#before they every kick a ball? yet there’s no questioning the manager and his tactics no let’s just scapegoat the one player

[carebearcody]

english punditry is so lazy and full of bad takes it makes me hate this country even more

[wintervvidow]

apricity

part one.

apricity - the warmth of the sun in winter

warnings: angst, blood mention, violence

pairing: bucky barnes x female oc

word count: 2,364

A/N: hi! welcome to part one of apricity! set in mid-captain america: the winter soldier. this idea has been in my head for a very long time and I am super excited to finally get it out. in this story I use the term “winter widow” , similar to the “winter soldier”, it has no correlation to bucky and natasha here. prolonged italics indicate a flashback.  friendly feedback is appreciated! thank you! <3

ALSO: please know that future parts will take a WHILE. I just want to get the first part out to get the ball rolling.

MASTERLIST 

The silence is what breaks her. She swears she would have been fine if it weren't for the silence, the screams of innocent bystanders no longer existed, the smell of gunpowder burning her nose and stinging her eyes. Aside from the erratic breaths coming from both their lips, you could hear a pin drop as their eyes stared at each other in a blinding intensity as Steve Rogers called out to him, “Bucky?”

The gun feels entirely too heavy in her hands as her lungs expand rapidly, eyes unmoving from the ghost of a man in front of her. Except he isn't a ghost anymore. He's here, alive. James Buchanan Barnes, her Bucky, alive.

He’s clad in all-black tactical gear, metal arm glinting blindingly in the sun. His eyes are a stormy shade of blue, same as the ones that haunt her in her nightmares, not the kind blue she wishes she could have back. The Winter Soldier is the shell of the man she was in love with, the man in front of her was the man she learned to love all the same. He protected her even when he didn’t remember her, even the brainwashing couldn’t fully get rid of the love they both had for one another. Although HYDRA fought like hell to make them both forget. It never worked though, fragments of memory always littered their conscience. 

His brows furrow, overgrown hair in his eyes, “Who the hell is Bucky?”

Deep down in her bones, she knew he was alive. The last time she saw him he was being wiped by HYDRA, his screams masking her disappearance into the winter weather. HYDRA searched high and low for her, yet they forgot that they were the ones to train her. HYDRA perfected her, taught her how to disappear into thin air, and that's just what she did. They went as far as to send the Winter Soldier to find her, but even he couldn’t track her. Florence was a ghost. 

Florence Morozov was many things before she was an assassin; she was an immigrant daughter, a friend, a nurse, and her greatest title of all, the love of Bucky Barnes' life, his fiancée. The couple, along with the third wheel Steve, were inseparable in their younger days before the second war. Where there was one, the other two were usually not far behind. 

The trio had gone to the Stark Expo the night before Bucky got shipped off to the war. That night Bucky had proposed with a small emerald ring, promising her that when he got back they'd get married, move into a little white picket fence house, and settle down. They dreamed of growing old together surrounded by their kids and grandchildren. Only that dream had been crushed under the heel of HYDRA, not long after Florence enlisted as a nurse and Steve became Captain America, notably leading the Howling Commandos. Florence worked closely along with them, acting as a medic when needed. 

When Steve woke up from his 70-year slumber on ice, Florence had a lot of explaining to do. How she was alive, what she had been doing, where she had been. She told Steve what he needed to know, leaving Bucky out of the answers. She had to protect him, even if it meant lying to their shared best friend. She would do anything to protect Bucky. 

Florence explained to Steve that when she fell off the train with Bucky, she had been captured by HYDRA and experimented on. She was sent to the Red Room to be trained and then sent back to HYDRA in the ‘50s. She was their puppet for 46 years, coined the name the Winter Widow before she disappeared in late December of 1991. Florence was on the run for 17 years before she was taken in by Clint Barton, joining S.H.I.E.L.D along with Natasha Romanoff. 

Natasha and Florence grew to be very close over the years, the trauma they both shared bonded them. Natasha was the only one to know the full story of Bucky, every nitty-gritty detail that haunted Florence in her dreams. When Nick Fury had been killed, both Florence and Natasha immediately recognized the ballistics information, a silent agreement between the two redheads to only tell Steve what he needed to know, no more than that. Florence only told Steve that she knew the Winter Soldier, nothing more. Natasha understood her secrets, she had them herself, her response of, "That's not my story to tell, we all have secrets for a reason."

Florence quickly tracked everything up to this moment. Fury being attacked, Steve's description of the shooter, the Winter Soldier attacking them on the highway only minutes ago. And then there was the chase between the soldier and Florence, trying to divert him. And it worked, Florence had managed to distract him until he got too close, the pair of lovers engaging in hand-to-hand combat until Steve intervened.

And now here she was standing in the middle of the street with a bullet in her shoulder from none other than the Winter Soldier. Flashes of the mission in Odessa running through her mind, he had shot her in the thigh then, Natasha in the abdomen. Steve stood in shock as the ghost disappeared, leaving Steve, Natasha, Sam, and Florence to be surrounded by HYDRA agents and arrested. 

Blood trickled down Florence’s shoulder as she was seated between Sam and Natasha in the back of the truck. Her shoulder felt white-hot as she grits her teeth, Sam nervously glancing at her every second. Steve sat across from them, visibly upset, lifting his head to glare at Florence, eyes cold, "You said you knew the Winter Soldier, that you two had a history, not that it was Bucky!" Steve felt betrayed, his oldest friend lying to his face for years about his best friend.  

