#any questions regarding them would be swell to answer if anyone has anything to ask about em!

[the-bugsnax-journalists]

Finally got around to finishing this guy!

A grumpling adopted by the Journalist themselves after the events of Snaktooth, although their job tends to keep them away from them, they still love them dearly but make sure at least one of the others can look after him as he goes on his day job.

Taty Pepperlot is an aspiring adventurer, much like how his dad was a few years ago on the island! Nobody really wants to share what was on it though... But the thoughts quickly fade with his outgoing ideas! Which may lead to a broken bone if not watched- who's in charge of watching them again--

[tennessoui]

You know one of my favorite Star Wars fic tropes? Evil, feral Anakin being horribly mistreated his whole life and hurt, and then being comforted and nursed back to health by Obi-Wan. And instantly imprinting on him, like, in a "I will kill anyone for you" way. Could be any Obi-Wan! Nice Obi-Wan for that sweet sweet hurt/comfort and kisses and turning Anakin from his murderous ways with the power of kindness! Evil Obi-Wan for sweet double trouble action and delicious obsession with each other!!

this is also one of my favorite star wars tropes!!! i love a needlessly protective and feral Anakin who distrusts everyone except for Obi-Wan.

unfortunately. um. this went a little sideways. and there is no being nursed back to health. but there's some delicious obsession and protectiveness and also future mutual obsession so i'm counting the prompt fill as like 3.5 out of 5 stars for following the prompt, which is. let's be honest, higher than most of my prompt fills. this is a bit dark and contains references to mind tricks, but there is no sex or kissing that could be construed as dub con. just like. dub con emotions i guess

(2.2k)

Quinlan has that look in his eyes, as if he’s about to say something that he knows Obi-Wan won’t like.

Carefully, Obi-Wan puts down his cup of tea and laces together his fingers in his lap. He can already feel a seed of anger blooming inside of him. Since Anakin has re-entered his life and the Temple, he’s found that this deep, swirling rage is harder to give to the Force. And easier to feel at a moment’s notice.

Like almost all the differences in his life now, this can be put on Anakin through no fault of the boy’s own.

After all, Obi-Wan thinks to himself, it is much easier to feel this sort of fury at the galaxy’s injustices when living with someone who has suffered most all of the most grievous kinds.

“Just say it, Quinlan.” Obi-Wan says.

Vos clears his throat. “Where is...your charge?”

“My charge,” he repeats, unimpressed. “You know his name.”

“I know both of his names,” Quinlan fires back. “Does he prefer Anakin or Vader?”

The anger inside of him grows larger at the mention of Vader. As if Anakin would ever prefer the name Sidious gave to him. As if he had chosen it for himself.

As if the Jedi had played no part in the birth of Vader.

“Anakin is asleep,” is all Obi-Wan says.

Quinlan makes a show of peering down the hallway of Obi-Wan’s quarters to the two closed bedroom doors. “In whose bed?”

His hands tighten into fists beneath the table. “That is a bold accusation to make.”

“Why?” his old friend’s posture is forcibly casual, slumped in his seat and hand loosely wrapped around his cup. Obi-Wan wonders if this is how he looks when he’s undercover on missions. The thought settles heavily into his stomach and makes him sit up straighter. If this is a mission to Quinlan Vos, then what is his objective? What does he want with Obi-Wan?

With Anakin?

“The boy’s legally allowed to spread his legs for anyone he wants, Obi-Wan. He's nineteen and everything.”

Obi-Wan can feel his teeth grind together. The fury in his chest is building at an alarmingly fast rate. The thought of anyone touching Anakin like that when the boy’s so obviously traumatized and in need of a tender hand--if he were a lesser Jedi, he’d snarl at Vos to leave.

“Any consent Anakin offers anyone would be dubious at best,” he snaps. “He is nineteen, but he has spent the past ten years of his life being tortured and enslaved by Darth Sidious.”

Quinlan narrows his eyes and looks over Obi-Wan’s face. “That’s not your fault,” he finally says quietly, leaning forward as if to grip his arm before he thinks better of it. “Obi-Wan, listen to me. What happened to Anakin is tragic. Awful. Despicable. But it is not your fault.”

Obi-Wan looks away, his jaw clenched tightly before he forces himself to relax. “I only blame myself for not verifying what I was told.”

“Do you blame the Jedi Council then? For sending the boy away?”

“My master begged me to train the boy, Vos. And while I was in the Halls of Healing, they sent him back to Tatooine. And no one ever checked to make sure he got there. Sidious grabbed him because we--because they allowed him to. And then spent ten years torturing and breaking down a child right under our very noses! Who would you blame, Vos?”

“Sidious,” the other man answers easily. “The Council had no way of knowing that Sidious even knew about the boy, that he was in any danger at all--”

“He was nine!” Obi-Wan roars, slamming a fist on the table, unable to swallow the dark, heavy fury anymore. “He was a child. A slave! They were going to send him back there!”

“To his mother!”

“To his chains,” Obi-Wan corrects fiercely.

Vos purses his lips and crosses his arms. “He is not a child anymore, Obi-Wan. He’s a killer. He’s dangerous. It’s worrying to me that you can’t see it. Or don’t want to see it.”

Obi-Wan wants to scoff. Anakin Skywalker is not dangerous. The boy gets night terrors, begs to be let into Obi-Wan’s bed, and can only sleep if he’s being cuddled up against his chest. He holds his blasted hand in public because he’s terrified of being separated from Obi-Wan again. He’s refused to even touch his lightsaber since the first night Obi-Wan stumbled upon him, bleeding in one of the lower levels of Coruscant. There are some days he won’t even let Obi-Wan touch him to hold him, and he shakes apart in the shadowy corner of his closet, reliving traumas Obi-Wan can’t help him with.

Dangerous. Dangerous.

“No, Obi-Wan, come on. You have to see. The boy’s turning you against the Jedi, against the Council!” “He doesn't need to," Obi-Wan says coldly. "The Jedi seem to be doing a fine job of that themselve."

“That's what I'm talking about!” Vos exclaims, waving an incensed hand. “The Obi-Wan Kenobi I knew would never say that! He would never think a bad thing about the Order, let alone say it! Let alone threaten to leave in the middle of a war if the Council didn’t grant him permission to keep the boy in his rooms! People talk, Obi-Wan! They’re not being kind!”

A thought bubbles up in Obi-Wan’s mind, vicious and sharp. Obi-Wan should not expect kindness from the Jedi. Not about Anakin. Everything they’ve ever done to and said about the boy proves that. Obi-Wan would have to abandon Anakin again to ensure the Council’s kindness and trust in him.

Obi-Wan would rather die than abandon the boy now when he needs him so obviously. He’d rather Fall than turn his back on Anakin, even if that’s what it took to stay in the Order.

“I think you should leave, Vos,” Obi-Wan murmurs quietly. “I think there is little left to say.”

His old friend stares at him from across the table in shock before he stands up without another word. At the door to his quarters, he freezes but doesn’t turn around. “You are attached, Obi-Wan. The Jedi Council will not stand for it. They will not allow it to continue.”

There’s something off with his voice, but Obi-Wan is too concerned with what he’s said to focus on anything else. “What do you mean?” he asks sharply, springing to his feet.

But Vos just shakes his head and leaves.

Obi-Wan collapses back into his seat as the door slides shut behind the man, his head buzzing with thoughts. That had sounded like a warning. Would the Council be so bold, so cruel, as to separate Obi-Wan and Anakin forcefully?

Yes, the thought flashes across his mind, followed by a swell of fury.

And then there’s a sleepy little questioning tug on the bond stretching between him and Anakin. His charge must have just woken up and found Obi-Wan still missing.

Obi-Wan tugs back, helpless against the urge to comfort Anakin. The bond explodes in a tidal wave of joy, the way it always does when Obi-Wan uses their illicit connection to communicate. He hadn’t in the early days, too afraid of the Council and the Code to do something so forbidden.

Now he cannot seem to muster enough regard for the Jedi to care. It is nice to feel Anakin in his mind, where he belongs. Where he’s always belonged.

---

In the bedroom that Obi-Wan keeps on insisting is not theirs, Vader allows his eyes to open as he slips out of meditation. He had been too forceful there at the end with Vos, fed him the exact words he needed him to tell his new master.

That sort of mind trick is too sloppy and easily discovered. It is much harder to trace emotional manipulation, especially over time. He’s been doing it for months now, the Jedis’ mental shields no match for his raw power trained to be sharp as a vibroblade.

It’s all just been a matter of slowly strengthening the other Jedis’ already existing mistrust and doubt about him, all the while crying to Obi-Wan about his past and his fears. It served to highlight the Jedi hypocrisy to his new master, and when he felt that first seed of anger grow in Kenobi’s mind, he encouraged it to grow faster.

The downside, of course, has been that Obi-Wan sees him as a scared child in need of protection. Vader is working on that too though, lengthening the touches they share and letting his shields fall at inopportune moments, like when he’s playing with himself in the fresher, so his master understands that Vader is capable of bringing him pleasure of all kinds.

It’s very important Obi-Wan understands that he can get everything he needs from Vader alone. There will be no one else, for either of them.

Sidious will die soon. The Jedi will die sooner. Vader and Obi-Wan can take their proper place, as Emperors of the Galaxy.

After Obi-Wan falls, of course.

It won’t take long now though.

Joy at the thought of one day looking into Obi-Wan’s golden eyes pushes Vader out of their bed and into the common area. He rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand a few times, and then it’s Anakin who’s crossing the space separating him from his master so he can settle in Obi-Wan’s lap.

Obi-Wan accepts him into his arms immediately, and Anakin has to fight the urge to smile in victory as he squirms in an attempt to get comfortable, only stopping when he’s straddling his master, sitting directly over his cock.

He wraps his arms around his master’s neck and buries his face in the juncture between his shoulder and throat.

Feeling daring, he licks slightly at the skin there, just to feel the way Obi-Wan’s hands tighten on his hips. “Missed you,” he murmurs, inhaling greedily.

Nothing in the entire universe smells as good as Obi-Wan, holds Anakin as gently as Obi-Wan, cares as much about him as Obi-Wan does.

He’d kill everyone in the galaxy for his master, if it was asked of him. He wouldn’t even think twice about it. And one day, soon, his master will feel the same.

Especially when his pesky Order has been dealt with, an execution order stamped with Sidious’ name. The only good thing his old master has ever given him.

The Jedi will die, Anakin will be blameless, and Obi-Wan will be safe from harm’s way. That’s why he’d had to push Vos so messily at the end there. Obi-Wan needs to be safe before the planned Order #66, and there’s no telling what Sidious will do now that Anakin has escaped.

“I heard voices,” he prompts, when Obi-Wan seems content to just sit silently and trace shapes on the bare skin of his back.

Obi-Wan hums. “Yes,” he admits. “An...old friend came to visit.”

Anakin bites gently at the skin of Obi-Wan’s throat and pulls back enough to make eye contact. He doesn’t know if his eyes are blue or gold right now, but either way Obi-Wan seems entranced by them. Riveted.

He pouts. “Your old friends never stay around long enough to meet me,” he says with a tremble in his voice, as if he cares about Obi-Wan’s old friends.

Obi-Wan reaches a hand up and thumbs over Anakin’s bottom lip. Anakin holds his breath. It’ll ruin everything if he sucks at it right now, despite how much he’s craving to map the whorls with his tongue.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan breathes out, and Anakin changes his grasp so he’s now holding tightly to the front of his robes. “I must tell you something you may not want to hear.”

The Dark inside of him roars and snarls at this statement. If Obi-Wan has decided to make him leave, Anakin will not go quietly. Anakin will kill the entire Jedi Order himself, until this glowing angel--so warm, so bright in the Force--only has him.

“The Council will try to take you away from me,” his master murmurs.

Anakin makes his eyes go round and wet. It’s not even that much of an act: he just has to think of Obi-Wan agreeing with his stupid Council, and suddenly he’s appropriately tearful and afraid.

“No, no, Anakin, don’t cry,” his master croons, grasping the back of his neck and touching their foreheads together. Then, in a firmer tone, he says the words Anakin has been waiting to here for months. “I will not let that happen. We must leave the Order. I’m sorry, dear one. I can only imagine how much you wanted this place to be your home.”

Anakin has to rip his head out of Obi-Wan’s grasp and bury it in his neck so his dear master can’t see his smirk. Oh, Obi-Wan. The man may never understand that the only thing Anakin wants is already holding him tightly against his chest.

But Anakin will remind him. Anakin will remind him for the rest of his life.

“When do we leave?” Anakin whimpers, wondering if he’s overdoing it slightly, but Obi-Wan’s grip on his back only tightens.

When Obi-Wan speaks, his voice doesn’t waver at all. There’s not a single shred of indecision in his force signature either. “Tonight,” his master says, brushing a barely there kiss against the crown of his head. “We leave tonight.”

Vader smiles in bliss and burrows impossibly further into his master’s arms, nipping at his master’s skin again, just because he knows he will not be pushed away. This is the safest place in the galaxy, and now it will be his forever.

Victory tastes sweet. Obi-Wan’s skin tastes even sweeter.

[thesedangeroustemptations]

Baki Boy’s and a fearless/overly-outspoken s/o

Hi y’all! This is my very first headcanon and it’s something that just came to mind while insomnia decided sleep wasn’t allowed. Some are going to have a S/O who speaks out and acts the way they do due to past feelings of restriction and inability to do so, and some are just personality traits in general so a small TW is in order I suppose. I hope you all like it! 

Baki: 

At first, he had no idea how to deal with that. He was used to Kozue who would only ever speak on her feelings when pressed for them, so when he saw his S/O immediately snap back at Yujiro for his comments and general way of being unprompted, he felt a bit of fear for their safety but also a swelling of pride began to grow in his chest. 

He knew they were free spirited and spoke their mind from the beginning, what was apart of what drew Baki to them in the first place, but in the face of The Ogre? 

He was shocked to say the least and every alarm in his head was going off to get them out of there before they ended up dead, but Yujiro simply laughed, smirked at his son and gave him a dark warning.

“Don’t let them bark harder than you can bite, that might just be what puts them down.”

The longer that they spent together, the more accustomed to their general ease with saying whatever floated through their head at the time, and lack of care for the outcome of what was said/done. 

This has lead to more than a few occasions where Baki has had to pick them up and sprint away from the situation to keep from having to beat someone’s face into an unrecognizable pulp the second an advance was made in the direction of his S/O.

He comes to appreciate their honesty and finds it easier to be around them compared to other people due to the low probability of them hiding anything from him, and it being far easier for him to tell when something is wrong.

Will ask their opinions when making big decisions because he knows they have no fear going forward in life and will tell him their exact thought process regardless of whether it fits with what he’s wanting. To them, it’s what’s best not what is wanted if you’re asking their opinion.

Would support them saying whatever is on their mind/heart, but worries for their safety when he isn’t around to watch out for them.

Loves them for them regardless of if they lack the ability to keep their feelings to themselves while Baki himself is rather reserved.

Jack:

To say he was surprised to have this tiny (anything is compared to him-) individual he hadn’t seen before snap at him for hogging the bench press during his routine workout at his favored gym would be an understatement. 

The man was an absolute giant who towered over even the tallest of men and could easily break most in half, yet here this tiny firecracker was getting angry at him. An interesting development indeed.

From then on, he set out to make it his mission to get to know this unique person. For someone to get his eye off of getting stronger and defeating his father is an award all it’s own, but for him to actively chase them was an entirely different thing. 

Does eventually win them over through a mixture of gentlemanly behavior and healthy sarcasm, while proving he’s a trustworthy person to hold their heart and guard it.

Jack found himself growing protective over them when he witnessed them exchanging heated words followed by blows over a dispute in a bar he miraculously found himself at the same time as them.

He decided that moment he was going to make them his, and he was going to keep them safe forever, especially from Yujiro. 

Hundred percent would do his best to keep them separate, but Yujiro, being Yujiro, would find a way to make his son’s life harder and intervene, belittling him in some way around his S/O and that would be the end of it. 

Jack thought he had seen them go off before? Oh, no, no. Not when it came to someone they care about deeply. They started spewing every insult they could think of at the red-headed Hanma giant, feeling not an ounce of fear in their body- that’s because all of it entered Jack’s the moment they opened their mouth.

Used every bit of endurance he built up to grab them and run as far as he could in as quick a pace as possible to get them to safety. 

Knows there’s no way he can change them, and that he wouldn’t want to. Their outspokenness was what made him fall for them after all. 

Katsumi:

This man has a thing for outspoken S/O who takes charge, he may seem like an alpha male but he would instantly fold the moment his beloved gives him the look. Is not to afraid to admit this and chalks it up to his love and respect for their opinions. 

Instantly fell for them the moment they entered Shin Shin Kai in a full-blown fit, eyes raging, nostrils slightly flaring and sights set on a member of his class. Obviously they did something wrong, but when he approached to find out exactly what was going on as any teacher would, he was instantly shut down. 

“I’m not here for you, so if you don’t want your head bit off, I’d stay the fuck out of my way”

Needless to say, he was intrigued at this type of response from someone so much smaller than him, in his own father’s dojo, and after a few more prodding questions and standing in the way of what they wanted, he got the answers he was wanting as to what was going on. 

Being the relatively peaceful guy he was, Katsumi managed to calm down the situation while somehow getting a date out of the whole scenario.

 Everyone thought he was crazy for wanting to go out with someone as outspoken and rude like that, but he saw beyond that. He could see there was someone fearless and thoughtful under there, and he wanted to see what else was buried beneath the surface. 

Man, was it worth it. They didn’t fear anything it seemed, always willing to try new activities with Katsumi and his friends, be it new roller-coaster to cliff-jumping on their days off at the ocean, it didn’t matter. They were always up for it, the acts seemingly bringing them closer each time. 

He grew to love and respect them greatly, reminding them daily how much he admires their ability to speak their mind without fear and has no issue setting anyone straight regardless of who it is.

Would never admit it to their face or out loud but he really worries about them when he’s gone, knowing that not everyone can see the kind person they are inside and could easily take their words or actions the wrong way.

One of the few who actually trains his S/O in martial arts, even just the basics, to keep themselves safe when he isn’t around. 

Doyle: 

Oh boy. 

This idiot would be voted most likely to attempt to kill his S/O for opening their mouth about how he doesn’t seem as tough as everyone is making him out to be. 

Has the hardest time out of all of the men to adapt to having a S/O who speaks whatever comes in their mind and letting him know exactly what they think of his actions, good or bad. This is not something he is used to and not being able to just leave or kill the person saying it was something that was completely new to him. 

Would be the definition of opposites attract. Doyle is known for being more reserved, keeps things to himself and generally reminds others of a cat with his observant and quiet behavior. In comes his lover who is open about her thoughts and feelings regardless of who asks, will shout and loudly express themselves when upset or frustrated, and is basically a dog personified. 

Doyle catches himself watching their surroundings more cautiously when they go out due to not knowing exactly what is going to slip out of his lovers mouth, and being fully prepared to cut the tongue out of anyone who dared breath in their direction wrong.

Eventually he learns what will set off his S/O quicker and what is the best ways to calm them down when they are feeling like they need to be heard about a certain scenario. 

He’s a very observant man, and when spending nearly everyday with a person he cares for, he will swiftly find ways to make things easier for them without their noticing. He can’t have them thinking he cares too much. 

Around the other inmates or Yujiro Hanma is the only time Doyle feels any inclination of fear, prompting a fight, flight, or freeze response to which he typically chooses the middle option with his S/O in toe. 

He would rather be viewed as a coward for fleeing with what is his than lose it because they don’t have the ability to keep their damn mouth shut for someone looking at either of them wrong. 

Would enjoy having a S/O who expresses what they’re feeling, but would hope for one who had some sentiment of common sense so he didn’t have to constantly worry. 

Retsu: 

Probably handles them the best out of all of the boys to be honest. 

Is used to hotheaded and outspoken people himself already (*cough* Katsumi *cough*), while also having been one in his past, Retsu is the most suited to dealing with their outbursts and reckless actions due to a lack of fear. 

Likely met his S/O while in Japan for the Maximum Tournament and overheard them going off in the distance about something that was a passion of theirs that they felt had been disrespected. 

Retsu could relate given his overprotective nature in regards to his Chinese Kenpo, so when he saw them chest to chest, red-faced and still going at it while showing no signs of backing down, he knew he had to step in and defuse the situation before their beautiful/handsome face was ruined over an argument.

Has no problem with letting them rant and rave about things their passionate about or that bothered them throughout the day/week that they managed to hold in for Retsu’s sake.

Expresses his feeling the easiest out of the men except for possibly a tie with Baki, so makes it known that he worries for their safety and wants them to try their best to keep it together while they’re apart, being rewarded with whatever treat they would like followed by cuddles and a venting session. 

Comes up with different means for them to let out their frustrations with the world without having to blow up on everyone/everything that upsets them; i.e. gives them swearing coloring books to create art out of every swear word/insult they could think of.

Doesn’t want his S/O to keep things inside or to change, he just simply wants them to learn there is a time and a place for going off about things you’re passionate about, but when faced with the strongest being in the world? That is not the time, and even someone like Retsu, who believed that nothing could beat Chinese Kenpo, could recognize that.  

If things ever got heated out in public and his S/O began to argue with another person, don’t think for a second that Retsu wouldn’t break a man’s jaw for talking to his love with any kind of bass in their voice.

Loves and accepts his S/O for who they are, but is likely to help try and gently mother hen them into channeling that into a healthier outcome. 

[primrose-path-of-dalliance]

jester began falling in love with caleb in episode 103.

not any earlier in my opinion, and not later, either.

there's two elements to why i believe e103 is the turning point.

(1) the first is caleb's actions and jester's responses to them during the night they all sleep by the waterfall—his support of her idea to sleep underwater, his conversation with her after her commune with artagan, and his casting of programmed illusion in the dome.

(2) the second is the way her behavior toward caleb pivots around e103. before e103 is a noticeably different beast to how she begins to treat him after e103—the attention she pays him, her efforts to hold more standout interactions with him, and a dramatic swell of emotion and thematic meaning in these scenes’ respective subtext.

the rumblecusp arc is the point in which jester’s character growth, and caleb’s efforts to unconditionally support her, really begin to shine. throughout the complex growing pains that jester and artagan's relationship was experiencing, the one person who truly takes a moment to offer her support without any agenda or judgment is caleb.

(e103, 1:22:55, bold mine)

CALEB: You okay over there?

JESTER: (tearful) Yeah, I'm fine. Just—I'm just drawing.

CALEB: Maybe didn't go as well as you were hoping?

JESTER: Um... In some ways it went better. But no.

CALEB: I can't speak for him. But you do have us.

JESTER: I know.

CALEB: So whatever you land on, Jester, we'll make it happen.

JESTER: (shaky laugh) I have to figure out what I want to land on.

CALEB: That is the, uh—sticky wicket, isn't it?

JESTER: Yeah. Everything's confusing.

CALEB: Maybe... Maybe we sleep on it, it'll make more sense in the morning.

JESTER: Yeah. Yeah. Thank you, Caleb.

CALEB: I didn't do anything.

jester confesses that her commune with artagan didn’t provide the answers she was hoping for—that he knew about the curse on the island—and caleb doesn’t remark on what that seems like. he deliberately avoids speculating on why artagan is doing these things because “he can’t speak for him.” he doesn’t assume anything about what she might choose to do and explicitly leaves that choice up to her. jester vents briefly about how difficult the choice is, and caleb offers her reassurance, a reminder that some time will make things clearer. he doesn’t suggest solutions.

unlike fjord or beau, caleb doesn’t ask her to voice outright whether artagan is being a good friend. he doesn’t continually question his character and imply any personal opinions to her or what he thinks she should do. instead, he asks whether she’s okay. he listens. and he offers unconditional support.

this is consistently the stance caleb takes in the rumblecusp arc. and it’s not discussed much, i think, exactly how monumental that was to jester.

(hold on, this is a long one.)

jester is a young woman who grew up sheltered and wants to define herself outside of that shelter. for her, this campaign has essentially been a coming-of-age journey (talks for e76-77, 14:12). she is deeply sensitive to whether or not she’s respected because she’s aware of how her personality and general lack of experience makes others think she’s naive, immature, or incapable (talks for e79, 31:51).

it’s also incredibly evident that her relationship with artagan is unique. in e105 (1:15:01), jester tells the m9, “he really got me through a lot when i was younger, you know? and he was all i had, really.” he was her best friend from childhood in a home where she spent most of her time hidden in a single room. when she was younger, the few times she left the chateau, she was bullied by other girls (e110, 3:34:59). her best friend, though? her best friend was a god. a god with an incredible sense of humor, an aggrandizing attitude, and adoring respect for a young girl in a difficult situation who had as wonderful a personality as him. in every way that matters, artagan’s friendship undoubtedly saved jester’s life.

and she is so, so aware of this. she cares for him deeply, trusts him unconditionally, and is determined to be there for the one person who had been there for her when no one else was, not even her mother.

the renegotiation of this friendship after artagan revealed his full identity was clearly extraordinarily difficult for jester. she was having to reevaluate her entire relationship with the being that pulled her through a childhood of isolation and misery, question his intentions with her and whether they could even remain friends at all. and this was amidst her arrival at a dangerous island with her other friends to help him clean up his mistakes.

asking her to make a judgment on artagan before she’s ready to do it on her own, while managing some high expectations at the same time—not only is it a lot of pressure, it’s frustrating and painful. jester did not want to judge artagan without giving him his fair due and a proper conversation. knowing that her new friends dislike her old friend, besides being hurt by it, distracted her. she had to both defend him outwardly and interrogate him internally. and if she tried to explain how important artagan is to her, a lot of vulnerability would’ve been necessary when she was trying to be a leader and seem competent and capable, instead of a child who needs patronizing guidance.

this latter point is exceptional. because jester lavorre is so vulnerable when it comes to how much she thinks her loved ones respect her and consider her a valuable, equal, and trustworthy individual. and it’s difficult to feel like you’re being valued and trusted when people are repeatedly questioning you about a person and a relationship that they don’t understand in a way that, despite genuine concern, comes across as them doubting your own judgment of one of the most intimate parts of your life.

in this precise moment in e103, caleb is the only person who acknowledges—to her in person, even—that he doesn't have any place in judging her relationship with artagan. that it’s not what she needs from him or anyone else. that he’s content waiting for her to reach a decision. that he will respect that decision.

and jester can believe him. caleb’s done nothing but remain consistent on this stance. he repeatedly supports her choices to run travelercon, trust artagan, and come to his aid.

when other party members question artagan's legitimacy, caleb is the one who almost always speaks up to support jester (some examples: e61, 30:43 / e77, 49:17 / e95, 1:09:17 and 1:15:24).

he actively and enthusiastically offers his magical talents to her to provide for the event preparations. he has a whole conversation with her in e91 (beginning 1:53:41) where he expresses his immense respect for her and her personality, explicitly validates her faith in artagan, and shows her a tangible example of how he wants to help her during the upcoming travelercon. when she suggests some ideas, despite their arguable silliness, caleb takes them at face value and openly admits his lack of expertise in this area (e91, 1:58:35).

when they first arrive at rumblecusp, he directly reassures jester about the ‘travelercon 3000’ banner she leaves on the wrong beach by mentioning that he can make her a new banner (e101, 48:18). once preparations begin in earnest, caleb expends spells very freely, including ones of higher-level, to produce whatever jester requests.

in e103, he hears out her idea of sleeping underwater and gives it equal consideration in spite of other party members trying to shoot it down. the first time she suggests it (36:23), caduceus comments against it and no other party member acknowledges her except for caleb, who agrees with her quietly while the others move on. the second time jester suggests it (46:08), veth comments against it and caleb steps in to openly agree that it’s a good idea, even after fjord and beau join veth in being dubious.

compare these active, consistent moments of support and validation from caleb to similarly active and consistent examples of the other attitudes that manifest during the rumblecusp arc, in contradiction to people’s apparent claims of trust (one such claim of trust: e95, 1:00:21).

plainly insulting artagan to jester as if it’s a given, such as fjord’s “he’s generally full of shit, right?” (e107, 49:42);

fjord, beau, and caduceus’s conversation about “not ruining jester’s big day,” yet distrusting artagan to the extent of planning to keep her from being alone with him, preparing to attack him should he try to sacrifice 200 people for some speculated unknown ritual and/or hurt jester, and discussing all of this behind jester’s back (e108, beginning 15:41);

caduceus’s said shift to distrust of artagan because of a semi-disturbing conversation that jester was equally a part of (e107, beginning 20:40);

and the discussion right before jester’s commune with artagan where beau questions if artagan sent them to rumblecusp knowing of the memory problems, without regard for their well-being (e103, 29:40).

the unfortunate assumption being made by these party members’ repeated questioning and protectiveness of jester is that she cannot be trusted to have good judgment. despite their familiarity with some of the context of her relationship with artagan (especially after e105), they disregard her repeatedly-expressed support of him. they indirectly disrespect her ability to judge for herself whether someone is dangerous to her or her friends. they don’t acknowledge jester’s own role in creating dubious situations and instead direct all their negative feelings and sense of fault to artagan, minimizing her agency.

the e108 conversation is a dense microcosm of how the party perpetrates these assumptions throughout the rumblecusp arc as a whole. without qualm, they discuss deliberately controlling jester’s time with artagan to ‘protect’ her and their willingness to kill the evil image they’ve constructed of him, and dodge jester directly asking them what they’re talking about—even though it is a known given that the m9 would defend her with their lives with or without any prior discussion. the purpose of holding this conversation isn’t to make sure that jester is safe. like caduceus near-explicitly says, it’s to “feel better knowing” that “anybody else was on board with this” (20:26 and 18:57)—to validate their unacknowledged distrust of jester’s judgment with each other, behind her back.

and as laura has said: jester, with her very high wisdom, tends to know what’s going on even if she acts like she doesn’t (talks for e79, 32:39).

in e103, when jester is crying because she’s found out that artagan did know about the island’s memory problems, caleb doesn’t show any sign of taking this as proof of artagan's ill intent. what he does instead: he offers compassion for her pain with zero judgment. he promises to support her, no matter what she ultimately decides to make of this information. these are offers of safety and trust, ones that jester desperately needed.

then—caleb creates a programmed illusion of the m9’s lives. and it’s beautiful.

in comparison to all the analysis prior, this moment is straightforward. jester is an artist. she paints, draws, and creates, and she loves doing it. moreover, she loves making art for other people. though she doesn’t get many chances to do so, the mural of a flowery meadow that she paints for yasha’s room in the xhorhaus is a perfect example. similarly, she enjoys the art she makes when defacing other people’s property—altered signage or statue of the platinum dragon painted in rainbow—in part because they’re gifts to the traveler. she loves making those she loves happy.

happiness and love to jester is overwhelmingly about emotional intimacy. i’ve talked about this to some degree in a previous post about jester’s jealousy. please refer there for in-depth explanation. in brief, though, she puts value on how deeply she knows a person; how often she’s been able to be there for them. this is the love she learned from her mother and from artagan, and how she continues to love once she’s older.

caleb’s arcane rendition of the m9′s lives floating around the inside of the dome is a display of exactly this kind of love. not only is it art crafted from his magic and imagination and love—it’s blatant evidence of how much he cares for every member of the party and where they’ve come from. he remembers their stories and hangs them in the air in hopes that it’ll help them resist the memory erasing. he moves the memory of yasha and zuala in a meadow over to yasha’s pillow-side so she can watch it until she falls asleep. he creates a memory for vilya of her, her husband, and her daughter, listening to and respecting the emotional gravity of what she’s confiding in them.

only a few minutes after jester’s disappointing commune with artagan and her conversation with caleb, she walks into the dome and sees this art. she laughs and stares in wonder at all the memories (e103, 1:46:08). when beau points out the humorous memories of fjord being attacked by turtles so they can all laugh, she tells caleb with equal awe and joy, “wow. this is amazing, caleb” (e103, 1:47:04).

