched out from their previous bands with short, clipped songs held together by chunky bass and nearly torn apart by the abrupt, sharp guitar work. ‘Backward’ and ‘Delusional’ are personal favorites here. Quicksand were way ahead of their time on this dark, almost depressing, release and it is a shame they were not properly recognized during their heyday.

Deftones “Adrenaline” (released October 3, 1995). Don’t let me fool you; I listened to a lot of bad music in high school, too (read: nu-metal). Deftones were lumped into that genre -- which now seems unfair given their longevity and how their sound has evolved -- at the same time Korn was getting bigger. Adrenaline was raw and had little focus, even if you were patient to listen past the last track for the “hidden” song. I had this on CD and a dubbed cassette copy, which later became stuck in my car’s tape player. For three months (right before I upgraded to a CD changer) this played seemingly every time I got in the car. I can still remember Scott Bender exclaiming (jokingly) “Dude, can we listen to something OTHER than Deftones?!?!” I have stuck with this band for over twenty years. I can remember being genuinely disappointed I had to bail on a trip to Cleveland to see them at Warped Tour ‘98. Looking back, that was probably a good decision!

/End part one.