Sam angrily glared at Steve as Florence rasped her response with a shaky breath, "Steve, I'm kind of bleeding out right now. This is going to have to wait, just know I had my reasons. I did it to protect him. And you." 

Florence knew this day would come. Bucky wouldn’t be a ghost forever. She fought herself internally every night, dreaming of him. It was always him; the good and bad, the Red Room, what happened after the Red Room, their mission in Romania, and every second in between. She was permanently trapped in her own personal hell.

Steve continued on, “It was him. He looked right at me and he didn’t even know me.”

Florence knew the feeling. Every time Bucky was reprogrammed, she had to convince him to loosen his grip around her throat, begging him to recognize her before he killed her. And every time he did, his eyes flashing in recognition and guilt. And then he would hold her shivering body against his in the confines of their shared cell, murmuring in her ear that he was sorry. And she knew he meant it. Even if his mind barely recognized her, his heart always did.

Sam questioned Steve loudly, causing Florence to flinch as she fell back down to reality, “How is that even possible, that was 70 years ago.” Florence felt bad for Sam, he just jumped headfirst into a dark world with more questions than answers. 

“Zola. Bucky’s whole unit was captured in ‘43. Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall. Florence, how are you even alive? Zola didn’t get to you before the fall?” Steve just asked the golden question.

Florence took a deep breath in, “I don’t know. There are gaps in time, I don’t remember much from it. They all said that the fall should have killed me but it didn’t. Then I became a lab rat. The end.”

Steve looked her directly in the eye for the first time the entire day, “They must have found him and…”

Natasha interrupted him, she knew where this conversation could lead, “None of that’s your fault, Steve.”

Florence shifted slightly, sharing a look with Natasha, silently thanking her for diverting the conversation. 

Sam shifted beside her as another wave of blood oozed out from her shoulder, he turned to the guards, "We need to get a doctor here. If we don't put pressure on that wound, she's gonna bleed out here in the truck." Florence appreciated Sam’s protective and caring nature as Steve continued glaring daggers her way. Florence knew Steve wouldn’t understand her reasoning, too set in his ways of complete honesty all of the time. He didn’t understand what it meant to lie to keep those you loved safe.

The nearest guard flinched forward, flashing the taser at Sam before turning the taser on the second guard and kicking him unconscious. The guard pulled the helmet off of themselves, revealing Maria Hill, “God, that thing was squeezing my brain.” She motioned at Sam, “Who is this guy?” Everyone shared a collective sigh of relief at the sight of Maria. 

After ditching the car, the team arrived at an undisclosed location. The doors of the truck opened, allowing sunlight to flood in. Steve helped Florence down from the truck, supporting her weight with ease. Blood continued to trickle from her shoulder as she leaned against him for support as Steve spoke while he half carried her forward into the building, “I’m not mad. I get why you didn’t tell me.”

Florence laughed slightly, her body weak, “Are you just saying that because I got shot and I’m currently bleeding out all over you?”

Steve scoffed, his body vibrating with the action, arm tightening around her, “No, Flo.”

Behind her and Steve, Sam called out for a doctor. People ran towards them from the opposite end of the hall, Maria Hill speaking over the sound of footsteps thundering down the hall, "Natasha, there's something you're going to wanna see. Steve, get Florence patched up."

The group broke apart for a short period of time, Natasha reappearing with a hopeful expression on her face as Florence grimaced in pain next to the doctor stitching her up, "Fury is alive."

All eyes remained on Natasha as she explained how Fury was alive, a medication Bruce Banner had come up with did the trick to fake his death. Florence looked to Sam as he digested this information, he didn’t know what he got himself into. She could feel Steve's eyes boring into her head, but she didn't dare look. Her mind was a constant loop of Bucky. 

Flashback: 

His calloused hand led her through the crowd of people, Steve trailing far behind. The trio had just gotten finished dancing and now they were wandering aimlessly through the busy streets of Queens. The air was brisk as it blew through Florence’s auburn hair, her dress fluttering around her calves. Bucky stopped in front of a movie theater, the lights casting a warm glow over his face as he turned to face the girl. Her cheeks were blushed pink from the chill of the air and a smile had been permanently etched on her face all night.

 The news that Bucky was being shipped off in the morning loomed over them like a rain cloud but Bucky was determined to keep her smiling; at least until the morning. His hand abandoned hers, reaching down to fish in his pocket. He found what he was looking for quickly, the velvet box small in his hand. Florence gasped at soon as the box came into the light, tears welling up in her eyes. She knew what this was, she accidentally stumbled upon it when she was putting away clothes last week. A small emerald ring.

Bucky knelt down on one knee, flipping the box open, “Flo, you’ve been by my side through everything. You’re my best girl, always there keeping me in line. I love you more than words can say. I know I leave tomorrow and I should have done this years ago, but will you make me that luckiest man on earth and marry me?”

Florence flew into Bucky’s arms in a flurry of kisses and agreements, Bucky lifting her up and twirling her. He gently set her back on the ground, slipping the ring on her finger as she giggled. Bucky met her eyes, tears glimmering in them, “I promise you, when I get back you and I will get married, we’ll buy a house and we’ll make it a happy home; kids, dogs, a garden, all of it. I promise you.” By the end of Bucky’s promise, both he and Florence were crying in each other’s arms, each one clutching the other tightly, both hyper-aware that the future wasn’t promised. 