...of course, as lovely and meaningful as these back-to-back moments were for jester, it's not quite evidence of her starting to fall in love with caleb around this time.

that’s where the following episodes come in.

[id: three screenshots of messages sent in a discord channel by the user “prim” (the op). all are timestamped to friday, august 28, 2020, the day after the live premiere of e107. the first has an additional timestamp of 12:53 PM, the second 1:03 PM, and the third 1:30 PM. they read:

honest to god though i don't know if it's just the shipper brain that is making me think laura is trying to roleplay jester beginning to reciprocate caleb's feelings [...]

like........ the golden dick hunt teasing is definitely on par with jester's past shenanigans, but the compliments have been Catching My Attention bc it's honestly not normal for jester to compliment caleb of her own volition like that, just as a one-on-one "i appreciate you" reassurance

and i'm thinking less about the spells from last night's episode (although how much jester was emphasizing the compliments made me go "awwwww") and more of the moments like jester telling caleb "that was impressive" after getting cad out of the tunnel with beau's help

but laura is absolutely a shipping troll with jester this campaign so i'm here like "I'M MAYBE 80% SURE I'M BEING FUCKED WITH BUT IT MAYBE HOLDS UP????" [...]

basically laura keeps doing things that make the alarm in my brain go off and i don't know if i'm picking up something legit or if i'm projecting my hopes, like the recent pattern of compliments from jester LOL

/end id.]

i’m not going to lie, if i try to list every single receipt like i otherwise prefer to do in these metas, i think we (and especially i) would all lose our minds. so while i’m about to provide a lot of citations, they genuinely are just a few possible examples that will mostly be within the dozen episodes after e103.

the more important detail that can be observed from this is that e103 is a turning point.

prior to e103, jester does not particularly go out of her way to interact with caleb. by and large, most of their direct interactions are either initiated by caleb or prompted by the context of a general party conversation. the majority of other moments that could be referred to as ‘widojest’ are of caleb’s evident feelings. beyond early campaign days, jester rarely teases caleb about sexual topics while insinuating things about her own sexual life at the same time.

after e103, laura and jester begin to go out of their way to interact with and intertwine jester’s time with caleb.

the rate of jester’s compliments and enthusiastic gratitude to caleb skyrocket (some examples: e104, 30:36 / e107, 16:49 and 1:11:28 and 1:12:15 and 3:10:39 / e110, 15:58 and 3:37:24 / e111, 36:15 and 38:41 and 50:58);

several mature jokes/flirtations she makes involve both caleb and herself (examples: e107, 1:16:17 / e110, 1:18:07 / e115, 1:52:53);

she deliberately and specifically engages caleb in full-blown interactions, such as the conversations during the tour of her childhood bedroom (e110, beginning 1:11:38), hanging out with him on the icebreaker ship (e112, beginning 3:45:29), and the reading of der katzenprinz (e115, beginning 1:52:43);

as well as the expansion of more extended ‘conversations’ like their motif of dancing (e108, 13:39 / e109, 2:54:14), their parental relationships (e110, 20:44 and 3:38:41 / e115′s der katzenprinz / e121, beginning 1:52:12), and polymorph shenanigans (examples: e107, beginning 2:58:41 / e117, beginning 1:13:55 / e118, 43:57).

thrown in are additional background details that further tie jester to caleb, such as her determination to recover caleb’s amulet after their defeat of vokodo (e106, 25:33), the knowing comments on his purchasing of paper (e109, 22:32 / e111, 1:25:49), her deliberate choice to ride whaleb during the avantika chase (e113, 2:32:28), her retrieval of caleb’s coat when he’s attempting to remove the necromantic emerald (e115, 1:30:56), and her deliberate reference to der katzenprinz to iver (e120, 3:05:14);

and simply everything about the tower. it’s another example of the art and creativity caleb produces with his magic to make his loved ones happy, which jester acknowledges at least twice (refer to the e111 compliments). contrarily, jester also makes note of the signs that this tower shows less love to caleb than she thinks he deserves, in keeping with her value of emotional intimacy (e115’s der katzenprinz / e122’s floor 8, room 1).

the reading of der katzenprinz in e115 is arguably the pinnacle of these examples. it’s intentionally initiated by jester. she both takes the step to visit caleb's room and indirectly requests him to read the story to her. laura’s implication that she remembered this subplot because of beau’s reading of a very romantic letter from yasha is particularly suggestive. the story itself incorporates many similar characters and themes that are present in jester’s backstory: the lonely, sheltered boy and his single working mom as jester and marion; the dubious cat prince who ultimately gives the boy freedom and confidence as artagan; and the deep love between the boy and his mother because of how they only have each other, which compels a powerful being to have compassion and thus set the boy free so that they can be together. very similar to both jester’s depth of relationship with her mother and her pleas on artagan’s behalf to the moonweaver’s celestial servant.

and the post-story conversation—caleb’s confiding of its importance to him because of his mother. jester’s open willingness to compare the cat prince to artagan, knowing that caleb respects their friendship and has treated artagan fairly. jester’s lingering, repeated looks toward caleb while smiling and holding her copy of der katzenprinz to her heart.

with all this dramatic expansion of the emotional and thematic intimacy between jester and caleb beginning to roll down the hill after e103—in brilliant contrast to their more muted, less reciprocal dynamic before this episode—e103 is more than likely the turning point of jester’s feelings. and based on the events and context, it was caused by the combined emotional appeal of caleb’s offer of unconditional support and his display of love for his family in the programmed illusion of memories.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 36

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 17.2k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, chapter specific warnings: talks of torture, psychological torture, mentions injuries/infections, mentions of past abuse ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧  act five ➻ part three

​​​​

“I need to talk to Jisung. I… I have some questions about my past.”

“I’ll go with you then,” Yeosang offers without missing a beat, and he steps into your space. “That Spectre can’t be trusted enough to be alone with you. It’s bad enough that he’s being left alone right now.”

“Just yesterday you were talking about how much you hate me,” you scoff, turning away from the door to stare him in the eye. “Now you’re wanting to protect my every movement?” A huff of air passes through the man’s lips. For a moment, he refuses to look at you, and you think he’s going to choose to ignore you rather than respond to the question.

“Having Wooyoung speak to me through you put things in perspective a bit,” he admits. He drags his tongue over the front of his teeth, then shifts to face you without resistance this time. “If there is even the slightest chance that your death could negatively affect Wooyoung, I have to make sure that doesn’t happen. Don’t worry, I still hate you. I can’t stand you one bit, and I wish that I had a damn guarantee that you getting hurt wouldn’t risk Wooyoung’s safety because I could care less about looking after you on top of all this mess. Besides Wooyoung — he asked me to look after you, and my feelings about you are meaningless compared to what he wants.”

You haven’t had much of an opportunity to think about all the ways in which you and Wooyoung could be connected. While there is no guarantee that harm to you would harm him physically too, Yeosang does have a point. Just the chance is enough to be wary about. The same could be true the other way around in turn — anything they do to Wooyoung could potentially hurt you too, but there is no possible way of confirming that at this point in time. All you can do is wonder whether you will be able to see him and the others when you sleep next, should you even be able to sleep because it doesn’t sound tempting at all after what you just had to go through.

Your dragging hesitance must bother Yeosang to some degree because he huffs out another sigh and steps around you to lead the way out the door. You shift to follow him, stepping forward into the corridor only to run face-first into the Elitist’s back in less than a second. One peek around the curve of his shoulder tells you why he’s stopped so suddenly, and it’s none other than Jongho who stands before the two of you in the hall.

“Oh good, perfect timing. We need everyone to the medbay immediately,” Jongho says with a short nod, looking past Yeosang to give you a glance as well.

“Did something happen?” You ask in response.

“Hongjoong woke up, and he asked to see everyone.”

“He woke up? Why? No, no — how is he up?” Yeosang is the one to begin rambling, and he doesn’t stop there. “There were no signs of changes in his condition. I thought Yunho said it could be another several days before he woke up?”

“I don’t know either honestly.” Jongho brings a hand up to drag his fingers through his hair, pushing the locks off his forehead for a moment before they fall flat against his face again. “I came straight away the second Hongjoong gave the order. I don’t even know what the situation is quite yet.”

“Your conversation will have to wait then,” Yeosang murmurs. The two of you exchange a small nod, although you can’t say you’re too upset about having to postpone the conversation with Jisung.

“Conversation?” Yeosang steps around Jongho as the Berserker asks the question, and you are left to regard each other with confusion while Yeosang starts a path down the corridor.

“I was going to talk with Jisung about some things,” you explain, ducking your head to avoid the look Jongho gives you. It’s not one that causes any discomfort — moreso there is too much sympathy in that expression he wears, too much underlying pity that makes the pit in your gut deepen further. “Later. It’s fine, nothing pressing.”

Jongho reaches a hand out and takes hold of your elbow. The touch is delicate, probably one meant to offer some sort of comfort and nothing more, and that’s exactly what it does. Moments later, you are walking after Yeosang with a much lighter feeling swelling in your chest that you can’t pinpoint or explain.

When the three of you reach the medbay at last, Yunho stands outside the doors, hands close to his chest as he wrings them together without cease.

“Why aren’t you inside with Seonghwa?” Jongho asks upon seeing the healer.

“Hongjoong asked — he asked for a minute alone with Seonghwa.” Yunho blinks furiously as he speaks, and the motion of his hasty blinks is nearly dizzying in its frequency. “Under normal circumstances, Seonghwa would be the one to inform Hongjoong of the situation but… but Seonghwa still refused to speak even after seeing Hongjoong awake. He — what the fuck happened to the two of you during the night?”

You know the question is directed at you, but it still catches you unaware nonetheless. You can do nothing but stare back at him with wide eyes as the words process along with Yunho’s shaken-up disposition.

“I’m not sure,” you mutter. Yunho purses his lips, and a small exasperated sigh slips through, enough to show his annoyance with your answer, but Jongho steps in front of you before the healer can say anything. “I recall having a nightmare of my own but Seonghwa wasn’t there with me — I, no, that’s not — I mean he wasn’t—”

“Seonghwa had a nightmare,” Yeosang interjects, saving you from the moment of panic and from further fumbling with your words. “I managed to coax a bit out of him while you and Jongho were talking with Y/N. He had a dream that he was choking which is why he stopped breathing, and because he was so deep in the nightmare, he couldn’t wake up when Y/N tried to get him up the first time. You ended up startling him out of the nightmare and back into consciousness.” It could be a complete lie on Yeosang’s part, but it is logical and adds up in your mind to make some amount of sense. It saves your ass for certain, and that’s all you could ask for given your awkward and helpless fumbling. Yunho, however, doesn’t seem pleased with the response based on the way he shakes his head.

“That doesn’t add up,” he mutters, arms coming to fold over his chest. “Whatever he was dreaming about had to have been more traumatic than that since he had no other symptoms that lined up with other causes of shock. Trauma is the only logical option given what state he was in. Shock… it’s not just a quick jolt, it’s a critical condition brought on by a sudden drop in blood flow through the body. So trauma, heatstroke, blood loss, allergic reactions, infections, poisoning, burns, those sorts of things. His organs were not getting enough blood or oxygen, but just physically I could not see any sort of physical causes proving that. I can run some poison checks, but that truly wouldn’t make any amount of sense.”

“Even if it was something merely traumatic, what makes you think that he would ever want to talk about it with someone who always seems to want to pick him apart for every decision he’s made in life?” Yeosang levels Yunho with a glare so intense that you can almost feel the spike of tension in the air between them. “He was unresponsive with you for a reason no doubt. Maybe you shouldn’t have criticized him so much for decisions that didn’t involve you.”

“He involved me the second he started complaining about the arrangement betwe—”

“That’s enough,” Jongho cuts in, and he lifts a hand to rest atop Yunho’s arm. “Let’s not get heated right now. I can confirm that the emotional aura coming off Seonghwa’s body was something far beyond even a moderate level of trauma. Just being with Hongjoong in there is already helping some, but it will likely take some time for him to recover.”

“This is the worst possible timing,” Yunho sighs. “With tensions already high and everything… right when we need Hongjoong and Seonghwa the most, things like this have to happen?”

“Hongjoong is up now though, so that won’t be as much of an issue any longer.” Yeosang has a valid point with that one. Although without Seonghwa… you don’t want to have to think about how things would be without Seonghwa in all honesty, and it’s hard enough to even conjure up the smallest of thoughts about it. “Has anyone had eyes on Han?” Jongho is the first to deny it.

“I still feel his aura in the spare room we gave him. He didn’t budge at all during the night prior to the incident happening so I don’t think he’s behind that either.” Jongho’s words are enough to bring an unsteady silence to the four of you. There is nothing that can be said really, and you understand that better than anyone. How could you even try to explain the things you saw in your dream? You aren’t sure what you thought you would say to Jisung either; that was moreso a spur-of-the-moment decision made in a panic, and it’s probably for the better that you don’t go see him now.

“I hate this,” Yunho mutters after the silence grows unbearable. “It’s too quiet without the others here.”

“We should enact a plan soon, especially with Hongjoong up,” Yeosang says back. “Seonghwa won’t want to take a break or any recovery time, so things should be business as usual from now on. Can’t we hurry this along a bit? I doubt anyone is going back to bed soon, so talking with Hongjoong now would be best, no? Discussing plans so we can catch up to the transport ship the others are on?”

“Just a moment, yeah.” Yunho dips into the medbay. When the door slides open, you catch a glimpse of what’s inside, for better or worse. Seonghwa resides on one of the beds, the one closest to the door actually, and Hongjoong is as well, body draped over Seonghwa’s like an extension of the man, It’s not anything inappropriate, nor does it seem to be in the way the smaller captain straddles his hips and clings to his lieutenant like his life depends on it.

Looking at them like this — something close, intimate, calm, peaceful almost — you nearly feel as though you shouldn’t be present. It’s a crawling sensation that spreads to your stomach and chest, eyes trailing over the places where one man meets the other, and if not for looking so intently at the scene before you, you would miss the hefty tear tracks over Seonghwa’s cheeks. One of Hongjoong’s hands curls through Seonghwa’s hair as the other wraps tightly around one of the lieutenant’s.

Hongjoong pulls his hand down from the other man’s head, brushing over the tear-stricken skin of his cheek. He is clearly looking down at the man but Seonghwa doesn’t look back. Instead, he keeps his eyes shut tight with a few tears spilling out the corners. And in the back of your mind, you barely process how much you hate seeing Seonghwa in such a state, broken and crying without relent, and you hate how you seem to be just fine in comparison to him. The two of you were in the same place, suffering the same fate of being put through nightmares, and yet you came out of it because Wooyoung saved you. Did Seonghwa have anyone there to save him?

It is pointless to think of that now, but it’s all that is on your mind as you watch Hongjoong’s lips move with haste, muttering words that must be meant to comfort under his breath. You are too far away to hear it all clearly, although a few words slip in here and there.

“You’re okay… here… we’re here… together, okay? It wasn’t real… trust… I’m here.”

Yunho clears his throat when Hongjoong still doesn’t pull his attention away from Seonghwa, but even that announcement doesn’t cause the captain to budge even a little bit. Instead, he continues his hushed whispers for a few more moments then lifts the hand that is still tangled with Seonghwa’s in a pausing motion.

“We’ll talk more about it later, yeah?” He murmurs a bit louder as he pulls back to glance over in Yunho’s direction. His gaze slips past the healer’s should to find you in an instant, and you duck your chin in a panic, eyes finding the floor. It’s the feeling of being caught doing something you shouldn’t or watching something you shouldn’t be watching, and seeing Hongjoong atop Seonghwa in such a way is the cause of that. Perhaps he expects you to be jealous and scowl at him, and perhaps that is exactly what you are supposed to feel, but frankly… it doesn’t make you envious in the slightest. You moreso feel content at the sight of them holding each other so closely, like Seonghwa is finally at peace with Hongjoong in his grasp and awake. Hongjoong is finally up, can finally comfort him, and Seonghwa can finally rest easier. Why would you ever want to take that away from him?

The sight of them so closely linked, however, brings up a fleeting memory from your foray in the Dreamscape.

“To think that at the time, my worst nightmare was merely existing.”

“And now?”

“Not being able to save Hongjoong from himself.”

Albeit briefly, you wonder if that might be what Seonghwa saw once the two of you were separated. Even moreso than that though, the more pressing worry on your mind is just how deep Hongjoong’s demons run for Seonghwa to be so concerned that it has become his worst nightmare. You don’t have any more time to think about it as Hongjoong slips off of Seonghwa’s body and props himself on the edge of the bed. Seonghwa moves to sit up as well only to have Hongjoong’s hand slap down on his chest and shove him back to the bed with little effort. They don’t exchange any words, but they don’t need to either with the way one corner of Hongjoong’s lips quirks up in a half-smile as he blinks down at his lieutenant. Perhaps Vladimir had a point in the backhanded comment he made in the arena — when you see the way Hongjoong gazes at Seonghwa, it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen or experienced before, like Seonghwa could do no wrong in the captain’s eyes, and like he’s the most precious creature in existence. Hongjoong slips his hand down to the inside of Seonghwa’s thigh, resting his fingers against the fabric of his pants just above the knee. It’s nothing… lewd or suggestive, nor does Seonghwa seem to take it as such, moreso a touch of comfort and nothing more.

“Well, are you all going to get in here or not?” Hongjoong leans to look past Yunho’s shoulder, regarding the rest of you with a stare that is enough to cause you to step inside. Yeosang does the same and comes in behind you, but Jongho doesn’t budge even an inch. Instead, he stays in the corridor with arms crossed over his chest and eyes darting down the hall every so often like he’s expecting Jisung to come bursting out at any second. Hongjoong waits but you have a growing suspicion that he’s not waiting for Jongho to come in necessarily. “I asked for the whole crew, Yunho. Where are the others?”

Does he not… did no one tell him of the situation?

Yunho inhales sharply but doesn’t manage to do anything more than that, teeth sinking into his lower lip. Yeosang, however, doesn’t let any silence drape over the room in the aftermath of Hongjoong’s question. He takes the initiative and steps forward with an expression so flat and even that you nearly believe nothing is wrong in the slightest.

“During the mission at the arena, Mingi, San, and Wooyoung were all taken captive and are currently missing in action. Vladimir was used as an instrument to get the ball rolling, but someone else is behind the incident. The three are aboard a transport vessel that is on its way to Dorado, where Mingi will be sent to a recreational facility to reprogram him back into the Brute of Kebos. San and Wooyoung were not the initial targets, so their fates and what will happen to them are currently unknown. We — we have someone aboard who is acting as a mole for us and gaining information from Vladimir, Han Jisung. He’s also eavesdropped on several meetings to get information about the transport vessel and the plans.

“Oh, I know that part,” Hongjoong hisses through gritted teeth. A flash of panic crosses Yeosang’s gaze for a split second, and the two of you seem to instinctively share in that panic by looking towards each other.

“H-How?” Yunho stammers.

“Why do you think I’m even up in the first place? A certain Han Jisung came in here and woke me up.” Seonghwa sits up without hesitation and latches a hand around Hongjoong’s shoulder. The captain doesn’t even have time to react before both Yeosang and Yunho are suddenly stepping closer to the bed and into his personal space as well. Your first instinct, on the other hand, is to twist at the waist and look towards where Jongho stands in the hallway.

“Did you sense anything? I thought you said he was in his room this whole time.”

“I… No, I truly didn’t sense anything. It must have been during the commotion in Seonghwa’s room. That—” the Berserker cuts himself short there, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he finishes the thought “—that was the only time I didn’t think to check for his heat signature. By the time I was certain the crisis was averted, Jisung must have gotten back to his room.”

Hongjoong shrugs Seonghwa’s touch off as best he can before pushes the man back to the bed with another gentle touch.

“Don’t worry. He didn’t lay a finger on me.” Even though the words are clearly directed at Seonghwa, they hold weight over Yeosang and Yunho as well, bringing both men a few steps back from the bed. “Han Jisung is the one you should worry about.”

And as much as you despise it and wish your brain did not catapult in that direction, you cannot stop the twinge of panic that surges through your veins. It must be strong enough to pique Seonghwa’s interest because however hard you try to conceal the emotion on your face, you cannot keep the Siren from sending a worried glance your way. You don’t wish to care for Jisung still, you wish you could just bury that part of yourself and focus on something else instead — something like Hyunwoo, who deserves more than what you gave him, but your mind clings to Jisung like a parasite. You aren’t sure it will ever let up.

“I left him with several pretty threats that were enough to deter him from doing anything foolish. But he in turn informed me of the situation from his perspective. I merely wanted to hear from you all to make certain he was telling the truth. So thank you, Yeosang, for sharing the information better than this Jisung character did. Although, he did tell me what they intend to do with Wooyoung and San. Wooyoung is set to be sold to the House of Lilies in the Upper Echelon of the capital, Lynder.”

“What the hell is the House of Lilies?” The name itself leaves little to the imagination, but you can’t exactly blame Yeosang for needing the verbal confirmation. This time it isn’t Hongjoong who answers, though, and for what seems to be the first time since waking up, Seonghwa opens his mouth to speak.

“It’s… a whorehouse for the top class of Lynder, typically only used by the military and head councilmen of the city.”

“It’s a fucking what?”

If they’re putting Wooyoung in a place like that, then you don’t want to imagine where they would put San.

“San. Wh-what about San? Do they plan to do the same to him or—”

“No, they have different plans for him,” Hongjoong interjects, cutting your thought into a silent breath of relief. “He’s slated to be put through regression therapy and built into the perfect assassin. After that, he’ll go into the military in the Upper Echelon of the capital. He and Mingi will be put in the same facility for their treatments, but Wooyoung’s deal is supposedly more immediate.”

“Regression therapy? That’s the worse possible treatment San could ever receive!” You don’t really need to hear the panic in Yunho’s tone right now; it only makes the gravity of the situation weigh heavier on your shoulders. If you could sink through the floor and disappear from existence entirely, that would be preferred, but alas, no matter how much you wish for it, you’re stuck in place. “That could undo every ounce of progress he’s made over the years! All that — everything, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong’s tongue flicks out for a second, stabbing the corner of his lips harshly before retreating back into his mouth. He presses his lips into a thin line after that and refuses to respond to Yunho’s words.

Regression therapy. You’d heard of it during your stint with the military, a thing that was merely used as a threat for rowdy and unruly recruits who refused to do as asked. Only a threat because of how awfully traumatic it could be and how inhumane the public thought such a treatment to be. But the point was not to be humane then.

“They’d… use regression therapy to undo all that progress for a reason,” you murmur. The heat of five stares hits your body, and it’s almost overwhelming for a moment but you push forward to finish the thought. “Breaking him down into the husk he used to be is only part of the process. Once he’s put in the military, they’ll just wipe him of it either way, but to seem like they’re doing it consensually, they have to get him to go in there by choice. That’s how things worked on Eros. They threatened to bring back memories from before the wipe if you stepped too far out of line. They’ll break him, turn him into what he used to be, make him as deprived and desperate for even an ounce of freedom, then offer to take it all away.”

You don’t realize how hard you are gripping the inside of your right elbow until the pressure stings, but the moment you release your arm, that temporary grip on reality slips away and you fall into a vague flashback.

“Things will be okay, Y/N, I promise. It’s gonna be okay.”

Hyunwoo is the one to speak to you. Your attempts to reach out and grab him are futile as you quickly find that you are strapped to a cool metal chair that practically burns your skin. Hyunwoo reaches down, lips twisting into a soft pained smile, and he takes one of your hands in his own.

“It’ll only hurt a little bit. We won’t take much, just enough for them not to be able to track it back to you. If you don’t know then they won’t be able to pin the blame on you, and you’ll be safe. So we’ll only take what we need to, okay?”

“I-I don’t know who ‘they’ is.”

“You won’t need to know after this. Jisung is prepping the serum now.”

“I — Hyunwoo, I didn’t even get to say goodbye!”

“I’m sorry. This was the only way I could save you all. Maybe one day you will get to see each other again, and you can tell him the truth. And he can tell you the truth.”

“What fucking truth? You can’t do this now of all times, Hyunwoo! It isn’t the time to be cryptic and mysterious!”

“You’ll understand one day, Y/N. I promise.”

You pull yourself out of the flashback there, mostly because you’re so startled and confused as to why that memory slipped in. You were certain that you shared that conversation with Hyunwoo just before he walked to his death, not strapped to a chair with him saying such startling things.

“You’re right,” Hongjoong mutters, tugging you back to reality so harshly that you flinch. “Once they get on Dorado and conduct Wooyoung’s deal, they’ll separate Mingi and San. Probably place them in separate rooms: San to an isolation chamber, a large one no doubt. Mingi will most likely be placed in a much smaller one that will resemble the underbelly of the arena he grew up in.” Hongjoong pauses his thoughts there and shakes his head. “Han Jisung seems to know far too much about these plans and exactly what is going on. Why isn’t he tied to a chair in the brig right now?” Seonghwa opens his mouth to reply only to have Hongjoong wave his hand and dismiss the question entirely. “That isn’t important right now. What’s important is that we must keep any and all information found from henceforth away from Han Jisung. No plans, no musings, nothing whatsoever. That all stays between us as we cannot trust Jisung no matter what. I would rather keep a gun stuck to the back of that man’s head at all times than risk failure at this. Emergency rescue and recovery mission. We’ll talk further over the details soon. It’s best to get more rest now though.”

“I’d like to run some sleep tests anyways,” Yunho chimes in, and he turns to you before you have a chance to duck out of it. “Both you and Seonghwa. Don’t think I’d let you get out of it. Please just let me run a few tests, if anything only to make sure you’re okay.”

“Fine,” you mutter. Yunho doesn’t wait for you to follow him as he leads the way to another bed further down in the medbay. Sleep is the last thing on your mind right now, but you don’t have much of a choice as the healer sits you down and starts pulling wires and electrodes out. Hongjoong continues to talk to Yeosang a bit more, no doubt to decide on what to do moving forward.

“I’ll be hooking you up to a telemetry machine. It’s just to monitor your heart and see if there are any irregular happenings during the night. I’ll use it mostly to make sure it’s all beating properly and such while you’re asleep, but I’ll also place some sensors on and around your scalp, temples, chest, and legs, along with a small clip on your finger to monitor the oxygen in your blood. I’ll be here the whole night monitoring you both if any issues arise, yeah?”

“Okay.” You don’t make any efforts to hide the slight exasperation in your tone, and Yunho has the decency to at least pick up on that as he connects more of those sensors to your skin.

“I’m… I’m really sorry, you know. It’s — I know I have a lot to be sorry for and this one shitty apology won’t do much, but I am genuinely sorry,” he murmurs quiet enough for just the two of you to hear. “For all the ways in which I have been immature and hurtful. I did not act as a responsible or good doctor shoulder, but also from a deeper standpoint, I didn’t act as a friend should either, so I’m sorry for that as well. I want to do better and fix those mistakes but I don’t know how to right now. With all the stress we are under right now, I don’t want to risk making things worse by any means but... I can promise that I’ll try to do better.”

“I’m not petty like that,” you huff in reply. “Just you admitting that you did wrong and want to do better is enough for me. Just trying is enough. Maybe… try not to be a defensive asshole next time?” You dare to look up at the tall man’s face to gauge his reaction and are pleasantly surprised to be greeted with a smile.

“My goal is to avoid doing that again, yeah,” he laughs. His grin falls within a second, however, and he next brushes a hand over your hair with a small frown painting his thin lips. “You really gave us a scare. Hearing you call us for help only to go in and find you unconscious on the floor? We thought Jisung had gone in there and attacked you both. It was something out of a horror novel.”

You turn away as heat rises on your cheeks, and the only thing you can do to cover your embarrassment is cough awkwardly.

“I-I must have been so stressed and tired that I passed out right after.” That isn’t wholly a lie seeing as that’s what happened to Wooyoung according to Yeosang. Still, that begs a more pressing concern of what exactly happened on Wooyoung’s side of things for him to leave so suddenly. Perhaps the only good thing that could come out of this sleep test Yunho wants so desperately is the possibility of checking on Wooyoung and the others.

“You’re all set up now. You shouldn’t notice a thing unless we run into any issues, but again, I’ll be here to monitor throughout the night, and I’ll write up the scans in the morning.” Yunho pulls back with a smile.

“Thank you,” you mutter, settling back onto the creaky bed without further ado, but you know that sleep won’t come any time soon. So instead, you resort to watching Yunho make his way over to Seonghwa’s bed and repeat the same process he just did with you on the lieutenant. Yeosang dipped out of the medbay at some point apparently because he no longer stands before Hongjoong at the foot of the bed, and Jongho must have gone with him because the doors are now snapped shut. Hongjoong has his fingers curled tight around Seonghwa’s again, and once again that sense of distant longing seems to fall over the captain. He remains silent as he watches Yunho attach pads and wires to Seonghwa’s body. The feeling that next creeps over you isn’t one of jealousy or envy.

Your mind conjures up the image of San sitting at the foot of your bed like Hongjoong does with Seonghwa. San reaching a hand out to take hold of yours as he blinks down at you with concern. San brushing your hair out of your face and murmuring soft encouragements to you. Cat-like eyes and a dimpled grin gleaming above you like a whisper of hope.

It’s a painful reminder of reality: how San isn’t here and can’t be either. It’s a painful reminder that causes the corners of your eyes to sting against your will, emotions welling up so strongly in your chest that you double over to alleviate some of the pain there.

When you dare to look back at the bed, Yunho has walked around the side of the cot to stand before Hongjoong. Hongjoong’s free hand moves up to rest on the dip of Yunho’s hip, falling down to the top of his thigh for a fraction of a second then finding purchase on the mattress once more. Yunho pulls a stool forward and seats himself before the captain.

“I need to do a few more routine checkups on you too, just to make sure you’re okay since you didn’t rest as long as your body wanted. Eyes okay?”

“I can see you just fine if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Any pain in your ears? Ringing? The vibrations from the bomb will have shaken you up quite a bit.”

“No ringing, no pain.”

Yunho lifts a hand and rests it against Hongjoong’s forehead, pushing the blue strands up to lay his hand flat there.

“No fever either, that’s good. How does your throat feel? Your body should have purged the majority of the dust and smoke you inhaled by now, but I’m worried your throat might still be scratched up from it.”

“A little sore but nothing unbearable,” Hongjoong hums. He tilts his head from side to side as Yunho continues to worry over him but other than that, he seems entirely unbothered by the healer’s fretting.

“Ribs hurting at all? And your right hip?”

“Ribs feel okay, hip hurts like a bitch.”

“Yeah because you aren’t supposed to be moving around with a fracture of that degree.”

“I moved less than six feet.”

“You’ll move six feet under if you aren’t careful.”

“Because of the injury or because you’ll put me there for not listening to you?”

“I’m gonna write off that attitude as the concussion talking because I know you aren’t dumb enough to argue with me on this.”

“Head is fine too.”

“Then let me call Jongho back to help you get to your room. You can’t be walking that far on your own and—”

“I need to talk with Seonghwa a bit more first,” Hongjoong interjects, head falling in Seonghwa’s direction. Yunho cuts off with a small ‘o’, and his gaze flits over to where you’re reclining against the pillows of the bed. Hongjoong seems to pick up on that without prompting though. “She can stay in here, it’s fine. I doubt it’ll take longer than a half-hour, if you don’t mind waiting outside that long?”

Yunho pushes back on his stool, slipping away from the bedside. If not for looking so intently at the man, you would have missed the way his hands curl into tight fists against his thighs, but he doesn’t voice whatever is on his mind.

“Right, don’t take too long though; I know you’ve been resting a while but your body still needs to recover before you try to do anything drastic, and knowing you, that’s exactly what you plan to do as soon as you can. Y/N, Seonghwa — you two get some rest soon. I’ll be back to monitor in a bit.”

You don’t wait to watch Yunho leave the room because it doesn’t feel needed, but at the same time, you are trying your best to avoid any eye contact with Seonghwa or Hongjoong as not to intrude on whatever conversation they intend to have. You hear the soft click of the door and its scraping metal as it slides open, then a repeat of the same sound when Yunho steps out. The silence that falls over the room is so thick it could choke you. Hongjoong shifts on the bed again and scoots closer to Seonghwa’s head, a series of creaks following the movements. You crack an eye open to peek over at the pair. Hongjoong doesn’t lie down beside Seonghwa or anything, just sits there with a hand still wrapped around the other’s, and other than that neither move or speak. It’s only after the silence drags on for several minutes that Hongjoong decides he’s had enough and speaks once more.

“Do you want to talk more about it?”

“We should talk about the plan more first. If Jin is truly behind this, then we need something more… just something more.”

“He’s not. It can’t possibly be him behind this because he would have targeted you rather than going after Y/N. I don’t think he has anything to do with this, nor do I think he would stoop to kidnapping to get what he wants.”

“We are down three crewmembers and have an untrustworthy rat aboard,” Seonghwa hisses without missing a beat. “Jin could very well have eyes and ears on us and know how weak we are right now. You might be able to excuse him, but I know for a fact that kidnapping is not the lowest he would stoop to get what he wants. And I will not jeopardize your goals by being captured by him.”

Hongjoong extends his free hand to cup Seonghwa’s cheek, brushing over the smooth expanse of skin there with the pad of his thumb.

“I don’t believe that would ever happen. He would sooner have to kill me than capture you.”

“I’m… yeah, sorry, I’m simply worried. We’re headed to Dorado after all. Lynder of all places on that godforsaken planet too.”

“Why are you worried, hm? We shouldn’t be going anywhere near the Lower Echelon.” Seonghwa responds with a sharp shake of his head.

“Mother moved up to the Upper Echelon, remember? Three years back?”

“Are you calling me forgetful then?”

“You’ve always been forgetful, and you know it. You wouldn’t need me around if you could remember things.” That comment earns Seonghwa a smack to the shoulder, but you hear the huff of a laugh fall from Hongjoong’s lips before the lieutenant continues speaking. “The risking of seeing Mother is so high.”

“Are you… still afraid of her?” The question is hesitant in the same way that one would walk around a wild boar, like Hongjoong is afraid to set Seonghwa off in some way with the small question. “Hwa, you’re trembling. Is it too cold in here? I can get you an extra blanket if you—”

“No, no, shush, I’m not cold. I’m n-not afraid of her, I… I don’t want to be afraid of her, but in all those fucking nightmares, all I could see was red. I wanted blood, I wanted to kill, I wanted my hands around her throat so I could strangle her. And in all those dreams, that little voice won.” Seonghwa pauses and lifts a hand to touch Hongjoong’s cheek now, reflecting the other man’s actions from earlier. “I fear seeing the crew fall apart and not being able to save you from yourself more than anything else. Yet in those dreams, it was me who unmade each of them and ruined you. I’m… afraid of going to Dorado and not being able to hold back. I’m scared of killing Mother in a fit of rage and letting the Lieutenant of Death take over. I’m so afraid of hurting anyone on the crew, and I’m so fearful that I’ll bring ruin to you. I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive myself if that happens.”

Hongjoong’s hand comes down hard on Seonghwa's chin, gripping the skin and bone between lithe fingers, and he forces the man to look him in the eye.

“I won't let that happen. There is no way in hell I would ever let that happen. Even if I have to pry you off your own mother, I will make absolutely sure that that voice doesn't win, that those people who make up those rumors and disdain you so much don't win. I won't let you do anything you regret, Seonghwa.”

“Ha, as though you can promise such a thing,” Seonghwa mutters through a bitter laugh.

“I know. I can't promise much of anything, but I can give you my word and hope. That's enough for now. If all I have to offer you is one more day of hope, then I will continue to give you that for all eternity.”

The shorter man leans over the space between their bodies and presses his lips to Seonghwa's forehead, parting the hair that lies flat there to touch his skin.

“Don’t you ever regret letting me join the crew?”

“When it comes to you, I don’t think the word regret exists.”

It’s spoken with such a raw conviction that you feel your own throat closing up around itself. As your gaze falls over Seonghwa, you can clearly see the way the words affect him, from the way his lips part in wonder as he stares up at the man above him like he hung every star in his universe in the sky. Words fail him, but that doesn’t bother Hongjoong one bit as the captain tries to leave him with one more soft-spoken comment.

“Get some rest.”

He moves to get up and pull away from the bed, but Seonghwa's grip on his hand pulls him right back.

“Please don't go. I... I have both of you here with me for once. Please don't deprive me of this right now. Not when I've gone this long without you.”

“Whatever you wish, Hwa.” Hongjoong doesn’t fight back as Seonghwa tugs him down to his side, resting his head against his lieutenant’s chest once their bodies are pressed close. You don’t know if they’ve fallen asleep — the lights are still on in the medbay so it would be hard to fall asleep anyways — but you rest in the quiet with clouded and foggy thoughts. Twisting to the side, you turn to face the wall rather than look at that vulnerable scene any longer than you have to. You wish that could be the end of it, that the dismal conversations ended there with the two of them going to sleep, but Seonghwa’s tone rising up again in the silence disrupts that hope too.

“How much longer do we have to keep doing this? I get more and more tired with each day that passes.” Hongjoong hums a bit, and his next words come out rather slurred.

“I’m tired too. We’ll rest soon.”

“Aren’t we too young to be feeling this old?” There’s some humor to those words, but what Seonghwa says next eradicates that levity in an instant. “Jongho offered to take it away for me. Jongho, our youngest. He shouldn’t even have to think about taking our burdens.”

“That’s not the world we live in,” Hongjoong sighs. “That’s not a luxury we can afford. There is no normalcy. We don’t have and never will have any sort of normal family.”

“Family? Is that what this is now? The one you talked of wanting to find?”

“Yes… of course, this crew is our family without a doubt. One day when this is all said and done, we can settle down somewhere.”

“But?”

“But can we ever really be happy and content with settling down? I’ve been flying around space since I was born and as long as I can remember. Suddenly not doing that would be odd, wouldn’t it?”

Seonghwa laughs a clear and ringing sound, then seems to catch how loud the noise is and quiets himself to a softer chuckle.

“Then you can fly around space for all eternity if that’s what makes you happy.”

The bed creaks under someone’s movement, and you can only assume that it’s Hongjoong simply because he’s the next one to speak.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Keep doing what?” Seonghwa echoes softly.

“Every time we have this conversation and every time we talk of the future, you talk about it as though you won’t be there for it. Like you won’t see that future with me.”

“Stop saying foolish things, Hongjoong. We should be sleeping.”

“Seonghwa.” This time, Hongjoong’s tone is different. It’s something you’ve never heard from the man: a fragile sound that is on the verge of breaking and one that holds unspoken warning to it.

“Sleep, Hongjoong.”

“Seonghwa.”

That’s your breaking point. It’s too much for you to handle, the tone of their conversation has taken a drastic turn and you don’t want to hear anything else out of either of them simply out of fear. Even though you aren’t tired, you squeeze your eyes shut and internally beg for Wooyoung to let you in tonight.

…

As it turns out, you get your wish. You come to in Wooyoung’s body with a jolt and a gasp, although that sound goes unnoticed because Wooyoung yet again has full control over his body while you are left to sit back and watch through his eyes. The cell you wake up to is starkly different than the last; it’s much larger and brighter, fluorescent lights hanging on the ceiling, but that isn’t what draws your attention. No, the wall that consists only of thick metal bars and rings with the crackles of electricity garners all your attention first simply because of how loud the noise is but also because Wooyoung’s eyes seem to instinctively flit over the bars before turning further left. They are, thankfully, no longer chained to the floor like dogs and now seem to only have wrist and ankle shackles. It’s a significant step up from their last prison, and when Wooyoung finally pushes himself to his feet, you catch sight of Mingi resting on a small cot.

Wooyoung steps over to the Berserker without hesitation, hand dipping into a small bucket that’s full of icy water, and he pulls a rag from the liquid, wringing it a few times before laying the cloth atop Mingi’s head.

“How are you feeling?” Wooyoung asks. Mingi murmurs something in response, but it’s largely unintelligible, and Wooyoung must not pick up on it either because he strains his neck to get closer to the man. “Hm?”

“A b-bit better.”

“That’s g—”

A sharp rattle interrupts Wooyoung’s train of thought, and he jerks to look over at the shock wall. The door at the center swings open without warning, two men stepping through with someone hanging rather limply between their arms. If your heart could plummet right now, it truly would, because you would recognize that patch of white hair anywhere. The two men — guards from the looks of it — shove San into the cell, not caring to be mindful of the sides of the bars before pushing him against them without warning. San’s shoulder knocks roughly into the edge of the fencing as he comes through, and a bolt of shock sears through his body with surprising haste. The force brings him to his knees. Wooyoung lurches forward, darting out to grab hold of his shoulders and keep him somewhat upright.

“Be fucking careful! Are you paid to be idiots?” He shouts as he pulls San closer to his body. The stockier of the two guards sneers back at him.

“You’re next, slave. Watch yourself.”

Wooyoung responds by hurling a glob of spit at the guard’s feet, eyes narrowed to slits.

“You can take me once I’ve seen to my crewmates.” That comment earns him a sharp smack to the side of his head. San curls his fingers tight around Wooyoung’s side.

“Don’t make a scene about it, I’m fine,” he murmurs under his breath. He is far from fine, that much is obvious, because he can’t keep his body upright and his cheek keeps slumping down against Wooyoung’s shoulder no matter how much he tries to keep it up. The stout guard steps closer, arm poised to deliver another blow to Wooyoung, but he’s caught by his taller friend, who grabs him by the wrist before he can do anything else.

“They all need to make it to Dorado relatively unharmed or prices will down and we’ll get less of the cut from Boss.” That’s enough to pull the man away from Wooyoung, and he retreats back to the outside of the cell with his partner.

“You have ten minutes. Five if you make any other snippy remarks.”

Wooyoung exhales a small sigh of relief when the door slams back shut. He helps tug San to his feet and guides him to the bed beside Mingi’s. You’re grateful that Wooyoung won’t take his gaze off him because it gives you a chance to fully examine his current state.

The bruising on his face has gone down quite a bit, and just from that alone, you would say he almost looks okay. Still, his body reeks of exhaustion, and he clutches the shoulder that knocked into the shock wall even as Wooyoung eases him down to the cot. His dark circles are so deep that they almost seem to hollow his face, and you have an instinct to comb your fingers through his hair if you could because it’s a mess and so unkempt that you can barely see the white patch in the front. Wooyoung keeps pushing him down until San lies flat on the bed, and he doesn’t hesitate to peel San’s shirt up to his midsection. It exposes the awful bruising underneath, a colorful array of blues and purples that are ugly to look at.

“They’re gonna snap your ribs in two if they aren’t careful,” Wooyoung grumbles, tracing over the outline of the bruise with his index finger. “It’s already damaged enough.” San chokes out a laugh that has to hurt.

“That’s only the half of it. They could be doing a lot worse. At the very least, they don’t know shit about torturing people. I’ve been through worse and... and seen a lot worse in the past.” San’s hand darts down to the dip of his hip, where there’s a thin scar just by the bone. You recognize it in an instant — the place where Cara stabbed him back on Echidna and left him nearly dead. “They’ll have to work a lot harder to get anything out of me. They don’t like how quiet I am.”

“That doesn’t mean they really should work harder. You won’t survive that much. Did you manage to get anything out of them this time?”

San shakes his head at first then grips the front of Wooyoung’s shirt and pulls him closer.

“They were fumbling a little when I asked what the plans are. Mean one — shorty — he tried to shut me up but the other started asking questions too. Said he was just as confused and didn’t know what the boss plans to do with the two of us. They know exactly what would happen with Mingi but had way too many doubts when it came to us. They had to have wanted someone else. Maybe Scourge since he was in the arena with Mingi?” Hearing San call Hongjoong by that name sounds so foreign and stilted, but you know it’s just a way to protect as much of their identities as possible. Wooyoung draws his lips together.

“That doesn’t sound right. They would have had a clear path to both Mingi and Captain in the arena. Why wouldn’t they grab him then? When… when they take me, I’ll try to get more out of them. Clean — if you can, please clean Mingi’s wound again. The infection is almost fully fleshed out and his fever will break soon, but without anything to sew it up, he can easily get a worse infection if we aren’t careful.”

“Should it be gone within the next two days?”

“That’s up to his body and how it reacts to the rest of this process. Why?”

“I heard them say that we’ll be landing on Dorado in three days,” San mutters. He glances over at Mingi’s reclining body, teeth sinking into his lower lip. “If he’s well enough within two, then maybe we can work out a breakout plan.” Wooyoung glances between the Spectre and Mingi without reacting for a few moments then gives a small nod.

“We’ll talk about it more later. I’ll try to get more information in the meantime.” Wooyoung moves to step away from the bed, but San keeps him in place, fingers curling around the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt.

“Just — please at least cooperate a little bit. You don’t have to tell them shit, but don’t put yourself in danger simply out of pride.”

“I won’t.”

That is what Wooyoung says, at least, but his next action is surely one out of either sheer stupidity or an obscene amount of pride. He steps over to the shock wall and raises a clenched fist to the metal. Without a drop of hesitation and without flinching in the slightest, he raps his knuckles against the metal as though it’s nothing. You would think it’s nothing too if not for the waves of electricity that cascade through his body and in turn, yours. If it were you, you would pull back thanks to the shock, but Wooyoung doesn’t and only wraps his hand around the bars.

“You gonna come get me or not?”

“Fucking brat,” the shorter guard mutters, but he does exactly what Wooyoung wants and approaches the fencing to let him out.

“Try harder on the fences,” Wooyoung remarks, daring to drag his tongue over the front of his bottom row of teeth — a show of smugness that drives the guard mad.

“It’s not meant to incapacitate you, simply to keep little brats like you in check.”

“That was meant to keep me in check? Come on, that little shock didn’t even make me flinch in the slightest.” That comment isn’t what gets Wooyoung smacked upside the head; rather, it’s the huff of laughter that falls from his lips right after that causes the first guard to elbow him in the back of the head.

“Get walking, fucker.”

“When you gonna let me see the big boss?” Wooyoung grumbles as the pair sandwiches him between their bodies.

“He’s not around to have any meetings, especially not with the like of you. Busy with work of his own right now. But maybe one day you’ll mess up enough to get a meeting with the lieutenant thought.”

“What? This disordered bunch of scoundrels has a lieutenant?” Yet again that draws the ire of the stockier guard, and the man slams the butt of his gun into Wooyoung’s stomach. The impact is enough to cause Wooyoung to hunch over, bound hands grabbing the other guard’s thigh for support. The force careens both into the wall on accident, but Wooyoung doesn’t stop there. He fumbles around until his hand slips into the man’s pocket. Cool plastic greets him, something flat and rectangular, and Wooyoung latches onto both that and something else that feels vaguely like metal before pulling his hand out the pocket.

“Stay up, you rat,” the taller hisses. When he knocks his shoulder into Wooyoung’s, Wooyoung lets his hand fall near his own pocket, pushing both items he just lifted into the fabric. You can’t be sure that he knows what he’s just taken or that he has any sort of plan for if he gets caught with the stolen items. He doesn’t let anything slip through his expression though and simply rights himself when the shorter of the pair nudges him forward, continuing to follow them through the narrow corridor. The longer you walk, the more the interior and layout of the ship become familiar to you — from the dark grey walls to the solid doors with no peepholes. Your growing suspicions come to a grinding halt of realization when Wooyoung is shoved into a dark room that has one yellow-tinted light hanging from the ceiling. It sits directly above a reclining chair, and that’s a sight you would recognize anywhere. From the straps on the side down to the flat metal headrest — they must be aboard a military ship, or at least a former one given the pirate crew running it currently. But that chair and this room resemble the one you had your memories wiped in with an uncanny certainty.

Wooyoung doesn’t have a chance to resist before the two guards are shoving him further in and pushing him down onto the chair. Rough leather straps wrap tight around his torso and legs, then two more for each ankle and wrist once the first ones are secured. That, however, is all the men do for the time being. It seems to shock Wooyoung as much as it shocks you because he shifts to watch them as they walk over to the side of the room and lean up against the wall.

“Aren’t you going to do anything else?”

“Be patient.”

Wooyoung squints. His wrists twist a bit in the restraints, testing the tautness of the material, and when it doesn’t give any budge, he jerks harder against them. Two clear and mocking laughs resound in response. Someone comes up on Wooyoung’s left, one of the guards moving without warning to lean over Wooyoung’s body.

“We’ll do a few tester questions just to see how willing you are to talk, how about that? So… who do you work for?”

“Go fuck yourself, how about that?”

“Oh come on, you’re a slave, aren’t you? Why be loyal to a cruel master? Can’t you answer one simple question?” The guard reaches down to toy with the collar around Wooyoung’s neck. In an instant, every muscle in his body seizes up, and Wooyoung goes so far as to stop breathing entirely with the barely brush of contact. The pirate doesn’t stop there, though, and he slips a finger under the metal collar to touch the skin underneath. Pressure invades your head, like someone is grabbing your skull between their hands and squeezing with an obscene amount of force. Wooyoung thrashes and tries to jerk away from the contact, but the guard just loops his finger under the metal and maintains that same level of contact. Your head — or Wooyoung’s rather — begins to tingle and throb, ears ringing loudly with white noise as something else creeps up on you.

Please!

If you had any ounce of control over Wooyoung’s body, you would jerk your head to find the source of the sound, but as it continues, you realize that it’s not real. Not something that is truly resonating around you in the room right now. The voice is too young, too child-like, just a wailing noise that repeats over and over again without cease. A constant prayer of ‘please’ that fades into the background when the guard above Wooyoung speaks again.

“Now who do you work for?”

Please.

“Why the fuck do you want to know?” Wooyoung grits out. “I have nothing to gain from speaking to you about anything.”

Please, please, please.

Finally, the hand slips away, and Wooyoung gasps for breath like he’s never had air in his lungs before. His head lolls to the side almost the same way a ragdoll’s would as a sharp slap echoes. Pain sears over your skin, resonating through Wooyoung’s body to burn you too.

“This is why you’re going to the whorehouse. They can shut you up permanently with other things.”

“That kind of threat won’t work on me,” Wooyoung manages to murmur. His eyes roll back in his head as he slumps back into the metal headrest, chest still heaving to bring in air. “I’m not gonna tell you anything. If your boss w-wants info so badly… he can come take it himself. What’s the point of this anyway? Bring me to a room and ask me pointless questions? You already said you aren’t allowed to hurt the ‘goods’ too badly. And if I’m slated to go to a whorehouse — messing any physical features up would lower your cut dramatically. But the boss probably doesn’t pay you to be smart, huh?”

Red flashes through your vision then a fist careens into Wooyoung’s nose so hard that you’re certain it’s cracked in two. Warmth trickles down his nostrils and trickles into his mouth, leaving the taste of blood on the back of your tongue. The second man in the room pulls forward. He grabs his partner by the arm and tugs him away from Wooyoung as best he can before taking up the same position over Wooyoung’s reclining form.

“Listen here, slave, I really don’t want to be cruel to you, but there are ways to make you talk, ways that won’t… damage the goods as you say and will instead mess up that pretty little head of yours, so let’s just cooperate while you can, yeah?”

A sneer tears through Wooyoung’s lips, but he doesn’t fight back any longer, letting his head drop back to the headrest without complaint.

“You know who I work for already so I don’t need to tell you shit.”

The shorter of the two guards takes another step towards the chair.

“That may be the case, yes, but we aren’t after your captain. We need information on someone else… someone who was seen with you in the streets outside the arena. Someone you seemed to be close to based on the way you were protecting her, and someone who looked an awful lot like the Ghost of Eros.”

You can feel the way Wooyoung’s eyes widen. The same shock that courses through his veins rushes through your own as well. His tongue darts out to moisten his lower lip, dragging over the dry and cracking skin until it stings. He tries his best to hide that shock, but it’s too late, and the guards have already seen the flashes of recognition across Wooyoung’s features.

“So you know Miss Y/N then?”

“Yeah, we’re closer than you might think…” Wooyoung mutters, glancing off to the side and avoiding their prodding stares as best he can.

“Where is she?”

“Hell if I know.” Wooyoung tries his best to shrug with the words, but the restraints around his arms and torso keep him firmly planted to the cold metal chair. “In case you don’t remember, you kinda kidnapped me while I was unconscious and couldn’t see shit. Amazing that you managed to grab my sorry ass yet missed your precious little Ghost entirely, huh?”

That pulls the second guard forward, and he steps into Wooyoung’s space with a sneer of his own that is so vicious it causes Wooyoung to flinch away.

“We weren’t the dipshits in charge of collecting the packages. The ones who were hit a snag.”

Wooyoung manages to roll his eyes even as the guard presses closer.

“There’s nothing I can do to help you then. Your people crushed my earpiece so I don’t even have a way to contact her.” A finger comes down to tap against Wooyoung’s temple. It’s almost gentle in the way it brushes over his skin, but each tap comes harder than the last and you aren’t too foolish to ignore the threat in the touches.

“You will cooperate though, and you will answer our questions. Otherwise, we’ll have no choice but to crack that pretty little head open and take what we need instead. Unless you’d like to arrive at the whorehouse as a husk? That would make your job easier wouldn’t it?” A cruel grin twists over the man’s lips, one that you can’t bear to look at but you don’t have much of a choice because Wooyoung decides to stare him down with equal ferocity. “Now, when did Miss Y/N join your crew?”

“Who knows?” Wooyoung shrugs within his constraints. “I’ve never been good at keeping track of time.”

“Then what did she do before joining the crew?”

“Never shared any details about her life before meeting us.”

The pirate lifts his hand, and you’re almost certain that he is going to hit Wooyoung again but instead, he presses one index finger back to Wooyoung’s temple.

“You know… the other one was a lot more intense about these questions. Thrashing, angry, fuming at every mention of her name, so upset that we would even dare to ask about the little ghost. Why is that? Are they close?”

Wooyoung arches a brow. It takes a moment for you to realize that this man is talking about San of all people, but when you do, a wave of guilt hits you square in the chest. The thought of San being strapped to a chair like this and probed for answers about you and your past — having to experience it through Wooyoung and knowing that this is all because they captured Wooyoung and San in your place… it’s brutal enough as it is. More than that, it brings you back to that conversation you shared with San in the aftermath of your shared torture — the one where you sat opposite each other on his bed and admitted how afraid both of you were. How you were afraid to ever see San in that position again, and yet somehow… somehow not seeing it is worse. Somehow knowing that he is being put through this sort of hell and you are powerless to do anything to stop it is far worse than lying across from him on a sandy floor in an old warehouse with a crazed Berserker over you.

“Am I supposed to know the intimate details of relationships now? Why does your boss even need to know something of that nature?”

“Quit asking fucking questions.” It’s the more violent of the two guards who says that, and he steps forward to slam his elbow into Wooyoung’s stomach. “Do you wanna know what we did with your friend? Put him on this very chair and told him all the pretty ways we could fuck up that head of his if he didn’t cooperate. People like him… they have a lot of baggage. They carry weights on their shoulders that last a lifetime, and if you know how to manipulate it, then you can get whatever you want from them. And you—”

The man pushes a hand up the expanse of Wooyoung’s chest until he reaches the band of metal around his neck. Two fingers slip under the collar. Wooyoung presses his lips together so tight that they tremble under the force, yet that’s still not enough to keep a whimper from slipping out. It’s a mirror image of the Wooyoung you met upon waking up in the medbay for the first time, a mirror image of the terrified boy who plunged an anesthesia shot into your neck, the one you were certain was weak and fragile. You hadn’t thought of Wooyoung like that since back then, never imagined him to be weak after Yeosang mentioned how much he’s gone through and after witnessing his drive to protect the people around him. But now?

Now it’s just Wooyoung. There is no one in his immediate vicinity to protect, nor is there anyone here to protect him as you are stuck being a helpless bystander with no power or control over his body.

“You’re just like him, aren’t you? Burden after burden on your shoulders. Pretty little traumas to keep you awake at night. That… tough guy act where you pretend to be better than your crewmates — don’t you know how easy it is to see through that? You know your own worth, and that worth amounts to being nothing more than a filthy slave who will soon sell his body to others to get a bite of food at night. Can’t you see yourself doing that for the rest of your life? Why else would a broken collar stay around your neck?”

Broken?

Wooyoung has grown dreadfully quiet, and that tells you that the pirate hit the nail on the head with too much ease. Yet now that you think about it, the collar around Wooyoung’s neck is most definitely a shock collar, but you have never once seen it glowing with electricity or power in the slightest, which can only mean that Wooyoung truly is walking around with a dead shock collar at all times. That reality is haunting on its own, but that coupled with the continuous and monotonous cries in the background that beg ‘please’ over and over only make matters worse.

“We’re getting nowhere with this one. The last one was much more responsive when it came to these questions. We should just bring him back in and leave this one to rot in the cell with the Berserker.”

“O-Okay… yeah… let’s try that.”

Wooyoung doesn’t make some great escape when they pull the restraints loose, and for the first time since waking up in his body, you gain the sense that he is genuinely tired of fighting back against their advances. He lets his body fall slack in their grasp, allowing himself to be pulled from the chair and dragged by the elbows between their bodies. Albeit faint and dying, you swear up and down that you can still hear that faint child-like voice ringing in your ears.