Steve stumbled his way through the large crowd, catching sight of his two best friends hugging each other. He didn’t have the heart to break them up at the moment, so he watched on with a smile. It would all be okay.

Bucky sat in the test chair underneath the bank piecing the remnants of his memories together. He knew them. The man knew his name, or at least what he thought was his name. And he knew the girl he shot, memories of her smiling flickered through his mind. Yet they were complete strangers, their faces foreign yet home all at the same time. 

Alexander Pierce was terrified of this day, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He knew of the attachment Bucky had to the Winter Widow, ever since she disappeared in ‘91, the soldier was harder to control, more agitated and violent. He screamed her name in his sleep and when they wiped him he was always mumbling about her when he became coherent. They tried to program it out of him, and when that didn’t work, they tried to beat it out of him, hoping she would vanish from his memories the way his blood washed down the drain. Nothing ever worked. The Winter Soldier was irrevocably in love with Florence Morozov and Alexander was going to use that against him.

The Winter Soldier’s mission was to kill Steve Rogers and Florence Morozov.

FEEDBACK IS WELCOMED. IF YOU ENJOYED, PLEASE REBLOG.

[winter-turtle]

House Of Wolves - Chapter 1 - Winterturtle - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

Peter Parker has been raised towards villainy by his parents for all his life. After a mission gone wrong, he is captured by the Avengers.

Tony Stark is a mechanic. He fixes things and now he's determined to fix this teenager that doesn't know any better.

The problem? Tony is a walking disaster when it comes to emotions. Another problem? He has only two weeks to succeed before Peter is taken away by Shield.

@multiverse-irondad-july

Chapter 1: Tipping The Scales

“Okay, how about this one – Elliot? No? Then… Lucas?”

Peter kept his face perfectly blank, the cool mask not giving anything away. He glanced at his hands shackled to the table, then around the dull grey interrogation room. Everything was grey – this room, his cell, even his clothes!

Why grey? It was just shitty black. He missed his black costume.

“Hmm, what about Thomas? You kinda look like you could be Tom.”

The name reading has been going on for days and it was slowly but steadily eating away at Peter’s nerves. When no one was interrogating him for information – which he would never willingly give away anyway – Barton sat down opposite of him and kept reading from various lists in an attempt to figure out his name. Of course, his name’s been already read several times, but as always, he didn’t react.

“Nathaniel?”

Oh God, if he wasn’t chained to that stupid table, he would’ve hit the man with something long time ago just to shut him up! Where the hell were his parents?

“Remember your training.”

That’s what they’d told him as they retreated and flew away to safety when it was clear there was no chance of winning. So Peter remembered his training – say nothing and stall for time until help arrives.

“We’ll come back for you.”

That was two weeks ago.

He was left to fend for himself against the Avengers. Seriously, Peter knew better than to question his parents’ decisions, but what were they thinking, attacking the Compound like that? Neither of his parents bothered to tell him why they were there in the first place.

“Just do as you’re told.”

It didn’t mean that he went down quietly. In the end, it took two super soldiers, two men in armor and one ex-assassin pressing on his pressure points to stop his trashing and hold him down.

“Kama- what the hell is this name? Kamakanaalohamailkalani?“

Peter couldn’t help himself but raise one eyebrow at that, giving the man his best are-you-stupid? look.

“Yeah, that probably is not it either,” the archer sighed. “But come on, boy, work with me here!”

Ah, yes. That’s what he’s been called ever since he got here. “Boy” or “kid” as Stark liked to call him. But what was he supposed to do? Say – yes, my name is Peter Parker, my parents are Richard and Mary Parker and we’re a family of villains. Would you like their phone number and an address where you can find them? Well, not like they had any permanent residence, but still. For all he knew, his parents could be anywhere.

Anywhere but here, busting him out of this place.

“You know, this would be a lot easier for all of us if you just told us your name.”

Peter kept staring. He was told he had very expressive face, hence why he wore full-face mask, so he took pride in managing to remain impassive for so long.

Barton rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger, sighing. “I guess we’re not getting anywhere today too, huh?”

“This is the first smart thing you’ve said today.”

“Oh, so now you talk.”

Peter merely shrugged in response.

Don’t take him wrong, he did talk… occasionally. He just talked without saying anything important. Just empty words meant to get some form of reaction out of the group of heroes. And once they snapped… well, Peter could take it. He was trained.

The silence dragged on. It was Barton that broke it once again with another tired sigh. “Fine, let’s wrap this up.”

Besides slight rise of the corner of his lips, Peter didn’t show any other sign of satisfaction. They were getting tired, he knew. But on the other hand, the whole thing was wearing him down too. Even if not by much, there was more freedom back “home”. The thing he missed the most were-

Peter’s sense tingled.

The door opened and in walked Iron Man and Captain America. His entourage for today.

“You know the drill,” Stark said.

Peter knew the drill, he was good at following orders, but there was that look again. That stupid look on Stark’s face he couldn’t decipher even if his life depended on it.

He stood up. Three. Two. One. Stark pressed the button on his watch and the shackles fell from Peter’s wrists, granting him short-lived, though not complete relief. Invisible force pulled his arms behind his back, the ever-present bracelets on his wrists that he hated with his very being clicking together.