“You really do suck at torture.” A bit of crimson liquid slips out the corner of Wooyoung’s lips as he speaks, leftover residue that dripped from his nose, and he spits it to the floor without a care in the world.

“The goal isn’t to torture. If we could harm you physically, we certainly would.”

Wooyoung doesn’t speak further than that and again you think it’s because he doesn’t have the energy in his body to do so. He settles for glancing around the ship extensively as the two guards drag him back to the cell. That is somewhat odd to you at first seeing as he’s had plenty of opportunities to look around the ship from the inside of his cell, but realization sinks in when Wooyoung nods his head towards an exit door on the way to the cell.

Oh… are you trying to help me? That becomes increasingly apparent when he scans each wall and corner like his life depends on it, and you do your best to commit every inch of the room to memory. If this is something of a military ship, you should be able to figure out a basic layout with Yeosang’s help if he remembers anything too. Wooyoung hums to himself as they reach the electrified gate to the cell, but he doesn’t do anything other than that until the taller guard shoves him to the floor of the cell. San darts forward, nearly tripping over his feet in his rush to get to Wooyoung’s side.

“God, what did they do to you? I told you to be fucking careful!” He hisses under his breath. Wooyoung quirks one corner of his lips up and flashes a quick wink in San’s direction.

“Hold onto this for the time being,” he mutters back, digging the small rectangular card and piece of metal from earlier out of his pocket. Wooyoung only extends the piece of metal, something small and indiscernible practically, but Wooyoung must find some value in it to pass it to San rather than the card, which is clearly a keycard. San takes the item without complaint but his brows are still tightly knit together in concern. “I need more information from the guards. I almost got ‘em.”

“You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Only a little beat up. Pain… pain is nothing to me, not this kind at least. I’ve felt enough to grow rather used to it after all this time, so don’t worry about me getting hurt. It’s all just my little show so they don’t go harder than I want them to. Just — take the time to care for Mingi’s wound while you can. I’ll be back soon.”

Wooyoung hoists himself up to his feet and presses the keycard between his teeth. He and San maintain eye contact until Wooyoung turns completely around to face the closing door of the cell.

“Can’t even focus long enough to keep track of your belongings, huh? Cheap guards for the big boss?”

There’s a clatter then the slam of the cell door resounds, and both pirates rush in to tackle Wooyoung to the floor. The shorter of the two reaches him first, knocking into Wooyoung so hard and fast that it feels like your brain is rattling against the confines of your skull. San pushes forward as well and intercepts the second guard with his arm.

“Stand down, San, stand down!” Wooyoung shouts, stopping the Spectre at just the last second before he punches the guard in the throat. “It’s okay, just let them take me. It’s okay. They can’t hurt me.”

“We may not be able to, but the Reaper is gonna make you fucking pay for such foolish actions.”

“The Reaper, huh? Is that the infamous big boss?” A hand curls through Wooyoung’s hair. With a sharp tug that nearly pulls the strands right off his scalp, he’s brought up to his knees.

“Yes, it is. You’ve quickly proved that you’re too much of a disobedient brat to be sent to the House of Lilies. Maybe we should send you through some rehabilitation too with your little friends, yeah? We’ll take good care of you until the Reaper comes back to the ship though.”

Wooyoung collects a bit of spit on his tongue then slings it at the guard’s face, a bit of crimson mixing in with the saliva.

“We’re counting on it.”

Right then you feel Wooyoung directly contacting you in his consciousness, a small push and pull on the edges of your mind, and he drops his chin to his chest so quickly that you think he’s passed out on the spot. It’s enough to deter the guards and their focus on him for now, and he cracks an eye open to stare at the floor as they drag him down the hall yet again.

“Y/N…” he whispers under his breath. “Y/N, take that info back to Yeosang. Give him that name too. The Reaper.”

You want more information than that, but Wooyoung’s consciousness knocks hard against yours, and the vision before you fades to black, cutting any hopes of getting more from him drastically short.

All that you’re left with is fogged thoughts and that name shining clearly at the forefront of your mind: The Reaper.

…

Han Jisung.

Never did you think you would see him again, and that still hasn’t sunk into your bones yet. The feeling deep in your gut currently is hard to explain. You aren’t sure you could ever make sense of it, but seeing that man, Han Jisung, a person you relied on so heavily for so long standing over by the observation window on the bridge of The Horizon feels like it should be something of a fever dream. Alas, it’s not, it’s all very real and very tangible, and you don’t realize how long you’ve been glaring holes into the back of Jisung’s head until Yeosang clears his throat from beside you.

The two of you sit near the comms station, and you’ve made a home for yourself sitting atop the desk as Yeosang sits at the chair before it. He has his bound journal set out on the desk, pen in hand as he scribbles over the pages. Jongho is not far away himself: he stands closer to the captain’s seat, and none other than Hongjoong himself sits in that place, back steering the ship as he usually does. Seonghwa is nowhere in sight — still down in the medbay with Yunho for further observation since his condition was much more critical than yours. All you can hear is the faint rumble of the ship’s power systems and air passing through the air filters. The silencing should be deafening, but it gives you more than enough time to process your thoughts while you can.

That blessed silence is interrupted within seconds as Yeosang’s chair scrapes hard against the metal floor and he scoots closer to where you’re perched. You follow his movements, twisting at the waist to lean over the empty space between you and offer some semblance of privacy for the ensuing conversation.

“So, according to what you saw last night, I drew up a basic sketch of what I think the ship’s layout looks like,” Yeosang mutters, exposing the pages of his journal to you. “Two exit doors in the room with the cell. They took Woo to a small room that had a single reclining chair and medical equipment. Potentially a former military ship, although from the sounds of it, it must be a rather old one. Since they’re headed to Dorado, I would assume it’s a Doradian ship that they jacked.” Yeosang pauses to scribble a few more unintelligible words on the paper, writing twisting and curling in a way you’ve never seen before. “We still don’t know why they want you… but San said they’re at least three days out to Dorado. With the speed Hongjoong is flying at, we won’t catch up for another four days though. Most of the flight will be pushing through the celestial barrier between Aurum and Geofflan, but we can’t burn extra fuel without having to tap into emergency reserves.”

“So then what? The exchange is supposed to happen soon after they land so there’s no way we’ll be able to catch up and break them loose before then,” you reason. Yeosang manages a small nod, avoiding the stare you send his way as he continues to scribble in his journal.

“We at least know the main location will be the capital, Lynder. And we know that Wooyoung is slated to go to the House of Lilies — if this Reaper figure doesn’t change his mind, that is — but Mingi and San will be sent to separate rehabilitation facilities.”

“That’s bad for the rest of us then. Once they’re separated, we have a higher risk of failure.”

Yeosang presses his lips into a thin line and hums softly. “But once they’re out of this Reaper’s hands, they won’t be his responsibility anymore. Mingi will, since they plan to transport him back to Kebos once he’s ready, but Woo and San are being sold independently. We should aim to take them back after the deals go through. That way the Reaper can’t cause issues because he will already have his money. A whorehouse won’t mind losing someone unless they pay a great deal for them… I don’t know how Dorado operates in terms of military regulations and such. Or even how important the military is to them. We’ll have to be quick to get San back, won’t we?”

You give a quick shake of your head.

“They plan on putting him through that regression therapy first so we will have time before they try to wipe him.”

“If, and only if he’s strong enough to withstand that torture.”

You ball your fists tight around the leather of your pants.

“He’ll be strong enough.”

“There’s no way of knowing what they’ll do to him once it’s time for that regression therapy, and we won’t be able to do anything for him if he caves early.”

“Then we should prioritize him and get to him first,” you argue, forcing your tone to stay as low as possible. “Either we have faith that he will hold out as long as possible or he’s the first one we rescue.”

“And how confident are you that he can handle that level of torture? I saw many recruits be sent to those wiping chambers in my time as a prince. None of them lasted longer than fourteen hours on the table. Either due to a weak constitution or the sheer level of trauma they were forced to go through. Knowing his past and what traumas they could awaken, how confident can you be that he will last longer than that? I don’t want one slimy fucking mongrel to lay a hand on Woo in that whorehouse, and he will be easiest to recover so we need to prioritize him if that’s the easiest option. If San reaches a point where he wants the serum, then what? We have another Mingi dilemma on our hands?”

That question stops you in your tracks. You hadn’t dared to think that far ahead simply out of fear that it could be a reality. It does take you back to the one and only time you and San spoke about the issue the serum posed though, for better or worse.

“If our positions were switched, would you be okay with it?”

“I can’t pretend to know what that experience was like for you or how deeply it affected you. If I were the one who had used it before, and I was aware of it like you, I know that I would be selfish at the end of the day. I have mentioned it before but I wish to cling to you for as long as I can. And though it’s — though it goes against my morals, I would not want you to take the serum because I can’t bear the thought of you forgetting who I am and how I feel about you. I know that sounds a bit bold, especially given your relations with Seonghwa, but… I would say the same to any member of the crew — save for Yeosang perhaps. You all are special and valuable to me in unique ways, and the thought of any of you losing any memory we share is too much for me.”

“Would you expect the same of me in return?”

“I would only ask that which I would ask any of the crew. To do what is right by your own standards and not by anyone else’s. We’ve all been slaves to other people’s whims and desires for too long. I would never wish to put anyone through that again, and even something as simple as pushing my opinion onto you would be unfair.”

And here you sit now coming to the gross realization that you cannot be okay with the thought of San forgetting who you are. You cannot live in a universe where he loses every ounce of work he’s put in over the years, the relationships he’s built with the crew, the things he has had to survive — you cannot bear the thought of it becoming meaningless and futile in the face of simply forgetting it. Because now, as you struggle on your own with these hazed memories that have no true place in your mind, you know that you could never wish that on anyone. Not knowing your past is a horrid fate, but losing all the pieces you’ve put together is a fate worse than death.

“There’s no way in hell I am ever going to let them give San that serum, even if it’s what he wants.”

Yeosang huffs air through his teeth but doesn’t comment further than that, and you take it as a sign that the conversation is concluded for now. When you lift your head again, movement from near the observation window catches your eye, and none other than Jisung himself stares over at you with eyes wide and searching. Like not a thing has changed in the past few years, and like those broken memories that plagued your dreams were nonexistent altogether.

Whatever comes over you is compelling enough to pull you off the desk. Yeosang follows your movements with his eyes, lips parting to ask what you’re doing, but you stop him by dropping a hand to his shoulder.

“There’s something I can’t wait on anymore,” you murmur. That is all the explanation you give before forcing your feet to move towards Jisung. A soft laugh echoes through the bridge as you draw closer to him, and Jisung greets you with nothing more than that and a rounded smile at first.

“Took you long enough to come speak to me like this. All those years of knowing each other for what?”

“For you to tell me the truth now.”

“Hm?”

“Hyunwoo told me before he went off to die that one day you would tell me the truth. So what is it?”

A frown paints Jisung’s lips.

“What are you talking about? Hyunwoo never said anything of the sort.”

“I distinctly remember it, as well as being strapped to a chair with Hyunwoo over me saying that they would only take a little bit. And I’ve been having odd dreams of memories that I have no recollection of. So just what the fuck happened to me before leaving the military and killing the king? Right now I don’t have anyone alive who can tell me that except for you, Jisung.”

Jisung folds his arms over his chest, eyes turning to narrow slits as he glares forward at you. Then, he slowly extends his right arm and poises to place the back of his hand to your forehead.

“Watch it.” You don’t need to turn to know whose voice that is, and you half-expect to turn and find Jongho at your side in the blink of an eye. However, when you glance back over your shoulder, Jongho is still beside Hongjoong’s chair, and the captain’s hand is placed ever so delicately in front of his chest that it hardly blocks the Berserker from moving. It’s moreso the gesture that keeps Jongho in check, and no matter how unhappy he seems with the order, he follows it without complaint.

“I have no intention of hurting her at all! Come now, would you take me for a fool? You should all know better seeing as the bargain I made in helping you was for her safety.”

“She might have made that bargain with you, but you made no such deal with me,” Hongjoong states without batting an eye. “And I will not allow you to force her to leave my crew, even if you have come to an agreement.”

“She made the agreement knowing full well what it would entail and because it’s what she wanted,” Jisung counters. His arm falls back to his side without touching you in the slightest.

“I didn’t,” you refute immediately. “I am only doing this for the crew, not because I actually want to be near you.” An almost feral noise tears through Jisung’s lips, and you flinch back just to put some distance between your bodies.

“After all the things I’ve done for you, all the sacrifices I’ve made, the risks I took to even make certain that you would make it out of that cell alive—”

Your body reacts before your head can catch up. Next thing you know, you have two fists curled tight around Jisung’s collar and are slamming him up against the observation window with a strength that surprises you as much as it surprises Jisung. Hongjoong must retract his hold on Jongho because suddenly the Berserker is at your side now, hand pressing hard on your shoulder. You knock his grip away without so much as looking at him; there is too much adrenaline running through your body right now, too much heat in your blood and fire in your bones, and nothing is going to stop you from taking out years of bottled-up frustrations on Jisung now.

“You have absolutely no right to dare to say such a thing. You don’t get to talk about sacrifice! The only person who took risks for me was Hyunwoo. The one who died In my place is the only one who gets to talk like that and claim that he’s made sacrifices. I buried you in my past the minute I was forced to dig an empty grave alone. You let me alone on that god-forsaken planet to bury an empty grave without so much as looking back! No matter how hard you try to justify it, there is nothing that will ever convince me that it was the right or fair decision to make! Anything you ever did for me — whether I remember them or not — it all pales in comparison to what Hyunwoo sacrificed.”

“Only people who die for you can sacrifice things? What of the people I killed for you? The innocent people I killed to keep your reputation untarnished? How much blood is on your hands, Y/N? You look at me like I am a monster but I am what you made me! Whether you like it or not, the truth of the matter is that Hyunwoo agreed to my terms. Hyunwoo is just as much at fault for what we did to you as I am. And what we did was necessarily because I guarantee if you remembered all the things you did, you would rather kill yourself than keep on living the way you are now.”

Your momentary shock is enough for Jongho to pull you off Jisung. He wedges himself between you and the Spectre, folding his arms over your hips to guide you further away from the man.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Stand down,” he murmurs. “You need to pick your battles, and this is not one for you to fight right now.” Again you feel that pull of warmth coming from him, like someone is trying to pull something from your chest, but it retracts almost instantaneously. Jongho falters. His eyes squeeze shut harshly, face contorting with something that almost looks like pain in your eyes, but that lasts less than a second before he’s recovered again. It’s not enough to stop the onslaught of emotions coursing through your veins.

“And what exactly is it that you and Hyunwoo did to me? Because I sure as hell don’t remember or understand anything! How long do you plan to lie to my face?”

“I can’t tell you,” Jisung says. There is a sudden drop to his tone, one that hits harder than it should. “As selfish as it may be, that is the one secret I will never disclose, and Hyunwoo would be a fool to ever believe that I would tell you what it is. If he wanted it exposed so desperately, then he can do it himself.”

You see red. It all feels like a blur yet simultaneously like the universe is moving in slow motion around you. You are hyperaware of the way you push Jongho out of the way to get back to Jisung, fist clenching so hard that your knuckles go white just before you sock the man in the jaw. The noise that resounds is disgusting and brutal, a sick crack that echoes in your ears like a battle cry.

“You don’t fucking get to talk about Hyunwoo as though he’s alive,” you growl, curling your fingers through Jisung’s hair and yanking his head back hard enough to make his neck pop. “You dipped off-planet without even seeing the execution through, without even waiting for blood to spill, so you have no right.” Jisung’s tongue darts out and wets the corners of his lips. “You have no right1” You repeat as though it will do any good. “You killed innocent people as though it was nothing! Was that all Hyunwoo was to you too? Just another bump in the road on your path to power?”

You swing for his face once more, but this time Jisung reacts before you can hit him. He pushes your hand to the side, expression relatively neutral compared to your own rage-filled one.

“I bet you couldn’t wait to see Hyunwoo die because that would mean the leader was out of the way and you could finally have that power you wanted! People would finally listen to you? Is that what you wanted? How could you do that to us, Jisung? We were a team, a family, you were all I had. How could you kill people in my name? Innocent people, who did nothing wrong killed for saying something trivial about me? How could you let innocent people be taken in my place? Wooyoung and San did nothing wrong! They don’t have that blood on their hands, they don’t carry the weight of that guilt on their shoulders, they aren’t bad people, Han Jisung! How could you? Why would you let that happen? Why would you put them in a place to be hurt and sold in my place? Who gave you the right to make that decision? You’re not some god!”

Jisung doesn’t move a muscle throughout your tirade, his face doesn’t budge nor does his disposition — it’s almost like yelling at a statue in an eerie and unsettling way. Then he speaks again, and this time it is with a haunting flatness to his tone.

“When have you ever known me to be cruel?”

“I-I thought the answer to that was never bu-but now I don’t know if I can trust that.”

Jisung blinks.

You inhale.

Then something hits your stomach so hard that you double over in pain, blind-sighted by the speed at which Jisung moves, and Jongho doesn’t have time to react either. Jisung doesn’t stop there though; no, he returns the favor and grips your hair close to the scalp to yank you back up to be eye level with him.

“I am merely… a cruel person, Y/N. I have always been cruel. And when it comes to protecting people I care about, there are no morals. There are no grey areas. There are no lines that I am not willing to cross. The universe has made me evil by taking everything from me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get to have at least one thing I care about. And that one thing is you.”

Silence ensues. You don’t dare speak again; you aren’t sure you could even form words if you wanted to. Out the corner of your eye, you see a flash of metal and the barrel of a gun.

“If you so much as move a muscle, I will shoot you down with no hesitation.” You never saw the man move but that cold tone can only belong to Hongjoong. That suspicion is confirmed when Jisung releases his hold on your hair, letting you pull back and stand up straight once more. Hongjoong doesn’t lower his weapon even as Jisung raises his hands in surrender. “You call yourself cruel. Well, I am evil. Cruel, harsh, cold-hearted, and full of nothing but malice. So you can fucking bet that I won’t let you take her against her will. And if you even for a breath of a moment think otherwise, then I will put a bullet between your eyes and send you off to meet your maker.”

Jisung’s nose twitches as he sneers back at the captain.

“That’s not a risk you would ever take.”

“Ha, then you know fairly little about me, Han Jisung. I could sit here for hours and tell stories about the blood I’ve spilled, the blood my lieutenant has spilled, the things we have done as the most notorious and bloodthirsty pirates in the universe, or I could tell you of my own individual accomplishments. But if you truly think that I won’t do everything in my power to stop you from taking her?”

Hongjoong’s arm shifts and the barrel of the gun finds a new home, a new target.

On you.

Between your eyes.

Hongjoong cocks the hammer back. The click seems ten times louder than it is in reality. Jongho pulls closer to you, eyeing Hongjoong with a wary gaze.

“I can be evil if that is what you want me to be,” Hongjoong whispers, arching a brow at Jisung. “Such a thing would be easy for a man like me. But it comes with a price, and it’s one that you should weigh heavily. Take her against her will, and I’ll make sure the only thing you take is a corpse.”

“Good move, Captain,” Jisung replies. “I do so enjoy playing such mind games with someone who is actually of my caliber and on my level like this. Now, the move is mine to make, no?”

“You would treat her life as something as mundane and childish as a game of chess?”

Jisung clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Mind yourself, Captain. All I have to do is give the command, and my dogs will bite.” Hongjoong lets Jisung step around him and make for the edge of the bridge before lowering his pistol and returning it back to its holster.

“Han Jisung.”

Hongjoong’s words stop the man in his tracks, and your eyes find his in the brief moment of hesitation before he turns to look directly at the captain. Hongjoong doesn’t look back, at least not face to face because he merely glances over at Jisung through the reflection of the observation window. It’s an almost haunting sight, one that sends a chill down your spine and makes you stand up a bit straighter as you watch them level each other with glares full of contempt and malice.

“Hungry dogs are never loyal. They’ll eat with anybody who has food. And yours are ravenous.”

“The same could be said for yours, Scourge. Many wonder how much bending that Berserker can take before he breaks. Others say that the slave will turn tail and run the moment the doors of the whorehouse open. My money, on the other hand, is on the Spectre.”

If either man hears the audible gasp of panic that slips between your lips, they opt not to comment on it. Jisung’s lips twist a bit, curving into an ugly smile that makes you sick to your stomach.

“You’d be nothing more than a fool to believe that any of my dogs are not fed well under my care.”

“Is that what happened during your mutiny? Which dog were you, Kim Hongjoong? From the stories I’ve heard, you were starved to the bone.”

Hongjoong shows an admirable sense of restraint in that moment; he barely lets any emotion slip through his features or stance even though you are certain that he is just as shocked as you are.

“The weakest links are always the first to go. The ones with the most to lose, and thus… the Spectre will break first. Because whether you acknowledge it or not, I have something he is desperate to see again.” Jisung shifts to face you. His eyes glint under the fluorescent lights of the bridge. “What happens when you throw a hungry dog a bone?” It’s nothing more than a rhetorical question, one meant to scare you, and that it does because your heart clenches painfully in your chest and squeezes around itself until you can barely stand up straight. “He swallows it whole.”

You watch Jisung leave without daring to speak one more word to him. Hongjoong doesn’t move away from the observation window quite yet, and even as you look over his reflection in the window, you cannot for the life of you gauge what emotions are running through his body.

“Would you truly have shot me?” You ask before you can stop yourself. The adrenaline of having a gun pointed at your head with such little care for your life is not something foreign but to have Hongjoong be the person to do so… you want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but his tone was far too resolute for that. But then, he shakes his head in denial.

“Never. I made a promise to keep you safe, and I made similar promises to the rest of the crew that no matter what, I would always do whatever is in my power to keep you all safe. To keep our crew safe. I am not about to let Han Jisung take that from my crew.” Hongjoong folds his hands behind his back. His boots scrape against the floor as he spins on his heel and heads back to the captain’s seat.

“What… what did Jisung mean by his ‘dogs’ if he works under Vladimir?” Jongho is the one to pose the question, and it brings Yeosang away from the comms station to listen in on the conversation better. Hongjoong tilts his head from side to side, letting a quiet hum ring through the room before speaking again.

“Did you truly believe that when Jisung told you that? I thought I taught you all to think more critically than that. After all, who in the universe could want you badly enough to kidnap and work with deadly pirates?” Hongjoong looks you dead in the eye as he asks the question. You scoff to deflect the panic it sends through your system.

“With a bounty like mine, it’s enough for anyone to resort to violence of some sort.”

“Word gets around quickly, and people hear things fast in our little world. Pirates are good at transmitting information swiftly. Which means that everyone already knows you are now employed by the Black Scourge’s crew. So I’ll ask again: who could possibly want you badly enough to cross me of all people?”

There is only one answer to that question, and that answer just walked off the bridge not too long ago. You can’t bring yourself to admit it with your words, although you don’t need to because Hongjoong simply continues speaking without missing a beat.

“Jisung made no mistakes. There were no missteps. When we were in the arena, there was never any intention of kidnapping you. There was no hesitation on his part, he knew what he was doing, he knew how to play into your hands. He made a deal with Vladimir — allow his own crew to get into the arena so that he could take two of my crew, then he would kidnap Mingi for Vladimir as payment. Because Jisung knew there was an easier way to get you since he knew what kind of person you are from time in the military together. He knew that if he took your teammates, you would not hesitate to sacrifice yourself for their safety. And thus, he made his offer: an exchange of you for your crewmate’s recovery. In reality, he was the one who took them intentionally in the first place.”

A smile twists at the man’s lips, one that is almost unsettling and disturbing, and you find yourself shifting your weight from foot to foot as you look down at him.

“I played right into his hands then,” you murmur, glancing away to grant yourself some semblance of peace.

“That may be the case, yes… however, once something is mine, I don’t particularly like letting go of it. If there’s one thing I have in common with such a person, it’s that. I am undeniably selfish, Y/N. And now that you’re here with me, I don’t intend to let anyone take you from my hands. If he wants you so desperately, then he will have to go through hell to get you, and giving people hell is my specialty.”

“Is that the same reason you pointed a gun at my head?”

“Every man has his price. I find threats to be quite effective in securing bargains and deals. Before I placed that gun to your head, he didn’t imagine I could be so cruel. And now… I’ve only confirmed every suspicion that has been eating at my mind since I woke up.”

“And those suspicions would be what?” You dare to ask, leveling the man seated before you with a stare that he regards out the corner of his eye.

“Han Jisung is nothing but a hungry dog, and I intend to make him bite.”

✧✧✧ a/n: haha? 17.2k WHO?! gotta admit this is my fave chapter i’ve ever written the ending hits im v proud of her ! what did i say i said she would be a long one but even i didn’t expect this i cannot lie well as i said i am dropping and yeeting (to sleep) but i’ll be here to watch my chaos unfold a bit first ;3 as ALWAYS let me know what you think, give me the juicy deets, the theories, the screaming, the ‘caly how could you’, and all that jazz it’s SO good to be posting a mists chapter yall have no idea how happy it makes me to do this again fogijdfiogaj, she’s heavily unedited tho so im sorry in advance for grammatical issues

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @vampire-jimin @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @felixity @rawrrainn @hewwo-from-the-other-side @icekdy @fuckjoong​

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[hyper-fxation]

Café Mourning (Reid/Reader)

Summary: Reader is a barista who has been missing their favorite customer for the past three months. One rainy day, he walks in like nothing happened. A/N: 
Hi there! Welcome to my first official fic! This imagine was written for @imagining-in-the-margins​ ‘s Discord fic swap (which was a blast, might I add). To my lovely @ctrlalt-del​, this one’s for you! I hope you enjoy!

P.S: My requests/inbox are open! Feel free to send me any ideas; smut, fluff, angst, you name it!

Couple: Spencer Reid/GenderNeutral!Reader 
 Category: 
Fluff Word Count: 1.3K

——————

The early Saturday shifts were calm, yet slightly pitiful. All they consisted of was dusting between the same few crevices about twenty-seven times, or at least until there wasn’t a single espresso grain in sight. And as if the leisurely cleaning wasn’t tiring enough, the rain pattered heavily against the building, causing everything to feel twice as dreary. Not much activity was happening at the little coffee shop on the corner, especially not at the ass crack of dawn. I’d almost given up on seeing anyone before the sun would rise when the first ring of the doorbell chimed.

“I’ll be right with you!” I watched the final beads of coffee drip into the cup before making a quick effort to tend to the customer. After all, people tended to be ruder than usual at this hour. At least, before they got their coffee.

“I’m sorry for the wait… What can I get for y-“

The ceramic slipped from my fingers as I gasped, sucking in breath as I awaited the dreaded crash by my feet. There stood the man, drenched by the morning showers. His hair hung in loose, soggy curls. He wore a soft yet longing smile across his face. That smile belonging to Spencer.

“Hey.” His eyes were wide, surprised by the sudden accident.

“Good morning! Oh my god, you’re soaked! Do you not have an umbrella?” Careful not to slip on the spilled drink, I frantically searched for any sort of towel to help his current issue, never mind the coffee.

“No, I forgot it this morning.” His eyes followed as I ducked underneath the counter, slowly peeling his now twice as heavy blazer from his shoulders.

“Spencer! You’re going to catch a cold!” I settled for a roll of paper towels, tossing them over the counter.

He stared at the towels for longer than I had expected him to before adverting his gaze back towards myself.

“Why are you staring at me like I’m the crazy one?” I couldn’t describe the way he had looked at me then. Longing, dazed, I wasn’t sure. But it had certainly set my heart into a thumping frenzy.

“Did you…call me Spencer?”

As a matter of fact, I had. A slip of the tongue, if anything. The man had never told me his name. Nor had I asked.

“Oh,” I spoke, eyes widening in alarm. “Yeah. I did. I’m sorry!”

I attempted to recall the memory of when I had first heard his name. A friend, co-worker, someone who he had arrived at the shop with months ago. She had called him Spence, to which I had assumed was a nickname for Spencer.

“One of your co-workers called you Spence so I just figured…”

“No, it’s fine!” He smiled then, noticing my panic and placing his jacket over the back of a chair. “I just didn’t realize you know my name. I definitely didn’t expect you to remember it.” His voice softened, trailing off as he slowly peeled a few towels from the roll.

His words took me by surprise; of course, I would have remembered! Spencer’s early morning presence was what kept me excited for another shift. I was always greeted with a cheerful “good morning”, a soft smile and an occasional compliment regarding my hair or outfit for the day. I wasn’t sure how I would have forgotten those soft hazel eyes followed by his small, button nose that would scrunch out of habit. I found myself drifting into my own thoughts, leaving us both in awkward silence.

“Why would I forget?” I shifted a few cups on the counter, waiting for his eyes to meet my own once again.

He placed the damp towels into the trash beside the door before running his palms over his shirt, realizing that it was still soaked before shaking his hands slightly in attempt to dry them.

“I…I just haven’t been by in a while.”

“Yeah, three months, right?” I shook my head, allowing myself to laugh at my own stupid thoughts. “A-At first I thought you’d finally gotten tired of me and were just avoiding my shift.”

He almost gasped, taken aback by my statement. “Oh, God no! No, I haven’t had a decent cup of coffee since the last time I saw you.”

A playful smile overtook my face as I offered, “Do you want to fix that?”

He seemed to relax, breathing out a sigh that I hadn’t realized he was holding in and tucking his damp hair behind his ears.

“Definitely, although I’m a little worried I’m developing a Pavlovian response to seeing you.”

I giggled as I fixed a new cup underneath the espresso machine. “The training experiment with dogs? Am I the dog or the bell?”