Yeah, the thing Peter missed the most were his powers. He’s had them since he could remember, so they were basically his second nature, yet these stupid bracelets somehow dampened them enough to reduce him to normal-powered teenager.

His stickiness was completely gone. His strength and physical abilities were rendered to that of any other regular fourteen-year-old. Well, at least his senses remained unchanged.

“Let’s go,” Rogers jerked his head towards the door. Peter moved and the three men got into the formation around him. Barton in front of him, Stark and Rogers behind him.

He didn’t really understand the necessity of three people escorting him to his cell. If he were to guess, he would say that they were trying to show him who’s in power here, which was pretty useless tactic in his opinion. It’s not like he could do anything with most of his strength gone.

Which was mostly his own fault anyway. He’d gotten impatient on his third day here and now he had to deal with consequences.

They just wrapped up another unsuccessful round of interrogation and were leading him to the cell, Rhodes and Wilson on the duty. Peter, confident in his memory of the place, decided to make a break for it.

He’d let them think that the handcuffs they slapped on him were strong enough to contain him. Peter glanced around, took a note of a position of the two men with him, as well as another two people that were in the room at the end of the long hallway.

It was now or never.

Out of his suit, Rhodes was definitely the weaker one because of his legs, which made him easier to deal with. Peter squashed down the feeling of guilt. He knew the man’s condition wasn’t his fault and honestly, it was impressive that he continued doing the hero work, but the young villain had to do what he had to do.

Explore any weakness. Show no mercy.

Exactly how he was taught.

Neither man had time to react as Peter spun to the left and hit Wilson strong enough to make him hit the wall, snapping the cuffs in the process. Rhodes had split second to react. It still wasn’t enough and Peter, though he would never admit it, hit him just enough to make him fall. Wasting no time, he took off running.

“Friday, sound alarm!” Peter heard Rhodes shout and sure enough, the alarm started to blare two seconds later.

He had to be fast.

The stairs leading to the exit came in view. So did another two people, blocking his path. Rogers and Romanov. It was easy to deduct by the body language that neither side would back down.

The fight was on.

Kicks and punches were traded and with the adrenaline coursing through Peter’s veins, he somehow managed to slip past the two. So close now-

“Out of the way, you two!”

Peter heard something click and the next thing he knew, he was curled on the ground at the base of the stairs, eyes squeezed shut and clutching his head in agony. He felt like he was submerged deep in the water and the only sound that reached him clearly was high-pitched ringing.

Someone was grunting and panting. Then he realized it was him.

Peter was vaguely aware of people approaching towards him as well as someone new running into the hallway. Then there were hands around his wrists, pulling them away from his head. Peter could’ve sworn that the next sound that left his mouth was a whimper. He curled into even tighter ball.

He really hoped he wasn’t crying too.

The hands let him go. “His ears are bleeding.” Even this up close, Peter could just barely make out Captain America’s voice.

There was more indistinguishable conversation around him and the last thing Peter remembered before passing out from pain – a blessing in disguise – was the sensation of cold bracelets clicking shut around his wrists.

And he’s worn those since.

Peter walked through the door of his cell. As much as he hated to admit it, all he could actually do now was to sit on his ass and wait for the rescue. Fighting them in his current state and with the stupid but amazing ceiling computer watching his every move would yield no results. The only time he fought them was when they didn’t respect his personal space and put their hands on his shoulders or back when they escorted him.

Thankfully, they’ve learned not to touch him quite quickly.

Peter stood in the middle of the cell, his back facing the trio of Avengers. His hands fell to his sides as the release button was pressed. Peter still didn’t turn around nor said anything. Two pairs of footsteps began to make the retreat. One stayed in place for five more seconds, then the door closed. That always happened only when Stark was with the group.

Interesting.

His eyes, more out of habit that anything else, roamed over the cell. Besides the cot built into the wall, the room consisted of a “bathroom” that was just a toilet, a shower and a sink hidden by a wall, a table with short bench bolted to the ground and a camera in top left corner.

His dinner, served on a paper plate as always, sat on the table, waiting for him. Peter sighed. There were only so many sandwiches one could eat before going crazy and Peter felt like he was reaching that point.

There was nothing for him to use. Perfect place to contain enhanced villain like him.

So, saving the food for later and with nothing better to do, Peter laid down on the cot, stared at the ceiling above him and waited.

For what?

He had no idea.

The kid – God, he was just a kid – looked at him with curiosity sparking behind those big brown eyes as Tony was making himself as comfortable as he could in the uncomfortable chair.

Time to commerce the plan.

As expected, the kid said nothing. And according to the plan, neither did Tony. Instead, he pulled out his Starkpad and directed all of his attention to the screen.

At least that was what it seemed like.

“Let me go to him next,” Tony had said on that morning. At his teammates’ inquiries about the reason, Tony merely shrugged. “We’ll never know until we try.”

Tony half-heartedly scrolled through various documents and the kid looked around the room every so often before returning his gaze to Tony. It felt like the teen was studying him.

The time he’s spent in the interrogation room hit fifteen-minute mark when Tony noticed the kid slightly shift in his seat. Twenty minutes and the kid shifted again. This was new development. Sure, when Tony’s watched older footage, the kid shifted every so often, but not in such a short span of time.