“You’re definitely not the dog.” He laughed as I finished his cup, placing it on the other side of the counter.

Handing him a few napkins to hold underneath the steaming drink, I studied his current appearance. “And you’re very puppy like. It suits you.”

He gave a small nod before moving to sit. I watched for a couple of seconds before turning my attention back to my obnoxious cleaning.

The shop was quiet for about two minutes, other than my audible, uncomfortable grunts as I separated the shards of glass from the coffee puddle. I allowed a few rags to soak up the mess as I sighed, placing my hands on my hips. Spencer had been watching, gulping down a rather large sip before speaking softly. “I missed you.”

Talk about the world’s heaviest eye contact as we both attempted to decide if those words were meant to be spoken before I decided to respond.

“Really?”

He seemed hesitant to answer before giving a slow nod, averting his eyes to the liquid in his cup. My heart most definitely swelled, rocking back on my heels as I watched Spencer fidget in his seat.

“…Do you want to hear something embarrassing?” I suddenly announced.

“Embarrassing for you or embarrassing for me? Because that will determine my answer.”

I gave a soft smile before responding. “For me.”

“Then continue…” He smirked behind his mug, taking a large gulp.

“So, I just remade that drink for you.”

It took him a few seconds to fully comprehend what I had said, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I made that drink for you earlier, which…” I gestured to the soaking paper on the floor by my feet. “Is the drink I dropped on the floor. But even if I hadn’t dropped it, I would have remade the drink because I was worried that you’d think I was weird for having it made already.” I felt my face flush as his eyebrows raised in question.  

“How did you know I was going to come in?” He placed his cup down on a napkin, twisting it by the handle as he watched it slide. “Well, I didn’t. For three months every morning I… made one anyway. Just in case.” I stumbled upon my words, flustered as my little coffee shop crush was becoming a bit more obvious the more I spoke. “Is that weird? I’m sorr-“

I was then cut off by an aggressive screech of chair legs against the hardwood floor. Spencer sped behind the counter, stepping over the mess that had yet to be properly taken care of before pulling my body into the warmest hug I had experienced in a quite some time. Despite his attire being damp, I placed my head against his shoulder with a deep sigh.

“What’s this for?” I finally spoke as he took a step back to meet my eyes.

“I never expected anyone to have waited for me.” His words were laced with genuine sadness, his eyes sparkling with appreciation.

I shook my head with a playful smile, patting his chest softly. “You underestimate me, Spencer.”

“You? Of course not! Your barista skills, well…”

[fierysafrina]

amica mea | lucifer x reader

word count: 1.ooo notes: in my defense; i had no intentions of going the way i did. i really didn’t. i got this idea in the morning and it was so cute, but then my mind was like “you know ... what if??” and now i’m like “i dare someone tell me he wouldn’t do that”

When Lucifer loves, he loves deeply and most passionately. His emotions and feelings overwhelm you, completely surround themselves around you and never leave you. They have no intention of leaving you and Lucifer makes it known. It’s not obsessive, even if to some it may look that way, but you know better.

It’s the cup of tea or coffee every morning that greets you at your usual seat. It’s a subtle touch of his fingers against your arm before he interlocks his with yours, brings your hand up to you lips and wishes you a good morning. It’s that small smile in the corner of his lips that makes you feel butterflies in the pit of your stomach and chest swell with feelings you thought you could never feel.

It’s days when Lucifer is too busy with work regarding school and council that when he comes back to the House of Lamentation in late hours you’re the only person he seeks just to hold close. The way his embrace is just a bit tighter than you’re used to; the way he inhales only to let it out shakily.

When the exchange program is coming to an end, you’re the first to notice his absence. You can’t stay in Devildom, not when Diavolo’s intention was for you to be the mediator between the two realms. It was the truth that came out sooner than you thought. You try to hide the disappointment when the young prince denies your request to remain in Devildom, but Lucifer is perfect at hiding his emotions.

Lucifer locks himself into the room, trying to come up with a plan. Any kind of plan is fine really and he tries so hard that when he hears Mammon’s plan, he can’t help but feel relief overwhelm him. You can stay here even if the brothers will need to hide you from the prince.

You will stay.

Lucifer often finds himself wondering if he was still an angel, would he still meet you? Or would he think of you as another mortal when your time comes.

It leaves a bitter feeling in his mouth at the thought of never seeing you again. He feels Simeon’s gaze on him more than he finds it accepting, yet the moment the demon looks at him, Simeon looks away. The way his attention falls on you instead, makes his chest tight because you’re looking at him as lovingly as you do at him. Sometimes it’s hard for Lucifer to see you be friendly to Simeon of all beings; the angel that could easily swipe you off the floor and show you so many more things.

Lucifer’s want for your stay and your presence only grows. He wants to hold you in his arms, to show everyone to whom you belong and to fight anyone that dares to point out you’re two different beings.

Your eyes are wide and you’re gasping for air, trying to breathe. You’re staring at him, question after question forming in your head only for none to be spoken.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Lucifer begs you as you cling onto his arms, tears in your eyes. “I did for us. I want you to remain by my side.”

And you believe him.

“Lucifer!”

You want to turn and ask the angel for help, but Lucifer takes you in his arms before you can even think of it, burying your face into his chest. He growls, his embrace suffocating and you feel something soft. His wings wrap themselves around you, trying to hide you as you continue to heave, the burning in your throat growing.

“What have you done?” Diavolo’s voice is composed, but you recognize worry.

“What I should have long time ago.” Lucifer answers calmly and kisses the crown of your head. “I don’t want them to go. I want to be with them. They enthral me. They complete me.” His voice is soft, like a melody and you unconsciously move further into his embrace, welcoming his coldness.

“This is not like you.”

Before Lucifer can say anything, a groan stops him. It turns into a scream and you’re holding for your head only to feel something sharp growing. It’s an odd feeling, an unfamiliar one, but at the same time you feel strength and anger consume you.

The next time Lucifer speaks it’s low and deep, an unspoken threat heard in that one word; “Leave.”

You don’t know if Simeon and Diavolo left, but you believe they did or Lucifer’s wings wouldn’t give you the space you need. You’re on your knees, panting and Lucifer is kneeling in front of you, speaking apologies one after another as he tries to console you.

“I’m sorry my love,” His hands hold yours and he’s kissing your knuckles and fingers, hands, with eyes closed as you battle with the pain that’s spreading inside you. “I’m so sorry, but it had to be done.”

You can’t find it in yourself to speak as the unknown energy you feel slowly disappears. The world that has been spinning just a moment ago is now still and you’re holding onto Lucifer’s arms, gripping him tightly that he can’t help but wince at the sheer strength you have gained.

“Amica mea,” he whispers and you raise your head to look at him.

You know those two words. It’s what he had been calling you ever since you returned his feelings. My love you repeat in your mind and you don’t realize you’re speaking as well, because he’s smiling at you as he holds your face in his hands.

“Now you cannot leave me.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words and you know you should be pulling away and leave, but you can’t find it in yourself to do so. Instead you only lean deeper into his touch, his scent and sudden warmth overwhelming you as he rests his forehead on yours, his nose brushing against yours.

“You’re mine and if anyone tries to take you from me, I will fight them.”

It’s a promise you know Lucifer would see the end to it if it ever happened. And for some reason, you don’t mind if he does.

[ddarker-dreams]

Round Them Up. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

warnings: kidnapping, canon typical violence, and some degrading language. word count: 3.4k.

A simple philosophy of budding romance is to keep date nights special. 

You’ve been told this for a long time, that the intimate experience between partners is always meant to be cherished. That with time, among other things, feelings start to change, or fade away all together. It’s a frightening aspect that you used to concern yourself with, the possibility of losing the spark that ignited passion within you in the first place. If these months dating Giorno Giovanna have taught you anything, it’s that these doubts were wrongfully planted. While he’s a busy man, he’s always gone above and beyond for your sake. Fancy dinners at the finest of establishments, picnics on the best private beaches of Italy, and even occasional trips to Milan or Rome. It isn’t the luxury that draws you to him like a moth to flame, but rather the enigma of a personality he brings. Every interaction with Giorno is imprinted on your mind. 

Charismatic, thoughtful, blessed with quick wit… your long list of admirations for him goes on. Humming lightly to yourself, there's an extra pep in your step as you take on the relatively mundane task of shopping. Shopping for clothes is usually one of your least favorite activities. Having to go in and out of dressing rooms, trying on multiple sizes of clothes just to find the one you need is out of stock, or the cashier pestering you into signing up for a credit card. The regular reservations that come with purchasing new clothes for your wardrobe are thrown out, as you’re too preoccupied looking forward to tonight. Giorno’s compliments of your person always feel so sincere, like every word has been designed only for you to hear. 

Tonight will be no different, an event marked on your calendar for the last month.

A romantic, seaside dinner. For the special occasion, you’re wanting to look the part. Feeling over the fabric underneath your fingertips, you inspect every item on the rack with potent interest. Keeping in mind the most flattering cuts for your body type, and the colors that complement your hair and complexion, multiple possible outfits are piled up one after the other. It’s difficult to fathom that you’ve already been in this store for a little over an hour, still undecided. Store clerks have come and gone, most trying a little too hard to keep you pleased. Finding their hovering around your person stifling, you managed to make your way around the store in hopes of avoiding further confrontation. It doesn’t strike you as strange how you haven’t seen anyone around lately, really. It’s not that busy a time of day, you believe.

“This should just about do it.” 

Hoisting up the tentatively picked selection, you make your way towards the back to try them on. When making your way over, you hear your phone buzzing, and look down to see who it is. There’s no fighting the smile that blossoms on your lips at the sight of Giorno’s name popping up on your screen, your phone background a picture of the two of you baking together. There’s flour smeared over his cheek, a result of your doing. Calling back fondly on the memory, your heart leaps in your chest at the chance to talk to him, if even for a brief moment. Sliding to unlock your phone, while balancing your clothes in the other arm, you see he’s asking about your day. 

A heavy set of footsteps saunter towards you, like a foreboding omen. 

“You must be real happy talking to whoever that is, huh?” A gruff voice catches your attention, and you look up to see an older looking man. He’s of intimidating stature, having broad shoulders, towering over you by at least a foot, accented with a navy suit. By his side are two men in a similar get up, all glowering down at you as if you were a speck of dust. You look around to see if it’s really you he’s speaking to, a spine chilling sensation trickling down your spine. There’s not a single soul in the store, other than the four of you. Not even the cashiers are at their station, the employees that were once buzzing about having vanished in thin air. 

There’s some malicious forces at play here. You need to get out of this, as soon as you can. 

Gulping, you subconsciously take a step back, pressing your phone to your chest. “Uh, I’m sorry… but can I help you…?” 

You cringe at how your voice wanes, not wanting to showcase your helplessness if you could help it. At your further prying, no information is offered. Time is set to a standstill, every passing second feeling more sluggish than the last. The main figure of the group regards you with little warmth, grabbing a picture from his breast pocket. He looks from the object in his hands to you, scrutinizing every detail. Never have you felt so small, so powerless. Whatever is going on here is sending alarms off in your head, a nasty premonition of things to come churning your stomach violently. 

“Now, listen to me real carefully. I don’t fancy the thought of messing up a pretty face like yours,” he opens the inside of his jacket, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of a handgun. You almost faint at the not so subtle message. “Follow me without any fuss, and you have my word no harm will come to you.” 

Your eyes dart around, searching for help that you’ll never find. Nausea and dizziness are cumbersome, rolling over you like crushing waves. You don’t know what to expect, all you can assume is that this won’t end well. Not trusting your tongue to form the words necessary to prevent the situation from getting worse, you nod your head once. The skin underneath his eyes tighten in mirth, pleased with your subservience, waving off the men behind him. He steps over, gesturing for you to join him by his side. Heart thrown into a frenzy against your ribcage, you’re amazed by how a simple task such as walking grows borderline impossible. Your phone is taken from you in the process, the chance of being tracked through that method now lost. He said that if you came along easily, you won’t be harmed, but why should you believe him? There has to be some way out of this.

The intermingling of speech between the group surrounding you gives the opportunity to look around, having spotted a series of hallways that are fire exits. Your main objective would be avoiding any possible gunfire, the cover these hallways bring the best and possibly only opportunity at an escape. You hold your breath, worried that any change in your breathing might be an indication of your hastily put together plan. With all your strength, you pivot on your heel, fully intending to run to cover. You make it a few paces, a sharp pain in your wrist preventing you from making it any further. A pained noise leaves you at the sudden jolt of pain, the joint being twisted painfully. Too taken with the ringing of your ears to notice their reprimanding words, you’re tugged along roughly. It’s a pain unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, dark bruises forming alongside the rapidly swelling skin. To make matters worse, the vice-like grip remains, since they no longer trust you not to make an escape attempt. 

Where the stranger walks, you follow in admitted defeat, wanting to alleviate the pain of your wrist. He leads you out the back of the store, many men in similar outfits standing against walls, or slithering in the background. A black car with tinted windows is your final destination. It’s pulled against the curb, the unknown man opening the door for you both to enter. Your nose crinkles at the aroma in the car, a combination of heavy cologne and cigarette smoke. Other cars follow in a single line behind you, the engine roaring to life. It makes you jump, your nerves frayed. There’s too much on your mind to pin down a single question, the tenderness of your fresh injury not helping in that regard. Having a plan to grasp onto, even if it’s a fallible, would be preferable to this. For now, you will yourself through the anxiety that plagues you to search for a solution. 

Once the car has taken off, he looks over to you, frowning at your limp hand. “You look scared outta your wits, little miss. Let’s see… that means you must really know nothing.” 

Now that you’re seated, the time to gather scraps of information has presented itself. This man isn’t a fellow Neapolitan, holding an accent reminiscent of northern Italy. From the few orders exchanged to what you presume to be his underlings, the dialect could possibly be Tuscan. What would people from there ever possibly want with you? It’s a prayer that may never reach the ears of god, but you pray they’re not taking you somewhere that far away. The best case scenario would be somehow escaping when the car is moving before it reaches the highway, but the car door is locked. Is smashing the window possible? It looks thick, likely bullet proof. There has to be a better opening. Your last escape attempt left much to be desired, but it was a knee jerk reaction. At least they didn’t open fire on you, but would you be so lucky for the next try?

Returning your attention back to the stranger, you immediately regret it. He’s wiping dried crimson off his hands with a handkerchief, staining the cloth. The sight answers the question from before, now certain that bloodshed isn’t one of the cards off the table. The pungent, metallic scent is undeniably blood, fresh one at that. Bile rises to your throat at the sight, hurriedly looking away as if it’d erase the nightmare that you’ve seen. Adrenaline continues pumping through your body, a momentary reprieve from the pain your wrist injury has brought. 

Your wandering eyes must have been too much of a giveaway, the man next to you letting out a humorless laugh. “This? I have to admit, Don Giovanna’s men aren’t easy to rid of. I was expecting more of a security detail around his prized passera. Though, seeing as you’ve been kept in the dark, keeping too many men around you might be suspicious.” 

There’s a certain bloodlust in the man’s gaze when he speaks Giorno’s surname, that chills your soul. The facades of a polite gentleman fade away, replaced by the spitting image of a mobster. His semantics in referring to you leave much to be desired, though the misogynistic language is the least of your concerns. Holding onto the lackluster set of information at your disposal, you take a wild stab in the dark at what could be happening here. While you’ve never intermingled with the mob, it’s not an uncommon tactic of obtaining wealth. Fleeting as it may be, some people go into crushing debts, having made deals with the devil. 

Sitting up straight and setting your lips into a straight line, you project a more composed version of yourself. You don’t want to give away the depths of your fear. “I’m not sure what it is you want with Giorno… but if it’s a money related debt, please let me help with it. I don’t want him to be in trouble.” 

The mobster takes a second to register your unprecedented words, eyes widening. Does that mean you figured out what the motivation here is? This assumption is thrown out the window as he bellows over, incapable of masking his amusement. 

Cheeks flushing with indignation at how he sputters out a condescending laugh, you want nothing more than to assert yourself. If not for the possible repercussions for doing so, you’d have done it long ago. “Unless you’ve got hundreds of billions of lire in that purse of yours, that won’t work, I wouldn’t count on it. His no drug policy has cost us more than you could imagine.” 

The jargon in use here erases all doubts from your mind. There’s no denying the fact that this is somehow related to gangs, Giorno, or both. You’ve never meddled in your partner’s affairs. Never so much as blinking at an eye at the smooth explanations for his coming into wealth, not seeing the point in prying beyond the surface. The usage of Don had caught your attention earlier, though that can sometimes apply to wealthy or powerful men in general. A lump forms in your throat as you think more on the subject, arriving at the conclusion Giorno is involved in more than you ever anticipated.

---

“Are you sure about clearing the schedule for tonight?” Mista inquires, giving the pistol in his hand another glance over. He inspects every groove, having already familiarized himself with all aspects of the weapon. Checking to make sure it can work at all times is a necessity, seeing as he’ll never know when the time will come to use it. Giorno leans back into his chair, not paying immediate heed to the gunslinger’s concerns. He steals a glance down at his phone, still expecting to have seen a message from you by now. At the further absence of your response, he responds to Mista. 

“There’s nothing left to discuss. I’ve made my demands of them very clear.” Giorno fights back the urge to sigh, the weight of dealing with rebellious groups sadly nothing new. As long as their avenues of making money involve the drug trade, they won’t ever bend permanently, all of the promises naught but lip service. Not even long lasting Passione allies prove to be fully complacent. That was all before him, anyways, when they could operate without accountability. 

“We have enough evidence of their conduct. Niceties are no longer necessary.” 

Mista raises an eyebrow, catching onto the hidden intent laced within Giorno’s words. “So it’s come to that, huh? You’d think the stories of what happened to the former narcotics team would be enough to keep them at bay. It was brutal, right Fugo?” 

The aforementioned male fights the urge to roll his eyes, leaning against the hardwood of Giorno’s desk. While his role is more of an advisor to Giorno than Mista’s, he can’t help but express a similar sentiment. There likely isn’t a better option, having discussed and been promised dozens of times that the mafioso from Tuscany would cease their drug trades. Each time has proved a fruitless endeavor, the Don from the most prominent group in that area going through great lengths to hide his tracks of the grimy dealings. 

“But you know, Giorno… Enzo’s men won’t be taking kindly to being cut off,” Fugo pipes up, taking the opportunity to voice his own share of concern. “You’ve been giving them the cold shoulder for a little over a week. It’s only a matter of time until he figures out what’s going on, or worse… does something about it.” 

Giorno gives a look of recognition, having already thought of this. It’s undesirable to think about, but seeing how the day’s heading, he might have to cancel his plans for you tonight. “I’m expecting it, yes. It’s a shame how stubborn he’s been on the matter.” 

Fugo’s lips part, only to be interrupted by the door to Giorno’s study suddenly being flung open. Scrunching up his eyebrows at the impudent entrance of one of Passione’s underlings, all words of admonishment disappear when spotting what’s unmistakably your phone in the guard’s hands. The room goes dead silent, Giorno standing from his spot and walking over to inspect your belonging. In the world they live in, this is a threat, most likely relating to the very topic the three of them were just discussing.

“When did this show up?” Giorno takes your phone into the palm of his hand, Mista and Fugo leaving their own spots to do the same. The guard is flushed, out of breath, most likely having run from the entrance of the villa to this spot. Even under the immense pressure this brings, Giorno’s tone remains an even timbre. Fugo spots the slightest of shakes in his fingers, eyes moving back to the guard for the sake of Giorno’s privacy. It’s affecting him on some level, but he knows Giorno; and how he deals with stressors like this. 

“J-just now, sir,” The guard explains in a frenzy, chest heaving for air. “We lost contact with [First]’s escorts about five minutes ago, I already sent out men to the last known spot she was seen at.” 

Giorno’s lips twitch downwards in evident displeasure, lips pursed. This misfortune of human error will be addressed at a later time, when he knows you’re safe. “Why was I not alerted sooner?” 

“We thought it might be a technical issue--”

Your phone has already been imbued with life, morphing into a butterfly from the usage of Gold Experience’s ability. Giorno strides past the bewildered guard without care, Fugo and Mista following soon after him. Fugo reaches down into his pocket, procuring a set of car keys, seeing as Giorno’s set on walking towards the garage. For once, neither he or Mista offer any quips to lighten the situation. Their knowledge of your relationship with Giorno is fuzzy at best, morally obscured at worse. Fugo’s turned a blind eye to the private life of his Don, not wanting to dip into the rabbit hole. He’s seen enough to know you’re blissfully unaware of Giorno’s invisible touch in your life. 

Mista is the first to try and speak up. “We’ll get her back, Giorno.” 

“Of course.” The words are curt, borderline snappy. They make their way to one of his many sports cars, their attention set on the butterflies movements. Fugo notes how it’s heading north, further confirming the suspicion that you’re currently in the hands of the gangster group from Tuscany. Giorno receives a plethora of phone calls in the drive, ranging in information regarding the attack and your possible whereabouts. A group of cars with unmarked license plates were confirmed by some of the workers at the mall, who had been threatened into compliance. They gave rough descriptions that fit the bill of one of Enzo’s Capos. This feels deeply personal, cutting too close for Giorno’s liking. 

He had not been expecting such a brazen counterattack, operating with casualties in broad daylight is almost unheard of. A testament to their desperate mindset, if he had to guess. It’s true that they’ve been bleeding dry ever since he’s enforced the zero tolerance drug policy, not that there aren’t other options of securing wealth. The unsavory method is one of the easiest and most lucrative, before he was in charge that is. His mind goes to you, and the possibilities run rampant. 

Gold Experience can heal any physical wounds inflicted on you, but the mental scarring… that will be another issue entirely. 

Though, he’s certain that they won’t kill you. You’re too valuable a bargaining chip, but there are fates far worse than death. Thinking about it brings emotions to the surface he hasn’t experienced in a long time, flurries of malicious thoughts pointed towards your captors forming. They’ll meet a befitting death -- he’ll make certain of that -- but your well being is of the top priority. Giorno wills himself to remain in control, fighting off the shakiness that threatens to overtake him. The last thing he needs to do right now is allow his carefully crafted composure to slip, it would serve no one. 

He catches Fugo sending him the occasional glance, but thinks little of it. 

There’s a strong resolve unique to you, Giorno believes. He regrets not having placed tighter security on you, mentally drafting up ways to avoid a situation like this from ever repeating again. It’ll be a much more constrictive way of living, and while it pains him to think of you losing some freedoms, it’s all for the greater good. Having been so caught up in his personal feelings of allowing you the autonomy to do as you please is what led to this misfortune in the first place, a mistake he will not repeat. When you’re back in his sight, completely safe, he’ll make sure nothing like this ever happens again.

You’ll come to understand it. 

[ri-ahhh]

Hi, Riah! I was wondering if we could maybe get another part of MJ and Gray? I love them sm! Whatever you’re feeling up to writing is cool☺️

This has been in that pages document for forever just sitting there so why not post it haha I was trying to do everything slower and in a more sequential order but whatever

MJ was minding her own business in the kitchen of their new home one morning, standing in front of the Nespresso machine with a blank stare as her decaf blend streamed into her favorite mug. She’s now 25 weeks pregnant, and even though her second trimester is drastically better than her first, one symptom that continues to linger is the 24/7 exhaustion that makes her head pound and her body weak. She goes through this routine every morning of hoping that the smell and taste of her beloved coffee will trick her mind into thinking it’s caffeinated even a little bit, but to no avail.

Not to mention: her tits are heavy and sore; the baby is big enough to cause more back pain than ever; and, well, she just feels…gross.

That’s not to say she feels like this all the time. In fact, she quite enjoys being pregnant on most days. Despite the frequent tiredness, she’s definitely one of those glowing pregnant women, and she adores the fact that she’s lucky enough to be able to do something so miraculous as grow and carry a full on baby inside of her.

But mornings are usually the worst time for MJ, and it doesn't help any when her husband comes to join her, looking like sex on legs with his mussed hair, puffy lips and cheeks, and his bulky muscles lean from the early hour.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he mumbles, coming up behind her to nuzzle kisses into her neck, his morning scruff scratching her skin deliciously. He smells like sleep and toothpaste, and MJ happily tilts her neck back so his mouth can meet with hers. “Sleep okay?”

MJ shrugs and opens the carton of oat milk. “As good as I have been. Which is to say, not that great,” she answers honestly, pouring the creamy liquid into her steaming mug before stepping away from him to put the carton back in the fridge. She doesn’t like to complain, sometimes feeling guilty about doing so, but if she does have anything regarding her pregnancy that she needs to vent about, it’s always to Grayson considering it’s his baby causing all her problems. That, and he knows better than anyone that she wouldn't trade it for anything. “Your child has taken a liking to kicking me in the spleen at random hours throughout the night, apparently.”

Grayson frowns sympathetically for a moment, but that quickly morphs into a soft smile as he drops to his knees in front of his wife. He truly hates the painful aspects she has to go through with this pregnancy, but nothing makes him happier than the sight he had walked in on just now — MJ in those yoga pants that hugged her ass even better than usual with the bit of weight she’s put on. A chunk of her skin exposed between the waistband and the hem of her pre-pregnancy camisole that’s stretched to capacity over the cute bump she subconsciously caresses while standing at the coffee maker. Hair piled in a messy bun. Eyes tired behind her oversized glasses but skin radiant. Swaying side to side and humming to herself as she waits for the brew to finish.

He lifts her shirt more so his lips can graze her taut skin, and places his hands on either side of her belly. “Baby girl,” he coos to the bump with a grin when he feels movement against his palms, “you gotta be good and let your mama get some rest. She’s working hard to grow you in there, she needs to sleep.”

MJ takes a sip of her latte and melts as she always does when he talks to their little bean. It’s like his voice is a magnet as she feels the familiar flutters of the baby moving inside her to find her daddy.

“She already loves you,” she murmurs when Grayson places a lingering kiss on her belly before standing again. “She goes crazy every time you speak.”

Grayson flushes happily and captures MJ’s lips sweetly, his tongue slipping into her mouth to taste coffee and her. He backs her up against the counter and never breaks the seal of their mouths as he takes her mug and sits it blindly on the granite behind her. Her arms wrap loosely around his neck and his hands run up and down her back until he reaches under her thighs to hoist her on the counter next to her mostly-full cup of coffee. He’s succeeded in awakening her more than it could, anyway.

They finally break apart, and Grayson’s hands move to her bump once again. MJ covers them with her own and smiles ruefully, resting the back of her head against the upper cabinets to look at him more fully, all kiss-swollen and glowing arguably as much as he always claims she is.

“Won’t be very long before I’m too huge for you to do that,” she jokes, laughing when he looks at her like she’s crazy.

“Not to brag, but have you seen me?” he questions rhetorically with a quirked brow, a hint of a smirk on the corner of his mouth. He flexes his arms, his biceps twitching beneath her slim fingers.

MJ shakes her head and bites her lip as her hands map the bulges of his broad shoulders and thick arms that would always get her panties wet on any given day, but have her halfway to jumping him now that she’s hormonal and horny all the time. He barely got in the door from the gym shirtless and sweaty the other day before she was blowing him in their foyer.

“Of course, Bear. Doesn't change that I’m barely over halfway through and already feel like I’m 1,000 pounds most of the time,” she says, scrunching her nose and locking her hands around his neck.

Grayson stares at her darkly, and she can actually feel the moisture collect in her underwear, just from that hazel smolder. “MJ, I know it has to be tough, growing a whole-ass person inside you. I hope you don't ever think I’m belittling that fact, but you’re so fucking sexy right now,” he assures, moving his hands to cup her jaw to make sure she was listening. “Know why?”

She finds that a little hard to believe, mentally noting the extra roundness in her face, and the faint but present stretch marks starting to paint the skin of her stomach, and the painful way her breasts have swelled. “Why?”

Gray drags his teeth along his lower lip and looks her up and down slowly until lustful, loving hazel meets intrigued green. “Because that’s my baby. Every time I look at you I think, ‘I did that. I put that in her.’” He lets out a little growl and kisses her again, apparently so caught up in his own words that he can’t resist her anymore. He pulls back with a hum as he continues. “And any time we go in public, it’s in the faces of everyone — mine. My wife, my baby, mine mine mine.”

He punctuates each ‘mine’ with a peck to her lips. MJ is a bit taken aback by his sincerity, but after a moment she smiles and holds up her left hand, where her three carat emerald cut diamond glitters in the sunlight streaming through the windows. “Was this hunk of rock not enough to stake your claim, caveman?” she asks with a giggle.

“Nope,” Grayson says, grabbing her hand and kissing the ring as he grins. “Had to prove my virility on top of marking my territory.”

She rolls her eyes playfully and wraps her legs around his trim waist. “Well, if you’re going to be like that, be a good Neanderthal and hunt down the food to make me a green smoothie.”

Grayson throws back his head and laughs, kissing her nose affectionately before extracting himself from her grip and doing as she asked. “Anything for my woman.”

[theelvenhaven]

Reunions in Arda

Part 1

Vanifinwë x Fëanorians

5.3k words

Warnings: 

Strong language, 

Implied nudity, 

A/N: I changed around in which the news was broken to her! But tada!

* * * 

Exhaustion filled her as she sat atop the mare the elves of her brothers provided her and Nolofinwë. Upon their arrival to Arda, her brothers Pages greeted them, telling them to come and meet with the Fëanorians. With hesitation, Nolofinwë agreed, and Vanifinwë jumped at the chance. She needed to hear the explanation from her brothers on why her brothers did what they did. 

Perhaps even part of her missed them as well. Yet that factor would be decided upon, which would depend on everything they had to say for themselves. What they’d done was completely unforgivable, but she needed to perceive if they held a shred of remorse for what they’d done. Vanifinwë needed to see if her brothers were as heartless as they led her to think they were.

They did the ride in silence and it appeared she was not the only one who was unsure of what to say. Even as their settlement came into view, it only left them somber and quiet. Vanifinwë couldn’t help but wonder how much time passed in their crossing that her brother’s already established houses. Actual houses...

Houses of stone erected in the elvish fashion, though the roads still dirt… A large building coming ever nearer. Grand and ornate as it could be, with few tents established for the artisans who were still there to complete other things. Eru... 

In reserve, she looked to Nolofinwë. The two exchanged a solemn glance. A glance they shared and were both determining they were thinking the same thing about the time passed.

Vanifinwë shuddered as another icy wind ripped through the air. It was nothing compared to the Helcaraxe. Her clothes were still too light even for this “warmer” temperature.

As they came upon the dirt and grass courtyard, and greeted by the sight of five of her brothers. A small fountain behind them, water trickled out, with shrubs around it… Workers bustled about outside working on Eru knew what. Quietly Vanifinwë let her eyes scan over them, Makalaurë stood in the center, clearly the one to greet and welcome them.

Tyelkormo and Curufinwë to her left of Makalaurë, and Minyarussa and Carnistir to her right… All dressed in thick tunics and heavy fur cloaks, each one looked positively warm and comfortable. She’d give anything for dry warm clothes, as it was cold enough her clothes never dried since their arrival from the Helcaraxe. Even though they’d ridden for some time now, the newly fashioned sun hidden behind clouds heavy and swelling with snow which threatened to fall upon them any moment now. 

“Uncle, truly it is good to see you.” Makalaurë began as they dismounted from their horses, turning her gaze to Nolofinwë who sighed, nodding at his nephew’s reception. The warmth in which he’d once have shown them he masked beneath a more stoic and hard exterior now, something they plainly expected. 

“I want to say the same, nephew. But I fear for the moment I do not share the sentiment. Not until I have further explanation as to what all has happened.” Nolofinwë spoke in an even tone, dampening his own anger that he felt swell over the gentleness in which Makalaurë spoke. Vanifinwë noted how none of her brothers seemed to have registered her presence yet, all too fixated in their nervousness upon their Uncle.

“I sure as the Void would love an explanation as well.” She spoke up with a fire in her voice. One that finally unleashed the heat of her hurt through her hroa and fea. She stepped up to be next to Nolofinwë, her head held high despite the shivers that had ripped through her. Surprise rippled through her brothers as their gazes fell upon her form. 

“Vanie! You came!” Makalaurë breathed out with surprise. He moved to step closer, in hopes to embrace her, yet he stopped short of getting any further as she sent a glare in his direction. One that made his blood run cold as their father’s fire blazed with contempt in her gaze, a look he had not seen since before their Atar succumbed to his injuries. 

“Don’t.” She fumed out, not up for any of his affections as she had for years to let the anger she felt over what they had done fester. Not just to her, but to the Teleri, to her Uncle and those who followed him. Makalaurë shouldn’t have been so surprised. Of course she’d be angry. It had been him and Maitimo who had given her the epesse Failendis, and it hadn’t been for nothing.

“Is that anyway to greet us, Vanie?” Tyelkormo scoffed as he tilted his head with a glare shot in her direction, silver hair spilling over his shoulder as he did so. Yet Vanifinwë was unmoved by his sarcastic reaction, only tensing her jaw at his words as if he had any right to complain about how she greeted them. 

“Forgive me if your betrayal hasn’t exactly left the warmest impressions upon me, brother. Where is Atar? And the rest of our brothers, Makalaurë?” Vanfinwe said. Her words dripped with venom as she referred to him as her brother. Nolofinwë’s hand came to her shoulder. He attempted to soothe and comfort her, not wanting for her to lash out any further and be thrown from the settlement. 

“Betrayal!? You are one to speak, dear sister.” Carnistir began out in a hiss as Curufinwë moved to approach. Were Vanifinwë not used to her own arguments with her Atar, she may have felt intimidated by her brothers. 

Yet she was unfazed. How many times had she and Fëanaro gotten into their arguments regarding politics and semantics? How many times had she argued with them or broken up their fights?

“You betrayed us! Refused to take up the oath! Yet you have the audacity to still follow and come here as if you have any right to be here!” Curufinwë seethed out in addition, stopping as Makalaurë held out his hand as he turned some to face his brother.

“Enough brothers...” Makalaure said in a breath, as Curufinwe seemed to relent at his brothers pressing. The tensions had risen at an insurmountable level already, and Vanifinwë had just arrived. Nolofinwë said not a word to address the fire that blazed between siblings. He turned his focus onto the questions Vanifinwë had asked them. Nolofinwe knew it was better to leave those issues between them, she without a doubt knew better than anyone on how to hold her own against them.

Though he confessed to himself, he feared just how far their madness ran. If harm would come to her should they all decide she was a traitor. Vanifinwë may have been their sister, but that didn’t change the fact times were undeniably different.

“Where is my brother? For I would like to speak to him.” Deciding that perhaps he had descended so far into deep madness that he wouldn’t greet him, and the other two Fëanorians were with him. Had Maitimo and Atyarussa bought into their father’s whims now as well? It unnerved him further to see the hesitation that seemed to fall upon the brothers. All five of them looked between each other and then to Makalaurë to answer for them.

“We shall discuss it, both on Atar, Maitimo and Atyarussa. First though, let us extend to you hospitality my Atar had lacked Uncle, sister.” Makalaurë stepped aside and motion for them to walk to enter the center building. Vanifinwë only budged when Nolofinwë did and followed alongside him and Makalaurë. 

“We can discuss it after you both have eaten and changed into something warmer.” Makalaurë insisted, yet Nolofinwë shook his head at his words as they paused in the grand foyer. Boots scuffed against the stone floor, and warmth that grew to be a luxury to them now filled the room. Vanifinwë shuddered with a sigh as she folded her arms over her chest.

“No, I will speak now on whatever it you have to share.” Nolofinwë began with a frown. Rather than argue, Makalaurë nodded at his uncle’s words.

“Very well, then come with me. Vanifinwë, Minyarussa will take you to where you can change and eat.” Yet she gave a severe frown, as she desperately wanted to go with him to know as soon as possible what was going on. Not ready to part from her uncle who she had spent the whole crossing with. For now, he was the only other family member she could confidently trust outside of her cousins. Nolofinwë sensed the obvious hesitance in Vanifinwe and with care placed his hand once more on her shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Go take the time to rest, I will deal with your father.” He said to her tenderly, yet there was firmness there to it. Vanifinwë knew better than to argue with him at this point. He had been the whole reason she had survived the crossing. As several times she had come far too close to losing her life, it was thanks to Nolo that she pushed so hard. At this, she nodded and allowed for her brother to lead her from the foyer.

Minyarussa led her up the staircase and down a hallway in unnatural silence. It felt strained and uncomfortable. It was something that was tense and morose, even in his gait and in his shoulders. Yet Vanifinwë decided against pressing and that the emotional distance she was sharing with her brothers was the best thing for her to do. 

The two came to a door down the long corridor, as Minyarussa motioned for her to open it. Still silent, and those pale blue eyes refused to meet with hers before he left her to enter and change. He didn’t even instruct on where to find, well… anything. 

Vanifinwë opened the door to find a well-furnished bedroom, and she shut the door behind her and locked it. A large double bed in the center of the room with heavy red duvets and soft looking pillows… Something that was so tempting for her to climb upon and just give into the exhaustion that filled her body. 

It had been so long since she had last been in a bed, yet she knew if she sat down now she’d never get out of it and would sleep for days… Maybe even weeks with as tired as she felt. Pressing on she moved to the dresser, one of a warm stained wood, opening it to find elleth’s clothing stuffed inside. Sifting through each drawer to find under garments, skirts, tunics and dresses of heavy material.

Wasting no time, Vanifinwë shed her cold and wet clothes. Letting them pool around her feet as she slipped her arms from the sleeves, before she kicked them off to the side. While so exposed without a fire in the hearth, gooseflesh riddled her skin as she shivered and shuddered. She hurried to slip into the warm fleece undergown, before putting on the gown that went over it. 

Finally, some warmth filled her as she had sufficient and dry clothing to trap her own body heat. Pulling her inky hair from beneath the confinement of her gown, letting it cascade down her back, breathing a sigh of relief, moving to look in the armoire closest to the bed to see if shoes were there.

Pulling it open, she found cloaks and silken gowns hung from hangers in a sea of red and black, with slippers arranged with precision at the bottom in varied sizes. For guests to pick the sizes that they needed. She chose a black pair that were about her size, before hurriedly closing the doors and moved to leave the room just as rushed. Fearful if she stayed any longer than she’d definitely go to sleep. 

But first, before she even considered it, Vanifinwe needed to know where her relatives were and to eat a meal. Vanifinwe hoped it was going to be something hearty and less like... bread. Her mouth watering at the very idea, though she turned her attention to find Minyarussa or the kitchen’s first… 

She walked back through the hall towards the way she entered. Vanifinwe paused as she looked over the tapestries that hung on the wall. With details of the House crest upon them, and details of the ships of the Teleri… Vanifinwe could not decide if they were there to glorify the theft or as a reminder of what they had wrought…

She hoped they were there as a solemn reminder and not for glorification, but for the lack of slaughtered elves and burning of their swan ships… Vanifinwë held her doubts. This did not help with the impression she was under about them for the time, though she wondered if that was perhaps what was so different about Minyarussa.

With a sigh, she moved to the stairs and away from the tapestries; she tried to put her focus elsewhere, wanting first to hear their side of things before she continued to assume. At the bottom she found Minyarussa. With patience he waited for her, standing stone still, and he glanced down at the floor.

Vanifinwë needn’t announce herself, as expectantly Minyarussa walked through the foyer once she descended. He led her into a small and private dining room, a word not spoken as he hurried from the room and through another door. A table standing in the center with just enough chairs for each of the Feanorians present, it was good to see that perhaps they all still did meals together…

Minyarussa had returned not even a few moments later without a sound, setting the bowl down carefully full of a warm stew before Vanifinwë took her place at it. She waited to see if Minyarussa would join her, but once more he left her alone to eat.

She wondered what indeed could’ve transpired to have traumatized him so deeply? Did the effects of the Kinslaying get to him, perhaps? Despite herself, she sympathized if he did, as the memories of what had transpired over the years plagued her every waking moment… Vanifinwë didn’t want to imagine what it would finally be like when she closed her eyes. 

Mindlessly she ate, not even savoring the way any of it tasted. All of her thoughts ran and spilled over themselves, full of questions in relation to her now estranged siblings. Struggling to ignore the slight dread that hung heavy in her stomach of the idea of being rejected further, even if she was furious with everything that they had done. 

Now that she had seen them again, she had the slightest sliver of hope that perhaps they were redeemable. Even if she knew her Atar were not, though, that would be the next hurdle. Dealing with her Atar, who seemed to have so blatantly disowned her before her brothers. She and Nolofinwë had yet to have been thrown from the dwelling, so perhaps this was a good sign. Or did he not mention her to him in fear of what would happen?

Vanifinwë didn’t even know what it was she would even say to him once she saw him… All she felt was just intense anger the more she thought about him and his treatment of other people.

It was as she was down to the last bites of the warm meal that Minyarussa seemed to reappear, waving for her to follow. In her rush did she almost throw her spoon down and feel her heart leap into her throat in anticipation of what was to come. Eagerly she followed right after Minyarussa, who rushed once more through the foyer and down another hall… This place was endless in the halls that it had already…

The two made several twists and turns until they came to another door, with Nolofinwë who stood just next to it in silence. A worried expression on his face. This did not settle the nerves that she felt. Nor did he turn to face and greet her as Minyarussa opened up the door, revealing all four of her brothers that sat in solemn silence. 

Without a word, Vanifinwë moved to take her place in the closest chair to the door. Her eyes ran over all of their figures. Makalaurë stood still and to the left of her, leaned against the wall, looking at the floor. His arms folded over his chest. Silken black hair shielding part of his face, so his expressions were unreadable. 

Carnistir, just across from her on a settee, leaned back with his brows furrowed deeper than usual, though she couldn’t tell if his face was any redder. With the orange glow of the hearth- to their right- exaggerated it, and Curufinwe was just next to him with a tall glass of wine in hand, as he stared Vanifinwe down intensely. With Tyelkormo, who paced behind them with Minyarussa just behind her… Though there was an addition to the room.

Tyelperinquar… A face she definitely hadn’t seen in ages, it felt like. One that she always surprised her. As Tyelperinquar chose not to follow Nolofinwë and herself, considering he took no part in the Kinslaying despite being present for it. 

“Where are Maitimo and Atya? And Atar?” Vanifinwë began, the first to break the silence, leaning back in her chair as she crossed one leg over the other. Watching as Makalaure moved from his place on the wall, 

“They are not here, Vanie.” He answered with simplicity, and with a heavy sigh which made her furrow her brows at his words. She watched them all with suspicion as tension filled the room. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest as Vanifinwe thought.

“Well, where are they, Makalaurë?” She pressed her voice still even, despite the dread that filled her stomach, for whatever the answer may be. Makalaure ran a hand through his hair, deep blue eyes transfixed on the hearth before him, unable to face his sister.

“Morgoth captured Maitimo some time ago.” Makalaurë began and at this Vanifinwë felt the air leave her lungs as she sat up with abruptness. Her heart dropped into her stomach with a heavy thud. She stared up at him in utter disbelief, 

“How? Why!” She pressed harder, panic rose in her chest and made its way into her voice. Fear all but consumed her, for the words that may follow and say that he was dead… Her sapphire blue eyes raced to scan her brothers, who all looked away from her, including Curufinwe. 

“He had agreed to meet with Morgoth, after the Dark Vala claimed to surrender a Silmaril… Yet he was told to come alone. Maitimo brought a small embassy with him, despite the request. When he had not returned and we went and searched for him… We found the whole embassy slaughtered, but Maitimo was nowhere to be found.” Makalaure spoke in monotone, numb to the words he was speaking, chills running down Vanifinwë’s spine as she listened to his words in absolute disbelief. 

Tears welled at his words, in her desperation trying to swallow them back at the news he had given her. They spilled over despite herself, and she brought a hand to wipe them away as she no longer could look at her brothers. Devastated for her eldest brother… There was no telling what he was suffering with. If he was still alive. But Vanifinwë didn’t know if she was prepared to hear otherwise. Though that begged to question what happened to Atyarussa…

“And Atyarussa? What happened to him? He is not with Morgoth too, is he?” She asked as she sucked in a sharp breath, unable to help herself. Yet no one said a word just yet, allowing Vanifinwë a chance to express herself before they moved onto the next wave of bad news. Tentatively, Makalaure moved to place his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as she cried. 

This time Vanifinwë didn’t distance herself from her brother, taking it as the emotion swelled through her chest painfully. Vanifinwe sniffled and wiped her face over and over again, before Carnistir leaned over with a handkerchief for her to use. 

With care she took it from him and dabbed her face with a heavy deep breath. Nodding as they waited on a signal from her to continue. Though the rest left the sole job of breaking this horrid news to Makalaurë. To tell her what had become of Atyarussa, not that they were a great help in telling her about Maitimo. With a heavy sigh, Makalaurë moved to kneel next to his sister, hand reaching for her small one to hold.

To which she let him take, gripping him in return. There was a long pause, Makalaurë opened his mouth to start, but then second guessed it.

“Makalaurë… what happened to Atyarussa?” She pushed in a whisper as there was an audible gulp he made at her question. Before he spoke, sorrow visible in his eyes,

“Morgoth had not captured Atyarussa.” He began in a low and monotone voice. Makalaure kept it even and refused to meet her gaze as he looked at her hand. Not a soul moved or continued to clarify, leaving Vanifinwë to squirm some in her chair. Heart thudded hard in fear of the words he’d speak next.

“Vanie… Atyarussa was killed.” Vanifinwë inhaled a sharp breath as she brought her hand to her mouth. The sob that left her made them all wince at her response. 

A sharp pang of hurt seared through her, feeling into the very depths of her fëa that her brother had died. It was horrendous. If only she had convinced him and Minyarussa to have stayed with amillë… 

She felt Makalaurë move before he pulled her into him for an embrace. Her head resting against his shoulder while her body shook with heavy sobs. 

Time ticked by, with Vanifinwë clutched snugly to her second eldest brother as she cried. Mourning the losses of her brothers, though her senses and wits came back about her once more.

“How..?” She breathed out, needing to know how it was she lost her brother, as she pulled away from Makalaurë to look at him. Yet still his gaze would not meet hers, and he made no move to speak to her. At this with teary eyes she looked to her siblings, none of which would meet her gaze. Vanifinwë expected for Minyarussa to exhibit such behavior, it was his twin. 

“It is not something you need to know, sister.” Curufinwë spoke up, breaking his silence. His voice quiet as he moved from his place on the settee and to the decanter set just next to Tyelkormo- who had stopped pacing. Vanifinwë was just about to argue,

“Tell her Uncle.” Tyelperinquar spoke up with suddenness and pulled everyone’s attention to him. Bright blue eyes bored into Makalaurë with intensity. Though he was not looking at his nephew, he could feel the gaze on him. Still, he hesitated, and if it could, the anticipation alone would kill her.

“Did one of you do it?” Vanifinwë asked at their intense hesitation. It was the only thing that made sense. Everyone in the room seemed to tense up at her words. At this, she ripped her hand from Makalaurë’s. This prompted him to stand back up and move away from her, 

“I will not repeat myself. If you cannot give me an answer, I will ask Nolofinwë, as I’m sure you told him.” Vanifinwë was correct to have assumed that they had told him, yet it did nothing to ease the mounting tension. Nor bring her that much closer to an answer as the silence continued to blanket over the room for several minutes. Her patience wore thin.

“Atar did it.” Minyarussa answered her and ripped the entire world right out from under her. Vanifinwë looked to her brothers for confirmation, yet again their gazes transfixed elsewhere. Regret clearly plastered to their faces. 

“He did it!? How? Tell me now!” She asked as she stood from her seat with utter disbelief on her face, Vanifinwë’s voice growing louder and laced with fury with every word. 

“He set him on fire. It came during the burning of the ships at Losgar.” Minyarussa spoke up again with bitterness, and a bolt of anger shot through her at his words! All she could see was red,

“It was an accident.” Curufinwë corrected with quickness, yet Vanifinwë scoffed out with a sneer.

“Tell me, Curufinwë, how you accidentally set your own fucking child on fire!” She countered in fury. There was no excuse. The man she had once called her father, she could view him like that no more. He was simply her sire, and that was all he had been good for. Any memory that they shared, well it was in the past now. That Feanaro was a different ellon compared to the one who wrought chaos to almost all the Noldoli and family.

“He didn’t check the ships, Vani-“

“Do not call me by my Ataresse! I will not associate myself with someone so vile any longer!” She hissed out and interrupted Curufinwë, with her nose wrinkling as she sneered, making the freckles on her face wrinkle. 

“Vile!? You have some nerve to speak!” Curufinwë rebutted, slamming his glass onto the table with the decanter set. Making it rattle with delicate clanking, the glasses threatening to tip off the table and onto the hardwood floor.

“Atar!” Tyelperinquar added at Curufinwë, which warranted him being ignored.

“How do you not fucking make sure all of your sons are present!!!! How many years has he been a father of 8!? Yet you excuse it!?” Her voice grew louder in almost a holler, her hands moved with grandiose as if it would further get her point across. A fiery glare aimed at her brother, who had turned fully to face her, returning the nasty stare. 

“Perhaps you should’ve taken the oath and joined us since you could’ve done better sister. Yet you are a traitor to this family!” Curufinwë hissed back out in return. 

“A traitor!?” Failendis began, “I am a traitor?”

“Yes you are, you have no right to even be here. You are not family, not even Atar considered you to be so-“

“Enough Curufinwë!” Makalaurë piped up in swift defense of his sister, not about to tolerate his brother disowning her further just as Fëanaro had.

“You know who the fucking traitor is, Curufinwë? Fëanaro! Because of his oath, he slaughtered innocent elves! Killed our brother! The other captured and Eru knows what his fate is! He stranded his followers and left them to cross the Helcaraxë! Yet I am the epitome of betrayal!?” Failendis continued in a shrill voice at her brother. This prompted Tyelperinquar to move from his spot in the room to approach her. Highly aware that if he did nothing, it would only continue to escalate.

“Have you descended into madness as far down as he has!? Are you so much like him you too will do the same!?” She hollered out at him, Failendis’ voice had grown high in pitch and her throat feeling sore from how hard she was yelling. Conveying all of how she was feeling to him! 

“You glorify him! All of you! Even in the shit he’s done! I have seen your tapestries and have prayed to Eru to give you the benefit of the doubt! Yet you are just like him! In the worst way!” She yelled not just to Curufinwë but to rest of her brothers, 

“Learn to have some respect for the dead dear sister!” Curufinwë hissed out. A scoff of bitter amusement left her throat at his words!

“So he is dead? Oh, how fitting it is. Considering everything he’s done, may Mandos punish him harsh and justly for the ruin he’s brought!” 

“Watch your tongue!” Carnistir growled out and stood from his seat as well, Tyelperinquar placed his hands on her shoulders to soothe her. Failendis didn’t pull away from her nephew.

“I will not! I will speak my mind on this matter and you will say nothing! For you know nothing of betrayal or hardship if you think a simple no to an oath is traitorous!” She screeched out to him in response, 

“He didn’t even release you from your oath, did he? Even now you all are forever to do his bidding! While he avoids everything he has done!” Failendis continued in utter disbelief,

“It is the least we can do as his children! Unlike yourself!” Curufinwë continued with harshness, his voice sounded like their Atar’s. Leaving many in silence over the tone and pitch and sent chills down their spines as it sounded like they were listening to their father.

“At least I am not a selfish maniac who took everyone on a fruitless mission over some fucking rocks!” Failendis rebutted in haste to him. Truly, she had already loathed those gems when she lived in Valinor. She watched what it had done to him. Now she definitely despised them.

“It is not just for the Silmarils! It is to avenge our grandfather and now our father!” Carnistir added, as his face turned redder as he scowled severely. Going to his father’s rescue and Curufinwë’s aid in defending him, since Fëanaro was not there to defend himself.

“Do you really think I would’ve avoided the oath if that’s what it had been about? Fëanaro cared more about those stupid damn rocks than he did us! Look at the wreckage he has caused already! How many more will suffer because of his oath?” Failendis continued to press, while Makalaurë turned his attention to her this time. 

He knew the words she spoke of holding some weight, though it did nothing to soothe any of the anger in this room. It was only making things so much worse. 

“Va- Failendis… I know you are grievously upset. It is reasonable, you’ve been through much these last several years. For now… Let us separate and have time to let everything settle.” Makalaurë began, neither was going to budge on their views. That it would lead to more severe things being said, and that Curufinwë would certainly never forgive her if it kept up. 

When for now they should cherish not only their own relationships and having each other, but their sister as well. Failendis had survived the Helcaraxë, and she had come with Nolofinwë to see them. It was one fewer sibling to worry about being in harm’s way…

“That is an understatement Makalaurë, please do not undermine the struggles that Fëanaro forced upon us.” Curufinwë said nothing in rebuttal, he scoffed at her words.

“I am sure, and I apologize… For now, how about some rest? I’d imagine that was something that wasn’t afforded on the ice.” Failendis sighed at his words with a nod. After having sat down in such a soft chair, she couldn’t deny the exhaustion that now weighed heavily on her. Even if she now stood, sleep sounded good.

“Yes, some rest sounds ideal.” Failendis murmured, as she brought a hand to rub her forehead with another sigh, 

“Tyelperinquar take her back to the guest room-“

“You’re going to let her stay? Even after insulting Atar!?” Curufinwë pressed in disbelief! Makalaurë simply turned to give him a more severe look.

“We have lost enough as it is Curufinwë… Yes, I am going to let her stay. She is our sister regardless of what has transpired and what we have said here.” Makalaurë answered, before turning his attention back to Failendis giving her a faint smile. 

“We will speak later.” He said to Failendis with tenderness and a nod. Failendis took her leave with Tyelperinquar pulling her gently along. 

* * * 

tags: @saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @icarus-fell-in-spring @allinwonderlands​ @red-riding​ @eluriel-undomiel​

Quenyan names of the Finweans

Maitimo - Maedhros

Makalaure - Maglor

Tyelkormo - Celegorm

Carnistir - Caranthir 

Curufinwe - Curufin

Atyarussa - Amrod

Minyarussa - Amras

Vanifinwe, Failendis - Faeleth

Nolofinwe - Fingolfin

[danger-xylophones]

Major Buir (Plo Koon x reader)

{masterlist}

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Unedited, Plo Koon trying to flirt but not quite understanding how to make the swoon, Wolffe being the embarrassed son, potential second hand embarrassment for the reader because I think that Plo is very sweet but is not well versed in the art of flirting. Clones being dumb and cute. Angry Wolffe, potential fluff overload-I got a little carried away. 

Notes: Yeeee it’s my first time writing for Plo-would it be wrong to tag?...I’m gonna do it. @a-dorin , I would like to thank you for inspiring me to write this. I find myself steadily becoming a Plo simp and your fics have only accelerated my downward spiral. 

Also, this was only supposed to be about 1.5k words...woops

……………………………………

“From this, we can conclude that the remnants of the Ehterium cluster supernova would provide a suitable route around this Separatist controlled rat’s nest.” You sniffed carefully and lowered the pointer to tap against the ground but it landed on your foot. Swiftly, you moved it again so it actually tapped against the durasteel floor of the briefing room. A few chuckles slipped from the gathered cloned men and Jedi generals currently scanning over your notes on the holomap that had witnessed the little slip-up. “Though I can understand the hesitance-which is why I have also taken the liberty of charting a different course around the cluster entirely. It would take much longer though and would put you in more danger in the long run as you’d be exposed and out of range for too...long.” You trailed off, suddenly self-conscious of the overuse of the word ‘long’. Even though you’d worked for the GAR since the start of the clone wars (and technically before that if you counted all the academy training) you’d never gotten the hang of the ‘intimidating analytics and tactician officer’ schtick despite trying. You were often compared to a little mouse in the academy-even when you were wielding a blaster. But that hardly mattered when you were one of the top tacticians in the army and the Jedi were very kind to you. Especially General Plo Koon. He was incredibly patient with you as you adjusted to life with the 104th after being transferred from the 205th and he gave off this very warm and loving vibe. 

And thankfully your new general was among the Jedi present-calmly looking at you with hands clasped behind his back, respectfully silent as the other masters muttered over the maps you’d provided. You met his eyes uncertainly. While it wasn’t like this was your first time pitching a new tactic to a general it was the first time you’d ever pitched an idea to so many people (eight, to be exact) that were so high ranking. The room was currently occupied by yourself, Depa Billaba, Obi Wan Kenobi, Cody, Anakin, Ahsoka, Rex, Commander Wolffe, and Plo Koon and while none of them were ever rude to you it was hard to not be intimidated. You weren’t the one that had to go through with this plan-they did. They were the ones in danger. Sure, you could lose your job but they could lose their lives. So, you looked to Plo Koon as he would be sure to tell you what he thought. 

Perhaps he was so open with you because he could read you better than anyone else? He always knew what you were thinking and knew exactly what to say to help you. If you were honest, it was no wonder why you two were fast friends. And it wasn’t a surprise when you realized that certain feelings had crept up on you. Although you had resigned yourself to never act on them for both of your sakes there was no helping the admiration that prompted you to value the Kel Dor’s opinion over anyone else’s. And just like so many times before, it seemed like Plo knew this for he offered a single nod to you when your eyes met. The tension fled from your shoulders instantly as a silent sigh of relief slipped from you. Plo Koon approved. You had done good. He knew how hard you had worked on the new plans and could cite several instances where he had stumbled upon you slumped over your desk as the testimony to your dedication. Each time the Kel Dor quietly lifted you to your feet and encouraged you to leave the work for the next day as he escorted you back to your quarters. Once the two of you got there, he’d always, always place a secure hand on your shoulder with a squeeze that just barely made his talons dig into your greys as he bid you goodnight before sweeping away with one last order to get some sleep tossed over his shoulder. It was similar small gestures like those that gave you hope that were your situations different-he being a normal citizen like you and not a Jedi with no trace of war-that maybe something could happen. But alas…

“I must say, Major, I do believe you’ve outdone yourself.” Kenobi was the first among the Jedi to speak with one hand clasping his chin and the other clasping his elbow in typical Obi Wan fashion as he scanned over the details once more. 

You dipped your head with a carefully practiced, “thank you, General” as your immediate reply though deep inside, your pride swelled. This was possibly your most ambitious plan yet and one that had presented significant challenges. While you were a good tactician, your strong suits lie in terrestrial combat and not space. It felt great to be validated. 

“Yes but…” Depa Billaba began with her arms dutifully crossed over her chest as she scrutinized further, “what are we to do about this asteroid field that cuts through our path?” The Jedi asked calmly and you brightened at the mention of it because you had banged your head against it every which way. The asteroid field was the one thing you couldn’t accurately account for as the data you had received on it initially had been outdated. And you explained as much to her. 