Twenty-five minutes and the kid released long, soft exhale through his nose. Tony was slowly getting where he wanted. Still, he kept scrolling.

Thirty minutes passed and this time the exhale was a bit louder. The shift was bigger too. Tony glanced up at the kid from underneath his lashes, then he returned his gaze to the device.

Throughout another thirty minutes, the kid grew more and more agitated, shifting in his seat almost every minute. He played with his fingers, soundlessly bounced his right leg, his jaw began to move as if he wanted to speak.

Which he will. Eventually.

“Aren’t you gonna say something?”

Bingo.

One hour and fifteen minutes. Huh. Not great, not terrible. “Why should I? Do you feel talkative? I’ve heard you didn’t say much in the past three weeks,” he said without looking up.

The kid pressed his mouth into thin line, clenched his jaw and scowled.

Baby steps but hey! It was progress.

“This is annoying,” the kid muttered.

“How so?” He knew very well why. Contrary to popular belief, he knew exactly what he was doing. Well… this time, at least.

“Why are you here?”

The pauses between speaking shortened. Tony shrugged. The kid scoffed.

“I can imagine someone like you surely has something more important to do than to sit here with me and waste time.”

“And you are correct,” Tony replied. He looked up, smiling, “but hanging out with you in this lovely room gives me perfect excuse to not do any actual work. So, thanks, you’re a lifesaver.”

The kid’s frown grew.

“Oh my God, just get on with it!” the kid shouted, the movement of his shoulders and the clang of the chains indicating that he wanted to throw his arms up in frustration.

Tony ignored him, which fueled the kid’s frustration more. Good. Frustration led to anger, and angry person is more likely to spill something without thinking.

“Why don’t you just get Black Widow down here if you’re not going to ask anything? You clearly have no idea what to do. She will know, she was an assassin after all. Still doesn’t mean her methods will work though.”

Now this got Tony’s attention. “What do you mean?” he asked as he set the Starkpad down on the table.

And there was the kid, scoffing again. He sure did that a lot. It was… actually kinda nice to see that there was a normal teenage attitude underneath that villain layer. “Come on, do you think I don’t know how this works? You’ll keep trying to make me talk, nicely first, but you’ll get tired of it eventually,” the kid leaned forward, his voice lowering with the next words. “And that’s when you go for different approach to get what you want.”

Tony’s brain screeched to halt. There was no time to school his expression back into neutral one fast enough; the kid already noticed, pleased smile spreading across his face. Like he just got it confirmed that he was right.

“What?” Tony managed to somehow say out loud, the task of forcing out the single word around the lump in his throat nearly impossible.

The kid rolled his eyes and leaned back into the chair. “Don’t play dumb.”

“No, seriously, I think I just misheard you.” This time, it was Tony’s turn to lean forward as he tapped his ear. “Because that sounded like an implication that we’re about to torture you for information.”

“And you won’t?” the kid asked, obviously not believing him.

“No! Geez, we’re heroes. We don’t do shit like that!”

“Everyone gets tired of the nice act over time. It’s practically human nature. You might as well get on with it,” he said matter-of-factly, waving his hand as much as the chain would allow. “It won’t work anyway. I’m trained.”

The way the kid seemed to treat it like some everyday annoyance made Tony sick to his stomach. Just what kind of environment did he grew up in? Tony could imagine only one way how one could be taught how to resist physical torture.

“Okay, hold on. Let me get this straight – you’re saying that you’re trained to resist torture.”

“Yes.”

“I assume your parents trained you?”

The boy in front of him smirked. Nobody should look that proud about something like that. “Kid… that’s called abuse,” Tony said carefully.

“Jesus Christ, Tones, what the hell did you hit him with?”

“I- just a sonic blast. I had no idea he would react like this. It was supposed to daze him, not make him bleed.”

Now it all made sense. The kid was clearly in incredible pain from the sonic blast, and yet he barely made a sound. No screaming in agony, just choked grunting and panting.

Tony’s had his fair share of torture. First in Afghanistan, then when he returned and his arc reactor was ripped from his chest and then several times he’s been captured since the beginning of his hero career. That didn’t mean he was used to it. And this kid had it done to him by his own parents.

The thought of Obadiah, someone he trusted, torturing him directly while saying it was for his own good was enough to cause his anxiety rise.

Dread began to seep into his body with a sudden yet simple realization; Tony’s been hurt so much, been through so much, it was a wonder he didn’t turn to villainy. He had the perfect set up. It would have been so simple to choose to do harm with his tech instead of good.

For a moment, he saw himself sitting in the kid’s place.

The two of them were so similar, yet so different.

“Abuse?” The kid snorted. “Yeah, right. Me. Abused.”

Tony sighed. “Kid, I don’t know what kind of life you’ve been living, but hurting their own children is not something normal parents do. At least the loving ones.”

That statement set off an unforeseen reaction. The kid puffed out his chest, anger dusting his cheeks with red. “They care about me,” he hissed, “and they’ll come for me any day now.”

“Same as they came for you in the past three weeks?” Tony snapped without meaning to.

The kid didn’t have an answer to that. Instead, he glared down at the table. The sight sent a painful pang into Tony’s heart.

“I believe it’s been enough for today,” he said, the softness in his voice surprising him. “Come on.”

Surprises kept on coming because the kid went without any resistance. Tony half hoped that since he didn’t call anybody to help escort the young villain, but there was none. The kid kept his head down, unreadable expression on his face all the way until they got to the cell. Then he just stood in the middle of the room without doing anything.

Tony turned to leave.

“Peter.”

The word – spoken so silently Tony would have thought he had imagined it – made him stop just before he could fully close the door. “Come again?”

“Peter,” the kid said louder, still not facing him.

“Peter…” Tony repeated, drawling the word in clear way that he was waiting for more. For a moment, he expected the kid to remain silent, that he already said enough, but then-

“Parker.”

Tony smiled softly at the kid’s back. “Nice to meet you, Peter Parker.” This time the kid, Peter, didn’t reply. Tony took it as a cue to leave. “See you later, kid,” he said and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Tony, sprawled across the couch with his hands behind his head, grinned at his shocked teammates. “Yep,” he said, popping the p and doing his best to shove the other horrific revelation to the back of his mind. That can of worms could be opened later. “You heard that correctly. I got the kid’s name.”

“Well?” Sam gestured with his hand for him to spill already.

“His name is Peter.”

“What?!” Clint called out.

Natasha sighed. “Clint—”

“No, don’t take me wrong, but really? Peter?” the archer threw up his arms. “I read that name in five different lists. Five!Nameberry was my best friend for the past three weeks. I already started with lists of names from different countries. So far I went through German names, all Scandinavian names and I was about to move to Slavic—” Clint suddenly cut himself off, sat down and buried his face in his hands. “How did you managed to get a name out of him in only one session?”

The question came out more like a whine.

Tony shrugged. “Maybe I just know how to talk to him better.” And maybe he said nothing at all, but nobody had to know that. “But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I think you already cracked him. Like that technique where CIA plays the same song over and over again and then you start skipping the parts, kicking the brain into overdrive.”

“All right, but did you get his last name too?” Steve asked.

“Oh yeah!” Tony said, snapping his fingers. “Parker.”

“I read that one too.”

“Oh, hush.”

Rhodey nodded to himself. “So, Peter Parker, huh?” he hummed to himself.

Bucky stiffened.

Sam’s brow furrowed. “What’s up?”

Bucky remained silent, staring at the wall with wide eyes, but seeing right through it.

Steve leaned closer, gently nudging his friend. “Buck?” he asked softly. “You know something, don’t you?”

“He was supposed to be dead,” Bucky replied as if he was in dream-like state. “All three of them were all supposed to be dead.”

“Okay, Barnes, that’s freaky,” Tony said. “You clearly know him.”

Bucky nodded. He swallowed thickly, then again when the lump in his throat refused to go away.

“Take it easy. Deep breaths,” Steve coaxed.

It took a minute, but eventually the man pulled himself together with one last inhale, his features set in determination. “About ten years ago, Hydra was working on one project. They were trying to recreate supersoldier serum, but with countless failures before, they decided to try something different.”

The room was completely silent, everyone listening to the story in interest.

“Cross-species genetics.”

“What species?” Steve asked.

Bucky looked Steve in the eye. “Spiders.”

“That would explain the powers,” Natasha muttered under her breath.

“Anyway,” Barnes continued, “Parkers, Richard and Mary, they showed up at the base one day to help with the research. But they didn’t come alone.”

The atmosphere in the room thickened.

“They had this little kid with them. A little boy with brown eyes and brown curly hair. He couldn’t be older than three.”

Even if it was expected, it didn’t make the revelation any easier. They all saw how Barnes started to behave when his time as the Winter Soldier came to haunt him.

Clint‘s face twisted into horrified grimace. Sam looked on the floor with somber look. Natasha, though her face betrayed nothing, slightly shifted on her feet. Steve’s chest rose with soundless inhale, his eyes closing.

Tony’s jaw set, anger burning in his chest. Another horror the kid went through.

Bucky let out pained chuckle, shaking his head in almost manic way. “I guess they wanted to start young since the previous test subjects, adults, all failed. They succeeded. And then… Parkers just disappeared a few days later, along with Hydra’s biggest success since me. They sent me after them.”

“I remember all of them.”

Those words spoken in Siberia echoed in Tony’s mind. In the end, the whole situation got resolved with words before anyone could get seriously hurt, but the bunker was completely trashed. To say that Tony had been angry would be an understatement. He’d been downright livid. It’d been a long couple of days, and with Ross breathing down his neck, that damn airport fight, Rhodey… it was a miracle he’d stopped himself before killing either Barnes or Rogers.

The relationship between him and Barnes was still strained though. The same went for his relationship with Steve. Luckily, both of them knew to give Tony space and not to push him.

“No survivors. That were the orders.” Bucky let out humorless laugh. “I tracked them down to this airport and… I brought the plane down. The wreckage wasn’t a pretty sight. Literal chunks of that plane were never found, same with the bodies. Hydra found traces of human blood, their blood, where the wing used to be, so they were satisfied.”

“They didn’t want Peter back alive? As much as I hate to say it, he was what they wanted,” Steve said.

“I agree with Spangles,” Tony nodded. “Seems pretty counterproductive.” Jeez, there was already a lot to unpack, but Tony would rather throw the whole suitcase away at this point.