“However, I am happy to tell you that I may have found a way to...acount for this hazard.” You cleared your throat and leaned over the console to zoom in on the area in question. “This asteroid field is large, messy, and problematic, and had you asked me how to avoid it earlier I wouldn’t have had an answer. But, I think that the best course of action is to separate-to make it look as though the three of you-” you pointed to the generals you were specifying, “are escorting Depa Billaba till she comes in range with the nearby medical station. That way if any Separatists follow you, you can still maintain the element of surprise because I know that if we can make General Billaba’s starship appear vulnerable that they will go for it. Worst case scenario, you dust off the guns a little preemptively. Best case-” again, you clicked another button that revealed a dotted red path through the holo projection, “you can use the asteroids as extra cover while you navigate through this path.” You paused a moment, eyes shifting to gauge the reactions of everyone. From across the table, your eyes met with Commander Wolffe’s who raised an eyebrow at you. “Clone intelligence has informed me that this path might be outdated as well but we will be active on the comms to offer guidance through the field as you go.” Commander Wolffe gave a firm nod and, again, the Jedi and clones retreated inwards to try and think of any situations that they would need to be prepared for. In the weighted silence that followed, you were keenly aware of Plo Koon drawing closer to you as he methodically circled the console before you. His hands remained clasped behind his back the entire time and you couldn’t help but watch him as he approached. 

He came to a stop right next to you-close enough for your arms to brush and for his warmth to seep through the fabric of your greys. Plo Koon remained quiet for a little longer, leaving you more time to fight the instinct that told you to lean closer to him before he moved his arms. His taloned hand brushed the back of your own and his vambrace bumped your forearm as he brought his arms up to cross over his torso. You couldn’t help but dwell on the feeling of even that minuscule contact which almost caused you to miss the compliment he paid your way. 

“Uh...th-thank you, General.” You coughed into your fist in a not so subtle way to correct your stutter. “But really, my plan is only good because my data was good. You should really thank your men that got me the information.” 

The Kel Dor made a huffing sound that would have sounded like a laugh if not for the heavy overlay from his mask. “Believe me, Major, I will but you do deserve some of the credit.” He stressed, even going so far as to grasp your shoulder very briefly. You could still feel the imprint of his touch when he moved his hand away. 

“Anakin, you’re being unusually quiet.” Obi Wan saved you from further implosion as he addressed his former padawan. You and Plo Koon both turned your attention back to the other occupants in the room and you were unsettled to find General Skywalker’s eyebrows furrowed in scrutiny as he glanced between you and the Jedi Master. Perhaps more alarming though was Wolffe’s face. He was staring at Plo Koon with what you could only describe as a bug-eyed look. 

“Just thinking, master.” Skywalker eventually answered. Your jaw tensed in uncertainty though the younger man said nothing more regarding the visual dissection of your interaction. 

The meeting continued for a few more minutes with you working to finalize the more minute details and to take measures to establish backup plans that would most likely be abandoned by the Jedi at the first sign of conflict and the Jedi began to disperse with their own CO’s. Eventually, that left just you, Wolffe, and Plo Koon. At the first sign that the meeting was adjourned, you began to pack your things up and to log off the computers but instead of leaving you to your own devices like you thought he would, Plo Koon remained with you. He casually waited at the console you had left him at with his hands clasped before his diaphragm, a common gesture for him you’d noticed, while Wolffe awkwardly hovered near the door. 

“Was there anything else you needed, General?” You asked, glancing over your shoulder at the Kel Dor. He stood up straight and approached with light footsteps. 

“Not particularly, Major, but I would like to congratulate you once again on another excellently thought out plan.” Plo Koon’s voice was as calm as it ever was but there was something there-a slight lilt you weren’t familiar with or maybe it was better described as a squeak? Slowly spinning on your heel, you turned to face him. 

“Well,...thank you, General. It...It’s my job.” A part of you swore at your inability to take a compliment properly while the other parts were all focused on Plo Koon. Sure, he’d complimented you on your plans before (he did during the meeting) but he had always reserved the more serious praise for after the missions and the debriefings. He’d never stayed after the preliminary meetings. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer if you called me Plo Koon-it feels far too impersonal to be addressed as ‘general’ outside of meetings.” The Kel Dor explained with a raised hand to stop you from saying anything else till he had said his piece. 

You blinked. Once. Twice. Before eventually sliding your gaze over to Wolffe who had a hand clasped over his eyes. That gesture only added kindling to the confused fire as you returned to the man in front of you. There didn’t seem to be anything amiss-his mask looked in place and to your knowledge, he hadn’t been in the medbay recently. “As...whatever you wish...Plo.” You swallowed, his name-something you’d said in your head thousands of times before-felt foreign on your tongue. “You can of course call me ‘Y/n’...then.” You offered uncertainly. 

“Of course,” he echoed with a nod. “I’ve always thought your name fitting.” 

“Thank you…?” You asked uncertainly. 

“I just mean that it is a strong name and you bear it well.” 

“...” Again, you couldn’t help but look over at Wolffe who had taken his face in his hands in what could only be described as a picture of absolute mortification. His helmet was awkwardly squished into his chest as he shook his head from side to side, lips moving as he formed words you couldn’t hear from where you stood. “I...uh...I like your name too, Plo. It’s gentle…?” You tried as you returned your attention to the Kel Dor and raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. 

He brightened, back straightening up as he continued to regard you. “Thank you, I’m rather fond of it myself.” A silence fell over the two of you-horribly tense and laced with an awkward air you had no way of dissipating anytime soon. Averting your eyes from the Jedi, you rolled your lips in and bit them as you fished for something else to say. 

“Is...are you sure there wasn’t anything you needed, General?” You finally asked after shifting on your feet for the third time. 

Plo Koon shook his head, less in a form of denial and more like he was trying to shake himself out of a stupor before answering. “I’m positive but while we’re on the subject of names I feel it is important for me to inform you of the new one circulating amongst my men.” 

You raised your eyebrow at the Jedi, not missing the way Wolffe froze entirely. “A new name for me or…?” 

“For you.” Plo nodded. “It seems as though they’ve taken a liking to calling you ‘Major Buir’.” There was something in his voice that told you he was smiling (or the Kel Dor equivalent of smiling) beneath his anti-ox mask. 

“Buir?” You questioned as your mind raced to dig up a definition for the Mando’a word you’d heard assigned to the Jedi on multiple occasions. “As in what the Wolfpack calls you?” 

“Indeed. Are you familiar with Mando’a?” 

“After fighting alongside the clones?-of course, but I’m afraid most of the terms I know relate to fighting, tactics, or swearing.” You explained promptly with a glance to Wolffe at the mention of his language-the clone in question looked frozen in his spot and it seemed like he was no longer alone as you could swear you saw the familiar red hair of Boost and the silver of Sinker ducking behind the doorway. 

Plo Koon suddenly leaned forward, getting closer to your height as his voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Buir is Mando’a for ‘parent’, Y/n.” Immediately, it felt as though someone had locked you in carbonite-your heart was still warm as it surged with affection for the men of the 104th yet at the same time your body felt the familiar frozen tingle that so often accompanied the sensation of treading through uncharted territory. You were keenly aware of Plo Koon’s proximity and the way your heart sped as a result. In an attempt to combat this you took a deep breath to steady yourself and regain control over your vocal chords. But that was a mistake as Plo’s natural scent infiltrated your senses. He smelled of leather and fresh air, of tea tree and some other piquant scent you couldn’t name that you knew was the remnant of one of the contraband candles he had hidden aboard the ship. It was so him-something the standard issue GAR soap couldn’t hide-that it overwhelmed you in an instant and you found yourself leaning closer. He, a flame, and you, a moth. 

Your lips parted slightly as your face relaxed and you swore that you’d never felt calmer. It felt like someone was wrapping you in a hug; you felt safe, wanted, and adored. “But...if they call you that and are now calling me that…” you began through the sudden dwam your mind floated in. The pieces were starting to fall into place. “Then...General Plo Koon,” your voice suddenly became firm as you forced yourself to step back, “Are you trying to flirt with me?” 

Plo Koon straightened up, his hands finding their usual resting place crossed in front of his stomach. “I am. Was it not obvious?” He asked, his held tilting to the left just slightly. 

You briefly thought back to the somewhat strange string of compliments he’d paid you that lead up to this. “Uh...no, not really.” You explained quickly, eyes now flickering around the room in an attempt to come up with a reply to this revelation. 

“Hmm.” Plo Koon hummed. “My apologies then. Boost encouraged me to be forward-perhaps it was not enough?” You blinked up at him, gaping like a fish-if that was Plo being forward then you wouldn’t have stood a chance if he had taken a subtle route. 

Before you could say anything though, Wolffe’s explosive voice cut through the briefing room as he rounded on Boost. “You told him to do what?!” The commander barked at his red-headed brother who had long since abandoned hiding behind the doorway and was now standing tall with his chest slightly puffed. 

“Oh come on, Vod, we both know the General likes ‘em! And Major Buir wasn’t going to pick up on it anytime soon. I was just trying to help!” He huffed back, practically getting in Wolffe’s face. 

“Meddling isn’t helping, Boost!” 

“I dunno-seemed pretty effective, Commander.” Sinker chimed in. 

Wolffe wheeled on him next. “Don’t tell me you were in on this too!” The one-eyed clone seethed. “If you weren’t my brother I’d-”

“Boys!” You snapped, having heard enough. The three brothers stopped immediately and turned to you; each one bore a similarly sheepish grin. With a shake of your head, you turned back to Plo who had watched on in amusement. “Plo, I’m flattered but...what about your code? I know attachments are dangerous and I wouldn’t want to be the reason you-” 

The Jedi master raised a hand. “My dear, attachments aren’t dangerous. It is how they can be used against a Jedi that is.” 

“I don’t follow.” You tried only for Plo to shake his head. 

“Yes, you do.” The Kel Dor dropped to your height again. “Y/n, if attachments themselves were dangerous Jedi would also be forbidden from being compassionate.” You were stricken silent, painfully aware of the three pairs of eyes currently fixated on the two of you. “But even if they were, I’d still find you worth the risk.” Your heart melted, a soft ‘Plo’ slipping past your lips that made the Kel Dor incline his head. “I know you care for me too, Y/n, so...are you willing to be with me?” 

You bit your lip in thought, a smile creeping across your face as you looked up at the Jedi. “I’m guessing there’s no talking you out of this?” 

“You may try but my feelings will persist.” Plo countered immediately-a lightness to his voice you hadn’t heard before. 

You chuckled briefly and let your gaze slide over to the three clones now curiously peering at the two of you. You took in their identical faces and the imploring looks each one was giving you. When had the Wolfpack wormed their way into your heart? Probably around the same time their general did. You turned back to Plo Koon. ��I say...of course,” You smiled and slipped onto your toes to wrap your arms around the Kel Dor’s neck. He returned the embrace with a low hum, his arms slipping around your waist, “ner Jetti.” You could hear whooping and hollering from the entrance to the briefing room. 

……………………………………………………..

The barracks were dark and crowded later that night-many of the men from the 104th had all crammed into one room to watch the holofilm you’d smuggled onto the starship. It had been about three weeks since the fateful meeting that led to the union of you and General Plo Koon and each day had brought a new development in your aliit as word of your relationship spread. For the most part, none of the men were surprised-some even commenting on how Plo Koon was apparently unable to tear his eyes off of you during meetings, holocalls, or your brief but frequent trips to the base on Coruscant. But there were a few who weren’t expecting it at all. 

But everyone you’d told had been supportive. And now as you sat curled into Plo Koon’s side with clones draped all around you as most dozed off in the peaceful barracks you could safely say that you’d found where you belong. 

A tug on your arm pulled you away from the nearly impossible to hear holofilm (the few soldiers that were still awake had turned the volume down so they could let their brothers sleep) and to the clone currently barely awake with his head on your lap. “What is it, Boost?” You asked in a whisper, keenly aware of the sleeping Sinker and Wolffe on Plo’s other side. Still, your voice managed to catch the Jedi’s attention as he turned his head towards the two you. 

The red head stared up at you blearily, a yawn interrupting him before he began speaking. “I just wanted to say that I’m happy you and general buir are together now. And that I’m glad I could help.” 

A breathy laugh escaped you that Plo helped quiet with a hand over your mouth. He dipped his head to gesture at Wolffe who grumbled and curled closer to Sinker in his sleep. In retaliation, you batted his hand away and rolled your eyes at the Kel Dor before looking back at the sleepy man. “I am too, Boost. Thank you.” You answered fondly, letting your head fall against Plo’s shoulder. 

“Like I said-” he cut off to yawn, “happy to help...major...buir.” Boost trailed off as his eyes closed and he wormed his way closer to you. 

You smiled. “Thank you, ner ad’ika.” As Boost officially fell victim to dream land you turned towards Plo who had watched the exchange carefully. The same feeling of being hugged, of being safe, wanted, and loved infiltrated your senses but you now recognized it as Plo’s signature. Still bearing that soft painted smile, you pressed your forehead to his. A final whisper of thank you slipped from you as you resigned yourself to stay in that moment forever. 

[itachi-uchiha-deserved-better]

There were seven of them gathered in the tent that was serving as the temporary council chamber while the leaf village was being rebuilt. Kakashi sat at the head of the circular table, looking uncomfortable in the position of authority that had been thrust upon him in Tsunade’s absence. Next to Kakashi on his left was Shikaku Nara, with Shikamaru seated next to his father. On Kakashi’s right side sat Gai, Yamato, Naruto and then finally there was Sakura, sitting opposite Kakashi, wondering when in the hell she had become important enough to warrant an explicit invitation to a council meeting.

The elders, Sakura noted, were not in attendance. Kakashi had placed both of them under guard since Danzo’s treachery at the five Kage summit came to light. It didn’t really come as much of a surprise to Sakura that the Jonin of the village were hesitant to trust them with matters of importance.

Kakashi fiddled with his pen, as he seemed to search for the best way to approach whatever it was that was important enough for him to call a council meeting in the first place. He kept shooting Yamato glances, which Yamato always answered with a quirked eyebrow or a shake of the head, like there was a silent discussion going on between them. Sakura watched the exchange with fascination as she doodled on the note pad in front of her.

“Fine.” Kakashi growled, ending whatever argument he and Yamato were apparently having, “I guess we ought to just get on with it.” He took a breath, put the pen down very carefully, so that it was sitting perfectly straight in front of him. He swept his gaze around the room, locking eyes with each person who sat at the table in turn.

“You know I’m not the type to do things as officially as they should be done. Were it not for the delicate nature of this matter, I’d have left it for Tsunade to deal with when she recovers. Unfortunately, this is a matter that won’t wait until our Hokage is back on her feet.”

The air in the room seemed to grow still and heavy with tension. Everyone seemed to pick up on the carefully chosen words Kakashi used. Our Hokage. Not him. He had no desire to lead them. When Tsunade wakes up. Because none of them wanted to consider the other outcome.

“As you know, Yamato and I were present for the majority of the 5 Kage summit. I believe everyone here has read our reports regarding the proceedings of the summit and Danzo’s attempt at treason. That is not what we are here to discuss. This meeting is in regards to what happened before our arrival at the summit location. About information intentionally withheld from the official reports.”

Sakura observed the room. A large part of her medical training had focused on sharpening her observational skills. Teaching her to pick up on subtle changes around her, so that she can make decisions with the most information possible. So her keen gaze immediately picks up on the way that Shikaku straightened up in his chair as Kakashi admits to withholding information from the official documentation of their mission. She notes how Shikamaru’s gaze snaps to Naruto’s face, then to hers, trying to read the situation the same way that she was. She can almost visualize tangible waves of tension rolling off of Yamato and the worried look that Gai is giving her Sensei. It seemed that he had at least some inkling of what was going on.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure that this information should be shared with anyone. The source is questionable, but Yamato and I agree that given the potential ramifications for the village if the information we’ve been given is accurate, that at least the people in this room need to be aware of it.”

More glances shot around the table. Naruto at Sakura. Sakura at Yamato. Yamato and Gai at Kakashi. Shikaku and Shikamaru at all of them. The silence in the room swelled until Shikaku quietly prompted Kakashi, “please continue.”

“Itachi Uchiha.”

The name sent a shockwave through the room. White hot anger flared in Sakura. Itachi. Sasuke’s older brother. The shinobi who had murdered his entire clan in cold blood, who had tried to kidnap Naruto, who was directly involved with the organization that had killed Gaara, that had destroyed Konoha and caused so much pain to the person that she loved. Even if he didn’t love her back, Sakura could never forgive Itachi for the pain he inflicted on Sasuke.

Naruto was shrinking in his seat, like the name was a heavy weight descending on his shoulders. Shikaku and Shikamaru were both now sitting straight backed in their seats, giving Kakashi their undivided attention. Only Yamato and Gai remained impassive.

“What about the Uchiha?” Shikaku asked as the impact of the name started to settle.

“It seems that there is much more to Itachi’s actions than the village was initially lead to believe. Our information indicates that Itachi held no grudge against his clan. That his crimes, while heinous, were carried out under direct order from village leaders.”

Shikamaru laughed, the sound breaking through the tension like a paper bomb exploding in Sakura’s ears, “You must be joking. You can’t honestly believe that Lord Third would have allowed-“

Shikaku grabbed Shikamaru’s arm, and shooting him a sharp look to silence him.

Kakashi sighed, “I understand your skepticism. Like I said, Yamato and I don’t trust the source of our information, but given Danzo’s treachery and how long that was allowed to go on unnoticed, I don’t think we can dismiss anything outright. By the same token, none of this is to leave this tent. Until we are able to verify or disprove the claim, I want to keep this thing quiet.”

Shikamaru huffed, but Shikaku nodded thoughtfully, “Kakashi, you were his Anbu captain at one point. You probably know the most about Itachi of anyone present. Do you believe it’s possible that he was manipulated into massacring his clansmen?”

Sakura expected Kakashi to answer immediately. The entire thought of the village ordering a man to kill his entire clan was ludicrous.

Wasn’t it?

But Kakashi didn’t answer. One minute passed in silence and still Kakashi was sitting there, glaring down at his pen, unable to answer Shikaku’s question. It was Yamato who eventually spoke up.

“I served alongside Itachi on team Ro. Speaking frankly, I could never wrap my head around it. The Itachi I knew wasn’t capable of harboring that much hatred. Even with the proof right in front of our eyes, I couldn’t make sense of it.”

Sakura breathed in a sharp breath of surprise. Neither Kakashi or Yamato ever really spoke about their Anbu days, so she had been completely ignorant of the fact that they’d both been on a team with Itachi, much less been friends with him.

Did Sasuke know?

Kakashi nodded his head, “I agree with Yamato, Itachi Uchiha’s actions never made sense to me. I accepted that I must have missed the signs back then and once everything was said and done, I tried my best not to think about it. About him. He was my teammate, and I had failed him. But if this is true, then I failed him even worse than I ever could have believed.” Kakashi hung his head and Sakura could see how much this pained him. She could only imagine what he felt, having this ghost of his past being dragged back up to the surface, especially after so much recent pain and loss.

“Regardless of my and Yamato’s personal feelings about the man, there are other factors which lead us to believe that at least parts of the information we were given are true. Danzo did possess a number of Sharingan, including an eye that we can confirm belonged to Shisui Uchiha, who supposedly committed suicide by the Naka. Itachi was, at the time, suspected of murdering his cousin.”

Another pause, as Kakashi allowed the information to sink in. Shikaku was nodding his head in recognition of the name. Shikamaru was studying his father closely. Sakura could hear Naruto grinding his teeth in frustration.

“Alright,” Shikaku tapped his finger on the table, “Lets have it then. The whole story.”

Kakashi obliged, and slowly the story came out, with Yamato jumping in when it seemed that Kakashi was struggling to find the right words. About the plan for a coup d'etat that had been brewing within the Uchiha clan. The orders to spy on the Uchiha, to monitor them for signs of rebellion. Itachi’s assignment to team Ro, and his early promotion to captain under Danzo. About the death of a man named Shisui, who according to this had thrown himself off a cliff only after Danzo had stolen one of his eyes. The coup coming to a head, and Hiruzen asking Itachi to buy time to find a better solution than annihilation, and Itachi being approached later by Danzo, with a promise- that Itachi could ensure his little brother’s survival if he singlehandedly stopped the coup. The implication that if Itachi refused, Danzo would ensure the clan’s destruction, Sasuke and Itachi included.

The clan’s lives for Sasuke’s life. That was the deal that was put forth. And Itachi had accepted.

But it was the final bit of the story that chilled Sakura to her core.

“Hiruzen was aware of Itachi’s orders. While he may not have issued them himself, if our source is to be believed, he also made no effort to intervene. Its true that the Uchiha massacre solved the problem of the coup d'etat once and for all. But the only way it ended without anyone losing faith in Hiruzen was for Itachi to shoulder the blame. If he’d remained in the leaf village, Hiruzen would have been forced to punish him for the massacre. So instead, Hiruzen let Itachi leave the village, left the barrier jutsu formula intact so that Itachi could come and go as long as he remained hidden, and Itachi decided to join the Akatsuki. Not as a missing-nin, but as Konoha’s spy.”

Shikaku hummed, nodding his head, “I never was able to come up with a good reason why Hiruzen left the barrier jutsu formula alone. I assumed he believed that Itachi must not have any more reason to target the leaf, but even then when word came that Itachi had joined the Akatsuki, he ought to have changed it.”

“Right,” Kakashi was rubbing at his temple, probably fighting off a headache. He’d had a number of those since his brush with death at the hands of Pein.

“There are piece that add up. The barrier formula. The fact that the leaf village always had more intelligence on the Akatsuki and their movements than the other villages did. Danzo’s possession of the Uchiha eyes, Shisui’s eye especially. But there are also pieces I cant explain. Like why that bastard locked me in a seventy two hour genjutsu that almost killed me. And the only person who could confirm any of this, as far as I know, has been dead for three years.”

Gai said something in response to that, but Sakura had stopped listening, their voices fading to the background as something started to click in her head.

Konoha’s spy.

Had to stay hidden.

Could come and go as he pleased.

Her mind was spinning. Recalling strange orders issued by Tsunade. Treating a shinobi outside the hospital. Not allowed to use her healing chakra at all, only basic medical skills. The threat of being stripped of her rank as a shinobi if she disobeyed. A strange Anbu who never spoke. Who suppressed his chakra at all times. Who had eerily familiar eyes that always seemed to be filled with something she could never hope to understand.

“Sakura? Sakura are you alright?” Naruto’s hand was on her shoulder, shaking her gently. Tenzo and Kakashi were both watching her with concern, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The name. Recognition like a bolt of lightning struck her and Sakura stood up so quickly that she sent her chair flying back with a crash.

She felt like she was going to explode. Every eye in the tent was on her, waiting for some kind of explanation for her sudden reaction. How on earth could she not have put it together earlier? Then again, she’d never been given any reason to suspect that Ghost, the strange anbu operative in the blank mask was Sasuke’s older brother.

Tsunade. Tsunade must have known. Her orders were to protect Ghost’s identity, because if Sakura had felt his chakra, even for an instant, she would have recognized the similarities to Sasuke’s, and there was only one other Uchiha left in the world. So many thoughts were crashing around inside Sakura’s mind. Anger. Anger at Ghost…Itachi…for lying to her, even if he had no other choice. It wasn’t like she would have ever helped him before if she knew who he was. She’d have been the first person to turn him in, no matter how much kindness he’d shown her. Anger at Tsunade, for allowing the farce to continue, despite knowing that Itachi had made the only choice he could have. Anger that Hiruzen, for failing to intervene and stop all the pain that the massacre caused. For Sasuke, and for Itachi.

Her eyes met Kakashi’s steady gaze. Her sensei, always so adept at reading what troubled her, waited patiently for her mouth to catch up to her mind.

“You knew?”

“No.” Not a lie. She hadn’t known, “But I’m pretty sure this is the truth. I…” gods above how did she even begin to explain it all? To explain about Ghost, his strange behavior, the bizarre connection they shared.

Tenzo was her saving grace. He seemed to have put some of the pieces together himself.

“The Anbu? The one you told me about?”

Sakura nodded and sank back down into her chair, hugging her arms into herself. The eyes of the group moved off of Sakura, looking to Tenzo for more information.

“Earlier this year, Sakura confided in me about a patient of hers. She wanted to know if I was aware of an Anbu agent whose mask was blank, no markings at all. She told me that Tsunade had asked her to treat him and that the arrangement came with some unusual orders which had her uncomfortable.”

Kakashi raised an eyebrow, “Are you referring to-“ Kakashi cut off, but Tenzo nodded, clearly understanding the question. Shikamaru grumbled.

“Care to explain for those of us who can’t read your mind?”

“Ghost,” Tenzo shot back, “It’s a…well for lack of better terms, it’s a ghost story that exists among the Anbu. A few years back a few genin claimed they were saved by an Anbu agent in a blank white mask, who slaughtered the enemy shinobi who were attacking them and then disappeared without a trace. No one believed them, but since then all kinds of stories about the faceless mask have popped up. Most of them are incredibly far fetched, but there are elements that remain consistent throughout. Black hair. Always alone. Never leaves any survivors except for leaf shinobi. Only fights with Kunai and a tanto, never jutsu. At least, none that anyone ever sees. I didn’t think anything of it, but when Sakura mentioned her patient to me, I did some digging. There is a file for an Anbu agent, codename Ghost, but there’s no serial number on the file, and everything in it was encoded.”

Kakashi sighed, “It’s not proof, but that seems pretty damning.” Apparently Kakashi didn’t have any better explanation that Sakura did.

“In that case, there are a few things to address. First and foremost, it is very likely that Sasuke has also been made aware of the fact that his brother acted under orders. I don’t think he knows about Itachi’s identity as an Anbu operative, but we need to be prepared because I’m not sure what kind of effect this information will have on him. The last I knew, Sasuke’s sole focus was on killing his brother for revenge. It’s quite possible that his desire for revenge will shift to target the village, or at least those he feels most responsible for Itachi’s actions.”

Everyone in the tent nodded their agreement.

“The second question is one of what to do about Itachi himself.”

This time no one nodded. It was a momentous question.

“Are you sure we need to do anything at all?” Shikaku asked, trying to be as gentle with the question as possible. Tenzo slammed his hand down on the table and looked like he wanted to throw himself at Shikaku.

“Of course we have to do something! He’s a leaf shinobi! He’s put his life in danger for the past nine years, alone, hated by everyone in order to protect the village. He deserves to know that he isn’t being held responsible for being forced to make an impossible choice when he was thirteen fucking years old!”

“Easy, Tenzo,” Kakashi seemed to be doing his best to keep his tone level, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him while they sorted things out, “You know that I want to see him again as much as you do, as a friend. But we need to consider what’s best for the village. At the least, I don’t think we need to come to a decision right now. Our first priority is to rebuild the village itself. When Tsunade wakes up, I’m sure she’ll have something to say on the matter.”

Sakura clenched her fist and felt her chakra start flowing into them out of instinct. You better believe that she’ll have something to say. I’ll make sure of it.

She pushed herself up from the table. She needed to hit something. Needed to break something. And if she didn’t leave now, she couldn’t be sure what exactly it was she was going to break. Better safe than sorry.

“Sakura? Going somewhere?”

“For a walk,” She hissed, daring anyone to try and stop her as she stormed out of the tent.

[duxhess-kryzewan]

Obi-wan saving Satine from a suitor, and then lots of fluff and cuddling.

- This Love - 

During his time on the run with Qui-Gon and Satine he had become somewhat of an expert on the history of Mandalorian culture and the various clans that make up its people. Satine of course had hailed from Clan Kryze. Many long days and nights were spent discussing the history of her people and it's various leaders throughout its time as an established civilization. It had helped them pass the time. 

That said, he only remembered so much from that ongoing history lesson. Too many things had been slowly compiling themselves in his brain and he had long since forgotten some of the specifics when it came to the differing clans. Satine would surely chastise him if he were ever to let her know that.

He does know however that she tries to maintain a steady line of communication with all the major houses that the clans compiled in order to keep peace between them. 

One of her guards had informed him that she was in the middle of a House meeting when he landed on Mandalore. He had finished a simple extraction mission on one of the other outer rim planets earlier than expected and had decided to sneak away and visit her while he had the time. What little he ever had to spare was precious and all the better when he was able to see her. 

Of course he had told her guards that it wasn't necessary to disturb her meeting to inform her of his arrival; force knows that he would never hear the end of it if he were to interrupt her while she was conducting her duties as Duchess. She may be just as thrilled to see him as he was her, but they both had a mutual understanding that their duties would always come first.

"It's fine," He insisted, "I'm sure the Duchess would be less than pleased should her meeting intruded upon. I'll fair out just fine, I tend to know my way around here."

"As you wish, Master Kenobi." The guardsman had said before retreating down the hallway. It was true, he had spent enough time over the past year or so in Sundari Palace that he knew his way around without a guide. Thankfully he was able to operate under the guise of being a liaison for the Republic instead of simply coming for personal reasons, which was the case more often than not. 

He had been roaming the halls of the palace close to her throne room while he waited. The pieces of their culture was something one could easily get lost in, and the palace had no shortage of historical artifacts and antiquities to delve into. All the better for him; her meeting had a tendency to drag and there was only so long he could hover in one place waiting for her. 

Her voice always pulled him out of whatever trance he was in, and today was no different. Something in his chest fluttered every time her voice graced his ears. 

He took his time though to head down the hallway; it was obvious she was still speaking with one of the House members even as they finished the meeting. It was a voice he hadn't recognized; a new representative perhaps. 

He stops dead in his tracks though when he finally makes out what the voice was saying.

"-And the other clan leaders as well as the house leaders think it best you are appointed someone."

"A suitor?"

The man cleared his throat, "Yes, they see it fit. The people are satisfied for now with your ruling however the clans worry that you will start to loose public support without a male figure at your side."

There no mistaking the annoyance in her voice despite how well she had tried to hide it.

"I find it highly inappropriate that a matter was discussed without consulting my council first, let alone something so personal and belittling as appointing me a consort." 