“Hydra thought that since they were successful with Peter, the process could be easily recreated. Little did they know that the kid’s parents destroyed every single file that had anything to do with the experiment.”

“I can imagine they were pretty pissed.”

Bucky smiled at the memory. “They were furious. Several search parties were sent out in an attempt to find Peter’s body. Obviously, the search proved to be fruitless.”

“The question is,” Rhodey said, “what do we do now?”

Tony was expecting more heavy silence. He didn’t expect Steve to speak.

“Fury called and asked about our progress. He said he will take Peter into Shield’s custody. I think it will be for the best.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tony stood up abruptly, “you want to send him away?”

“Tony,” Steve sighed like he was expecting the protest. “He’s a villain.”

“He’s a child!”

“He’s also product of Hydra,” Steve countered.

Clint frowned. “Steve, he’s—"

“Stark—” Sam joined in as well and all of a sudden the whole room was buzzing with words, everyone talking over everyone.

“Do you know what he said to me during our session?” Tony raised his voice and gestured to the vague direction of the kid’s cell. The room fell silent. “He downright admitted to being trained to withstand torture. You can make a pretty good fucking guess on who trainedhim. I told him that it was not okay, but he saw nothing wrong with it!”

Tony chest rose and fell with each heavy breath. “So yeah, he might be a villain and a product of Hydra, but he is also a kid who doesn’t know any better!”

Steve looked at him with genuine pity. “Tony, I still think Fury—”

“Two weeks,” Tony rushed out. “Give me two weeks to try and show the kid how normal is supposed to look like. If he doesn’t show any redeeming quality, then… then Fury can come and take him.”

Tony knew two weeks weren’t nearly enough to make someone have a change of heart, but he’ll be damned if he didn’t try. He was a mechanic. He fixed things. And he will try to fix this kid that probably knew nothing but pain his whole life. There was no space for mess-ups. Not this time.

And… he might be a mess when it came to emotion, but maybe that’s exactly what the situation called for.

“I say let’s give him a chance.”

Despite how softly the words were spoken, they felt almost deafening in the quiet room. Tony was surprised by his unlikely ally, but assumed it made sense.

“Buck?” Steve asked carefully.

“I was a product of Hydra too and I was there way longer that Peter. You gave me a chance. I say he deserves the same,” Bucky said, determined.

“I second this,” Clint stood up. “No kid deserves to live like that.”

“If Barnes and I could change, then so can he,” Natasha said.

“They’re right,” Sam said and soon everyone was on Tony’s side.

Steve’s eyes roamed over the group, each person determined to spark the change in Peter. To help him.

“Fine,” Steve relented. “Two weeks.”

“Thank you,” Tony said gratefully.

“So, do you have anything specific in mind? When do we start?” Rhodey asked.

Tony smiled. “Right now.”

[mmilkbreadd]

Chapter seventeen: “Promises”

Masterpost - Prev - Next

(These links might not work so I recommend you looking at the post linked on my profile for new updates)

Warning(s): none

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“Do you want to go out with me?!”

As Bokuto asked that question, your world began to spin. 

“Emiko is right” was the first thing you thought. Bokuto had a crush on you… He liked you.

Bokuto Koutarou, the ace of Fukurodani, liked you!

Between the awkward question you had been asked, one of the most important matches of your life happening in half an hour, and Tsukasa's screams that wouldn't stop, you couldn't think straight. 

Akaashi was observing you with a nervous little smile on his lips. He didn't say it but he was nervous about your reaction just like Bokuto was. The result of the match that Fukurodani was going to play, depended on the captain's moods; and for obvious reasons, your decision to accept or not his proposal too. Of course, Keiji wasn't going to force you to do something you didn't want to do, but deep inside of him, he wanted to take your hand and lead you on a date with Bokuto himself. 

“You can stop yelling now, Tsukasa” Akaashi exclaimed, pointing at Bokuto, who looked like a statue waiting for your answer. “I think it is better to leave them alone.”

“B-but…” Before Emiko could complain at Akaashi's request, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the other side of the court.

Two minutes passed in silence and neither of you had opened your mouths yet. Bokuto was yet as a statue, while you were still red trying to find the words to answer his question. 

A question you've never been asked before by anyone.  

“I'm sorry!” Bokuto said, placing his hands on his face, trying to hide his blush. “It was precipitated. We've only known each other for a few days, you don't have to go out with me! I was stupid to think that a girl like you would date someone like me… With a girl like you, I mean someone so beaut- KIND! I am the stupid one, I am not enough for you. We can still be friends, right? Oh no, I screw it all, didn’t I? You hate me, don’t you? Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

Before Bokuto could continue to apologize and talk nonsense, you put a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. The red color from your face was already gone, and now a sincere smile was on it. You let out a giggle and removed your hand from his face.

“You don't have to say those things about yourself, Koutarou.” Hearing his name leave your lips, he blushed even more. “You are a great person, and you are not stupid. I'll go out with you… Only if you win the match.”

“You're welcome, Akaashi,” you thought.

Listening to your words, Bokuto started jumping from one side to the other. With his eyes asked your permission to hug you. When you understood his request, you nodded and opened your arms for him to surround you with his.

In the distance, Tsukasa's voice was heard shouting “AKAASHI LOOK! I'M A GENIUS!” Which made the two of you quickly stop hugging. 