Something about her being appointed a suitor stirred something both primal and worrisome inside of him. It was but another series of events that had him questioning his decision not to stay with her all those years ago. He certainly wouldn't have to worry about her being courted by someone else, let alone have them be a proponent for marriage. 

He does his best to squash those feelings as they come though, jealously was very unbecoming of a Jedi. And in truth he really had no claim on her. As loyal as they were to one another in regards to whatever their relationship was, deep down he understood that there was always the possibility she would move on without him. And why shouldn't she? He could never give her everything he deserved. He wanted her to be happy no matter how much it was harm him. 

That said though, he knows just how much she would loathe being forced into something. 

"It's simply a matter of maintaining an effective leadership and not a personal slight against you, your grace. It's why I was slotted to attend the meeting. My influence among House Kast has been vital in the past years and has permeated throughout a number of clans and would be nothing but beneficial to you." The man says, the assurance to his tone only serving to get under Obi-Wans skin even more. 

He can sense the change of her emotions through her force signature; the sharp shift from displeased to both swelling anger and unmistakable panic.

Whoever it was that was speaking to her head only been in that meeting for one reason; to propose himself as a probable suitor to the Duchess. Part of him wanted to scoff at the notion that Satine was any less than capable of ruling Mandalore. She was a strong leader in her own right and commanded respect; the idea that she would ever need a male figure at her side to continue to win over her people was downright insulting to her capabilities. 

It took him only a second for him to decide what to do.

“They sent you to propose-” 

“Duchess.” 

He had rounded the corner just as she had begun to speak, catching both her and the house member off guard. Normally he wouldn’t dare interrupt her. She was more than capable of handling herself, but he couldn’t bare to hear anymore of the conversation. It was selfish on his part, he knew, but she would have to forgive him.

“Master Kenobi.” She says, not even bothering to hide her surprise at his sudden appearance.

“Pardon me,” He says, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

The man was a bit younger than he had imagined; his dark eyes matching the inky color of his hair. Certainly not what he ever would have pictured. The contrast between him and Satine’s bright eyes and golden hair was striking and he couldn’t ever imagine her with someone so tenebrous.

“Of course not.” She answers quickly, “We were just finished.”

The man - whose name he has no interest in learning - looks both dejected and a touch angry. 

“Actually Duchess,” He begins, “I was hoping we’d be able to continue our conversation-”

Satine tears her eyes away from Obi-Wan and looks back to him, “Our conversation was through the moment you spoke of my ability to rule on my own. If your house has issue with it than you most certainly can address it with my council. Now if you don’t mind, I have other matters to attend too. I’m sure the guards can see you out.”

Without sparing another glance at the man she starts heading down the hallway in his direction, all but beckoning him to follow. Of course he maintains an appropriate distance from her; he couldn’t imagine the scandal it would cause if someone got wind of his occasional visits being anything more than business driven. 

He doesn’t bother asking where they’re headed; he knows the way to her chambers like the back of his hand these days. Besides, the anger from the conversation was radiating off of her so strongly that he wouldn’t have even needed the force to sense it. The tension was more than palpable.

Her chambers are quiet; the guards that would normally wander about the halls no where in sight and the moment that the doors of her private quarters slide shut behind them she grabs him briskly by the shoulders and crashes her lips to his.

Its raw and primal and just a little bit desperate, not at all what he’s used to from her but he wastes no time in cupping her face between his hands and kissing her back with just as much fire. He knows whats happening, that she’s trying to prove a point that there wasn’t anyone she would touch so scandalously but him.

“I would never even consider a consort of any kind.” She says firmly when she breaks the kiss, “Never. I am capable of leading alone and there is nobody in the galaxy I would want next to me.”

He understands the unspoken words. Nobody in the galaxy other than him. She didn’t need to say it. He knew.

He kisses her this time. He wants her to know that he understands, that perhaps they would never be able to fully belong to one another in front of anyone else, but that they have willingly given each other a piece of themselves. 

“You’re brilliant,” He assures her, “You’re strong and wise and one of the most formidable leaders I’ve ever known. They are foolish to ever doubt your ability to lead on your own.”

He can feel her force signature soften under his words and finally she manages to smile the slightest bit at him.

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” She says lightly, before her soft smile morphs itself into a wicked grin, “It’s been too long since you’ve come to see me.”

He doesn’t even protest when she grabs his hands and drags him towards her bedroom. 

---- 

Later, hours into the night, they lay awake in her bed, his hand trailing up and down the length of her spine while she lay against his bare chest. It was the most at peace he had felt in months.

She lifts her head up and rests her chin against the center of his chest, blue eyes shining with something he doesn’t quite recognize. Something made of both happiness and sadness, perhaps?

“I’ve tried, you know.” She begins.

He merely raises an eyebrow in response. 

“To move on,” She clarifies, “I thought perhaps that one day I’d be able to find someone to else. Someone to marry and rule Mandalore by my side.”

She drops her head on its side and nuzzles it against him, her hand finding his free one and gripping it tightly, “But I could never. There is no one else, Obi-Wan, and I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”

He loves her, more than he could even begin to explain. He would never be able to be with her in all the ways she so desperately deserves, but something inside of him would break should she ever find someone new.

“There’s never been another soul in the galaxy I’ve felt about in the same way I feel about you, Satine.” He tells her gently, “There won’t ever be anyone else for me either. You’re it, and I am so dreadfully sorry I can’t be by your side in all the ways you deserve.”

She raises her head up once more to look him in the eyes, “I love you as you are, protector of the galaxy and all. And while I want you here forever, I know we made our choices for the right reasons.”

He smiles at her, “And I love you, Satine.”

It’s the first time he’s ever been able to say the words aloud. She’s always known, always understood his way of life made it difficult to say it, but here and now he wants to make sure she never has to wonder how he feels. 

Her smile lights up something inside of him and he vows then and there that once the war was over, he would be by her side. 

Always. 

[lupin72]

What could have been

Anon asked for a fic where ‘Lucy figured out that she was about to be drugged and arrests Caleb and comes to work traumatised that she would have been kidnapped or something and Tim noticed that’. I changed the details a bit but I hope you like it!

Lucy sat in her favorite bar, with an attractive man in front of her, conversation flowing well as they waited to be served. And yet she couldn’t relax. It had been a while since she had found herself on a date. Lucy told herself that was why she had a feeling of unease when she regarded the man before her. Caleb was nice, friendly and he seemed to like her. A lot, if him showing up at the precinct was anything to go by. She had no reason for fear or tension, no reason to doubt his intentions at all. And yet she couldn’t get the voice in the back of her mind to shut up.

Even before she was an officer, Lucy had always been careful on nights out. Her parents had experience with enough patients to feel that it was important to drill into Lucy that she should never leave a drink unattended, never drink anything unless she had seen the bar staff pour it and to always let someone know where she was going. They were rules she had followed throughout her life. She didn’t know how many times such choices could have saved her life.

But this was different, Lucy reminded herself. She was on a date. They were supposed to be alone. But she hadn’t told Jackson where she was going.

The thought struck a pang of panic inside her and Lucy reached for her phone. As she did so, she heard Caleb order his drink and ask her what she wanted. Lucy looked up and tried to mask her uncertainty with a smile and ordered a glass of the house red. She wasn’t fussy after a day like she had had.

That was what it was, she told herself. Leftover unease from being around a serial killer all day. There was nothing wrong with Caleb. Lucy noticed the man in question was frowning at her and realized how silly she must have looked urgently trying to dig her phone out of her pocket.

“I’m not doing that bad am I?” Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow in a way that shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was. “Trying to call for help already?”

Lucy laughed, hoping it didn’t sound as forced as it felt, “Not at all. I just realised I never told my flat mate where I was going.”

“Oh,” Caleb paused, “it’s alright, I’m a gentleman, I’ll have you home by ten, promise.”

Lucy frowned. Her hands froze. Was that a red flag?

She shook herself, cursing her overactive mind and placed her hands back on the bar. She was a full grown woman, she didn’t need anyone’s permission and, despite the fact Caleb was obviously joking, she didn’t like the insinuation that she was acting like a child who was out after curfew.

Thankfully, their drinks arrived and prevented any award silence.

But then the world seemed to slow down. Caleb reached out to pay for their drinks and then smoothly grabbed both their glasses, pushing Lucy’s towards her and dragging his towards himself. It had looked causal, and it was all over in a second, but the movement of his hand had caught Lucy’s eye. There had been no need for him to touch her glass, no need for him to slide it toward her when it was already in comfortable reaching distance. And, had she imagined it, or had he spent a bit too long searching for his wallet? Long enough perhaps to lift something else along with it?

The voice, the feeling of unease, was suddenly too much and Lucy felt herself standing.

Caleb looked shocked.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy apologized, grabbing her jacket and moving away. “I’m not feeling too great tonight. I’ve had a bit of a terrible shift and I should have cancelled sooner. This wasn’t fair on you. You seem like a really nice guy, but I don’t think I can do this. I’m sorry-”

She turned to leave when she felt Caleb grab her arm. Tight.

“Wait.” His smile no longer reached his eyes and Lucy detected a hint of anger in his gaze. “Can’t we just have this one drink? I know I’m not the most attractive guy and I think I might have come across a bit strong when I showed up at your work, but I do really like you Lucy.”

Lucy paused, regarding his demeanor. There was something about the desperation in his tone that she didn’t like. Her gaze flicked back to their glasses on the bar behind them.

The date was over anyway. There was nothing more to lose. Lucy squared her shoulders and said, “If I asked you to down my drink would you do it?”

Caleb looked taken aback. “What?”

“If I asked you to drink it, would you do it?”

The anger on his face grew to the point he looked enraged.

“I thought so.” Lucy broke free of his grip and turned for the door.

Thankfully, a group of girls stumbled into the bar just as Lucy reached the entrance. One stopped and pulled the door back open for her, smiling as Lucy passed through. With a sigh of relief Lucy noticed that their uber driver was still waiting by the door and, upon the driver’s request, jumped in their car.

 Lucy never got much sleep. She had tossed and turned for hours thinking about what could have happened. She knew in her heart that Caleb had been attempting to spike her. Should she have told the barman? Hell, should she have arrested him? No, she once again reminded herself. Her evidence was based on a hunch, on suspicion and nothing more. Still, pushing herself from the bed, she decided she would call her mother later to thank her for her annoying persistence in reminding her to be safe growing up. For now, she had to get to work.

Lucy bumped into Tim just as she was entering the bullpen. “Told you to unwind last night Chen, not stay up the whole night, you look like you haven’t slept at all.”

It was disguised as a reprimand, but Lucy could tell that it came from a place of concern. “Had a rough night,” she replied. “I’ll tell you about it in the shop if you promise not to boast.”

Lucy knew that promise wouldn’t be kept. Tim had sensed something was wrong with Caleb. He had made all those jibes about the photos and tried to steal Caleb’s number from Lucy’s hand. But even if she did have to listen to him boast, part of her also wanted some reassurance that she had done the right thing. Caleb, after all, might have been innocent. It could all have been in her head.

They were in the shop for two minutes before Tim spoke, “So, Boot what did you want to tell me? I’m ready to gloat.”

Lucy explained what had happened on the date, her words tumbling into each other at such a speed that she wasn’t sure Tim would know what she was saying at all. Thankfully, he seemed to follow well enough and he didn’t interrupt.

“I knew there was something wrong with that guy,” Tim said when she was finished. Lucy rolled her eyes at that predictably being his first take away.

“Are you alright?”

The look of concern on his face took Lucy by surprise.

“Yes sir,” she answered.

“You did the right thing. Even if he was innocent it’s better to be safe than sorry. And with this new serial killer on the lose too, you can never be too sure.”

Lucy hadn’t thought about it that way. What were the odds that the new killer would target her? She knew that the number of men that turned to date rape drugs was scarcely high enough in the city of LA that it was extremely unlikely to be related at all.

Still, the thought was enough to send her head spinning.

“Don’t go there Chen,” Tim interrupted her spiral, bringing her back to the present. “You were switched on enough to notice what he was playing at. Not many would have. It shows you have good instincts.”

Just as Lucy was about to point out that Tim had just given her a compliment, he froze.

“Fire!”

Lucy jumped, her hand automatically going to her weapon, whilst she scanned the horizon.

“That house is on fire, what do we do Officer Chen?”

Lucy quickly looked to the house Tim had gestured to and found no sign of smoke or flames. She realized immediately what he was doing, and her heart swelled in response, even if it had just stopped beating seconds before.

Lucy rattled off the protocol as Tim drove on, her nightmare of a night long forgotten.

 An hour later a call came in from Grey directly. A rare occurrence so that they both knew immediately that something was seriously wrong. Tim drove them to the address in a tense silence.

They joined a swarm of vehicles pulling up outside an abandoned farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere. In sync, they climbed out of the car and turned to where Grey stood at the porch, towering over the crowd of officers.

“Rosalind’s partner has struck again,” Grey announced. “A video was sent to the precinct half an hour ago of a woman in a barrel, we presume she is underground. Detectives were able to track the signal here. From the footage we believe this to be a recovery. I want you all to spread out, we’ve got dogs and metal detectors on hand. Let’s bring this girl home to her family and with any luck we will find something to put the bastard who did this behind bars.”

With sharp orders from the detectives, they broke out into their routine search formation: a line forming a grid that seemed far too small to cover the vast desert plane surrounding them. Lucy’s stomach churned as she walked in line next to Tim, a sniffer dog team to her other side. What sort of end the woman must have met? Alone, underground, in a barrel in this heat? It didn’t bare thinking about.

After almost an hour of nothing, the dog to Lucy’s right gave a loud bark and began clawing at the ground. The handler gave a shout and within minutes a flurry of officers began to dig. Dirt flew carelessly around them as they shoveled it clear. The only sound panting and the scraping of the sand. And then they hit metal.

The barrel exposed; they removed the lid. The sight that met them made more than one officer gasp, including Lucy.

They had found her.

Tim pulled the young woman up and laid her body out.

Grey was right. She was already gone.

She looked young, a few years younger than Lucy. Her long dark hair covered half of her face and Tim carefully pulled it back to lay her more peacefully on the sand.

Lucy jumped. The sight of the young woman’s face sent her stumbling backwards. Her hand flew to her mouth to try to stop the feeling of nausea that had overtaken her.

Tim, seemingly the only officer to notice, spun to face Lucy and immediately rose to his feet when he saw the look on her face.

“Chen?” He said, in the same soft tone he had used with her in the shop earlier, a tone she had heard him use so rarely. Lucy felt him reach out and clasp her elbow when she still didn’t respond.

“She was there,” Lucy stammered, forcing the words out between her loud gasping breaths, “She was there, at the bar…last night.” Lucy recognized the victim as the young woman who had held the door open for her.

It was clear the second Tim realized what she was saying. His other hand rose to catch her by the shoulder. “Chen are you telling me that-?”

“It’s Caleb. It has to be.”

They were gathering an audience from their fellow officers, both those who had helped to dig and those that were only now just reaching the scene. Lucy barely noticed them. All she could see was Tim. The fear in his eyes, his strong hands the only reason she hadn’t fallen to the floor.

Lucy choked, unable to hold back her tears any longer, they began to slip down her cheek. The terrible realization hitting them both.

“It should have been me.”

 Hope you enjoyed reading this! A reminder that I am still open for prompts!

[ragingbookdragon]

I Saw Istá Kissing Father Christmas

A Connor Kenway x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1,310 Warnings: None

Author’s Note: Did anyone order Day 5 of the Christmas fics? Did they order extra family fluff? No? Well take it anyway, ya filthy animals. -Thorne

She admired Connor for many things. His skill, his kindness, his manners, his personality (and handsomeness if she was being truthful, because he made every woman’s knees weak), but perhaps the things she admired most was what a good husband and father he was. He never hesitated to give all that he was for her or for their children, always ready to bend over backwards for them if they needed.

           He confided in her sometimes, that his biggest fears were not only losing her and the children but disappointing them as well. Her heart swelled at his honesty, knowing that coming forward with such heavy burdens couldn’t have been easy for Connor. She’d simply smiled and cupped his cheeks, telling him, “You will make mistakes, but that is life. I know that you will do everything you can to right any wrongs you do. Our children will understand—I will understand. And we will make this family the most loving it can be.” Nothing could ever soothe her soul the way the fear seemed to melt away in his eyes.

           But the one thing she didn’t admire about Connor was the fact that no matter how hard she tried, no matter how hard she practiced, no matter how many years she had on him being a Master Assassin, she was nowhere near as stealthy as he was. And it drove her up the wall.

           She crept around the stairs and looked into the dining room, watching as he bent beside the tree, quietly pulling wrapped presents out to lay underneath. Her footsteps were silent and just as she reached him, she heard,

           “I heard you come down the stairs, (Y/N).”

           A scowl crossed her lips as she stopped creeping, opting to walk over. She glared down at him, seeing the mirth hiding in his amber eyes. “No, you didn’t,” she countered.

           Connor huffed and placed the last present down, gently moving the tag until she could see their oldest son’s name. “Have you tasted sour grapes, Otsi’tsa? You look ill.”

           (Y/N) let out a pfft, watching him rise to his full height. “I’m still better than you are, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

           He pulled the fake beard down. “In everything but sneaking.”

           “Keep that up and you’ll sleep downstairs.” She retorted.

           They stared each other down, then broke into smiles, (Y/N) wrapping her arms around his neck, his around her middle.

           “I’m glad you’re home.” She murmured. “The kids have been upset since you left a few days ago.”

           Connor frowned, gently pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Had I known the mission would have taken so long, I would have given it to someone else.”

           A hum passed her lips and she pulled back, gazing into his eyes. “We both know you’re confident in our students, but not enough to let them handle something that big.”

           He let out a sigh, nodding his head in agreement, then reached up and cupped her cheek. “You look beautiful, (Y/N).”

           That time, she let out a snort, leaning into his hand. “The world frowns upon perjurers, my husband.” He scowled. “The children have pulled me left and right all week to make sure the house was perfect when you got back.” She turned her face and pressed her lips to his palm. “I’m glad you managed to come home earlier—I know it will make them happy.”

           Connor offered her a warm smile and leaned forward, pecking her lips softly. “Konnorónhkwa, (Y/N).”

           Her heart bubbled and she giggled, “I love you too, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

           Before either of them could do anything, they heard, “Father Christmas?”

           He was quick to pull the beard up and they spun to see Io:nhiòte standing there in her nightgown, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

           Connor crossed over to her in a few steps and knelt down. “Hello little Io:nhiòte.” (Y/N) chuckled lowly at how old he made himself sound.

           Her eyes brightened, suddenly awake. “You know my name?” she shouted and (Y/N) and he were quick to shush her. She pressed a hand to her mouth, though a grin was still on her lips.

           He nodded. “I know all the little children’s names.” Regarding her with a look, he asked, “Now why are you not in bed? Do you not know you have to be asleep?”

           Io:nhiòte nodded. “I was going to get in Istá’s bed, but she wasn’t there.” Her eyes drifted to (Y/N) who smiled; she looked back at Connor. “Will I still get my presents in the morning?”

           Connor laughed and nodded. “Yes, little one, you will.” He looked back at (Y/N). “But I have to go now. To deliver other presents.”

           As he was starting to raise, Io:nhiòte grabbed his arm and tugged. “Wait, Father Christmas!” He paused, kneeling back down. “Will you grant my wish?”

           (Y/N) knew he was hesitant to answer, but he tipped his head. “I will try.” He took Io:nhiòte into his arms, sitting her on his knee. “Now, what is your Christmas Eve wish?”

           His daughter wrung her hands, and he could see tears growing in her eyes. “Raké:ni went away on a mission and is not home.” She looked at him. “Will you bring him home early?” Her amber eyes drifted to her mother. “Istá has been sad since he left.”

           (Y/N) felt her cheeks warm as Connor looked over at her. She could see the longing in his eyes.

           He looked back at Io:nhiòte and smiled. “Your request is a very great one to make come true.” His daughter’s head lowered but he raised her chin with his hand. “But I promise that when you wake up in the morning, your Raké:ni will be in his bed.”

           Io:nhiòte’s eyes grew wide. “He will?!” she shouted again, and they shushed her once more; she hugged him. “Thank you, Father Christmas!”

           Hopping off his knee, she headed for the stairs when she turned, a curious look in her eye as if she’d finally realized something. “Istá?”

           (Y/N) nodded. “Yes, Io:nhiòte?”

           Her daughter regarded her with a funny look. “Why were you kissing Father Christmas?”

           Connor snorted as his wife sputtered, nonsense falling from her mouth. “I—uh—well, you see—”

           “Ratonhnhaké:ton asked for me to grant his wish, and that was to give his wife a Christmas Eve kiss because he was too far from home to give her one himself.” He cut in, smiling as she sighed in relief, but it didn’t seem to satisfy their ever-curious daughter.

           “But you were kissing Istá like Raké:ni does?”

           (Y/N) groaned and walked over, picking her up. “Io:nhiòte, it was a kiss to the cheek. Your height made it seem like another thing.” Her daughter’s face pinched dubiously. “Come now, off to bed with us.” She glanced back at Connor who was busy trying not to look amused. “And you Father Christmas, get back to delivering presents to all the little children.”

           He waved at them, watching as they disappeared around the corner, deciding to wait another hour or two before coming to bed himself.

***

           When the squeal of, ‘Raké:ni!’ echoed through the house, Connor groaned and rolled over, burrowing his face into his pillow.

           “Your children are awake, (Y/N).”

           She huffed, knowing that the sun wasn’t up yet. She squeezed herself under his arm. “Before sunrise, Ratonhnhaké:ton, they are your children.”

           He didn’t even have time to open his eyes fully before all three of his children were dogpiling on the bed. Connor groaned as they wedged themselves between him and (Y/N), all excited and yelling for them to get up.

           Io:nhiòte shoved at his arm. “Raké:ni! You’re home!”

           Connor rolled over and hugged them. “I am home.”

           “You will never believe what I saw last night!” she giggled.

           “And what did you see?” he questioned, smiling as (Y/N) grunted.

           She leaned close, whispering, “I saw Istá kissing Father Christmas!”

[metawish]

Family x Hunter: My mini analysis about family relationships in HxH

I am a HUGE sucker for found family troupes and family-oriented stories. There just aren't enough stories to explore the nature of those relationships and how influencial they can be to our development as people. For those of us who's primary relationships are our families, we're left out of the dialouge.

So imagine my surprise when Hunter x Hunter ended up being the anime I can't stop thinking about precisely because of the MULTIPLE family relationships and psudorelationships that happen throughout the plot. Imagine my double surprise when it turns out those family relationships are prioritized and emphasized in the anime over others like the all too popular friendship.

Written for the Carnival of Aro’s Jan 2021 Theme: Stories

Take the premise as a starting point. Gon decides to become a hunter, not because it's cool or because he wants to find some rare cool thing he's never seen before. No, instead, he wants to become a hunter to get closer to his absent father. The ENTIRE show only happens because Gon is driven by a desire to connect with and forge a relationship with his father. I think I can safely say that the family aspect of Hunter x Hunter is embeded into it's core.

Then take a look at the reasons the other main four choose to become hunters. Kurapika is hoping to avenge the massacur of his family clan, a clan that does not interact with the outside world. His entire character arc and development is based on this goal of seeking revenge.

Killua is at the Hunter exam because he heard it was easy. But then we learn, he left home because he wants to REJECT his family obligation to take up the family business.

"Okay, fair," I hear you all say, "but what about Leorio? He just wants money."

Let me help you connect the dots here. First, he claims he wants to become a hunter because of the money. Then we learn he wants to use that money to become a doctor and then provide free medical treatment for those who cannot afford it. THEN we learn that this motivation STEMS from a childhood incident where a best friend of his ended up dying from a treatable illness because he couldn't afford the medical treatment neccessary. Leorio decided then that he did not want anyone else to experience that, tried to go at it the normal way, and realized that it would be nearly impossible for him to afford it. Any average person might end up giving up on this dream, but Leorio was so dedicated to his goal that he ended up training to become a hunter, a physically and mentally strenuous task. JUST so he can get access to more money.

If anything, Leorio's the one who's most motivated by platonic relationships! While Kurapika,Gon, and Killua's motivations are based on obligations to family, Leorio's motivation is only suggested. It isn't like this friend is still alive and Leorio is obligated to save him. No one but Leorio is beholden to the completion of his mission. The strength in that bond has to be strong for him to go to the lengths he did.

AND THIS IS ONLY THE VERY BEGINNING!

Gon's arc goes from becoming a hunter to finding his dad. Kurapika disappears from the story precisely because he is off getting revenge. Killua's development as a character entirely rests in the way he navigates between his family, with entire plots surrounding the Zoldyks. Leorio reenters the narrative JUST to show how deeply he cares for Gon and Killua, and serves as a nice foil to Ging, Gon's father.

I physically cried during Killua's final arc, when he apologized to his youngest sister, asking for her forgiveness after being a "bad big brother." Killua went from essentially running away from home rejecting his family, to asking for forgiveness from a cherished family member. And the nuance inbetween! Freeing himself from his oldest brother's mind control. Finding common ground with his father that, at least in the anime, never gets used against him. Rejecting the family business without rejecting the family. While it still feels incomplete, the joy at seeing him reconnect with a family member and promise to always be together forever made the little shrivelled starved heart of mine swell satisfied.

Killua is a perfect example of the story focusing on his family relationships over his friendships, or at the very least, implying that those family relationships are more important than those with his friend. Does Killua leverage the fact that he made a pact with his dad to never abandon a friend? Yeah. But the fact is that he still went to his family for help.

In the last episode, he tells Gon, his first and only friend, that they have to part ways since he has to protect his little sister. He even says that she comes first before Gon. After struggling to understand if Gon is as committed to him as Killua was to him, he finds closure in his little sister's dedication and wholesome affection. (When he asks Alluka if he was the only one in the whole world that loved her, would that be enough, her response was that she couldn't stop smiling. Because the answer was yes. And perhaps, it was also a question for Killua. Is Alluka's love for him enough?)

And Leorio. LEORIO. As I said, he disappears from the narrative, largely because his mission and Gon's are not the same. But when Gon is out of commission, Leorio comes back into play. The PLOT is affected by this decision and MOVES because if this. Leorio was simply trying to find a way to help his friend, and decides to publically ask his father where he is during such a critical time. Leorio's emotions at Ging's lack thereof ends up putting him in the spotlight, a spotlight he uses every time to seek answers for Gon and to reaffirm his commitment to saving Gon. As much as I HATED the slowmotion, the reunion between Leorio and Gon after Gon's been healed was felt deep in my SOUL. Contrast that QUITE LITERALLY with Ging's reaction and we have the potential for some major character development and storytelling about what a family relationship really is about.

Do we have to earn those familiar relationships? Are we expected to commit to people who are not committed to us simply because they are blood? Can we reject them? Is Killua's reject of his oldest brother over their younger sister a conflict that cannot be solved? Can we form them with strangers? Who is more of a stranger to Gon; his absent dad or the guy he met on a ship headed to an exam? Are we obligated to our family duties like Killua and the family business or Kurapika and his life destroying hunt to avenge his dead family?

Kurapika's story felt a little flat, which is a shame because there is so much potential to explore! The struggle to avenge his clan stems not from his clan, but from his own trauma and pain. His family was ripped right under him, leaving him no one to rely on. Instead of form new relationships, he rots along with his family. In a sense, his disappearance from the narrative represents his character regression, fading from existance like his family.

From a family taken away, to a father who was never there in the first place. Gon's story feels incomplete. Feels a bit like Gon's growth as a character is secondary to the advancement of the plot. Feels like sweeping major issues under the metaphorical rug and calling it a fun show. This man never once visited his son. When leaving a recording for his son, he flat out told Gon he did not want to see him at all. During his time in the hospital, never once did he visit. Sure, we see him remain confident that Gon is alright, but is this confidence misplaced? Is this even true confidence in a person he's never met before? I feel like I am missing a giant piece of the puzzle explaining why Gon, a 12 year old boy who had no male figure in his life, easily accepts Ging.

Let's not forget how Gon didn't even WANT to learn more about his birth mother, a mystery that we will never solve. Just another example of trying to answer what family means. Mito is an aunt, but to Gon, Mito is his mother. (Yet Ging can still be his father? Why not Leorio? A far more deserving man of any affection whatsoever.)

How the story should go. After meeting up with Ging, he continues to go on an adventure with him. As they travel through the far more dangerous continent, Gon faces death multiple times. All this while Ging continues without regard for his safety. Gon reflects, thinking back to his friend Killua, who would attack Gon if it was to protect him. Who called him the sun. Back to Leorio, who hugged Gon like he mattered. Who said he was sorry for not being there for him. As they continue on, he reflects on who really matters. A call for help from his friends. Does he answer the call or remain by his father's side?

What makes a familiar relationship? Blood? Obligation? Depth of affection? Trust? Who makes or breaks those ties? How much do we grow from those relationships?

Hunter x Hunter exceeds my expectations, but also fails to live up to the story it sets itself up to be. I never thought I'd see such an incredible character development that centers on family. I hoped for something on the Ging & Gon front, perhaps as a means of exploring my own thoughts on the matter. Sorely disappointed. I think about this anime often because there is still much left to the imagination. A story unfinished. Perhaps that's what makes it a good story; especially one that decides to kick the standard and focus on a relationship that all of us have dealt with, but many of us overlook.

Is this show good? Debatable. What isn't debatable is how important family is to the plot and character development of the show. Maybe, in an alternative world somewhere, there is a satisfying ending where Gon acknowledges his own family trauma. He realizes how important his friends are, maybe seeing them more as his own family. Kurapika's revenge slowly fizzles out, instead replaced by the need to protect what's still alive. Killua resolves his family issues while remaining true to himself and Leorio adopts Gon.

Maybe the real family is the one we make along the way.