“I'm going to win, I promise,” he said once the hug was over. “I will do it for you! Well, and to get to the finals too, of course.”

You nodded your head and then your captain yelled at Emiko and you to go warm up. Saying goodbye to Bokuto and Akaashi respectively, you went towards where your team was.

[...]

Shiratorizawa was already in the second set of the match against Yunokawa High School. You were losing despite you had won the first set. Even though you were playing well, the other team used every tactic and move to score points; which made them tire faster, but they were effective for now. You knew that at some point they were going to be exhausted by the end of the set. Even if they did win it, by the next they weren't going to be rested enough to be able to play as well as this one. 

There were still at least two sets to go since to win a semifinal the best of five was played and you had to win at least three of them to be the winner. 

Your team was playing like they always did. You did not want to waste energy as you were sure that you would win and play the final, so you would also need strength for that game as well.

Tendou and Ushijima cheered from the stands. More Satori than Wakatoshi, because his screams were heard much more than the protests of his friend that he made every time Shiratorizawa made a mistake. 

Instead, Bokuto and Akaashi were playing theirs right next to you. You had glanced at Fukurodani's match several times, and you saw how well Bokuto was playing. He smiled every time he made a point, and even sometimes watched you, to see if you were also watching him. Their match was progressing quite quickly and they were already in the third set, the first two won by the owls. They were already towards the end of the game, which meant that they almost could taste the victory and then move to the final. 

After watching as Bokuto scored again, you noticed Emiko was the next to serve. The point ended in nothing because the ball hit the net, thus ending the second set. Tsukasa started to apologize over and over again, and your teammates tried to comfort her. You just watched her and shook your head.

“Emiko, imagine that the net is my head,” you said pointing to the division between both sides of the court. Then you smiled. “If you hit it again, you are hitting me. Think about how I would feel, do you understand?”

Even though your words sounded almost like a threat, Emiko smiled and thanked you. Maybe your other teammates would feel horrible if you told them that, but you knew what Tsukasa was like, and you knew that if you found some way for her to relax, she could pass the net. This was a perfect way to do it: make her imagine that the net was you, her friend, and she didn’t want to hurt her friend, right?

The two teams began to play, and again you were losing. It was Tsukasa's turn to serve, and you looked at her pointing at your head with your hand.

“My head,” you said and then pointed to the net. “That is my head.”

Emiko nodded and walked a few steps behind the line that marked the limits of the court. 

As she jumped to hit the ball in her mind she repeated: “y/n’s head, y/n’s head, y/n’s head.” And after the ball passed the net, it quickly fell to the ground with great speed. It had been a direct point. And just like that, she scored ten more… Putting your team in the lead.

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With the end of the Shiratorizawa and Fukurodani´s matches, Bokuto and Akaashi approached you to congratulate you on making it to the final… And also to claim his “prize”.

At the end of the third set, what you had anticipated had happened: Yunokawa's players were too exhausted to leave everything on the court, and since you still had a lot of energy, you increased your pace; weakening, even more, the rival team. 

When the owls got to where you and your three friends were, Emiko started looking at Bokuto and you, raising and lowering her eyebrows several times. Tendou and Ushijima looked at her strangely, since they did not know that Bokuto had asked you out.

“Tsukasa Emiko, you'd better calm down,” you said pointing a finger at her. “You will lose a friend if you don't.”

Emiko started laughing, while Tendou and Ushijima were still confused.

“Well, I kept my promise,” Bokuto said, taking a step forward. “When is our date?”

Satori let out a small gasp and tried to jump to hit the Fukurodani captain. Luckily, Emiko and Ushijima managed to hold him by his arms before he could. Wakatoshi was skeptical by the situation, but he didn't want anyone to get hurt. Even if it was someone who wanted to date HIS friend.

“Let me out!” shouted Tendou trying to get out of his prison of arms. “I'm going to kick his ass! Who does he think he is to date the sweet and tiny y/n! She’s our friend, we have to protect her!”

You were trying to calm Satori down, but he still wanted to beat Bokuto (and Akaashi as well), so you told Bokuto that you would plan your date by message after the finals ended. You were going to take Tendou to lunch so you could tranquilize him.

Of course, as Koutarou didn't want to be hurt he agreed, and with Akaashi they left along with his team.

“Satori, one day I'll kill you... I promise” you said dragging him by the ear out of the gym.

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Bonus: my friend asked me why did I name Tsukasa like that so here is the reason.

- If you’ve seen the anime “Plastic Memories” you might know why. The main character’s last name is Tsukasa and I loved him, so I decided to name her in honor of him.

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Heeey!! As I said last chapter I’ve been working on my next smau but I do not have a Love Interest yet. Sooo please complete this form below where you can chose whoever you’d like:

Mmilkbreadd’s new smau

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Taglist: @nataliahaslosthershit @softesyoongi @allofycurlove @iwaizumi27athletictrainer @quiche-inoya @lukeyaccount @melodiamore @bokutowo @Aideen00 @amgoldena @moonlightaangel @indecisivehusky

Thanks for the support!

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If you want to be tagged on this post please comment here or send an ask.

You can also complete the form that is linked in the Masterpost.

Thanks for reading🥰

[bi-naesala]

Feel alive

Fandom: Yakuza

Rating: T

Warnings: /

Relationships: Majima Goro/Nishikiyama Akira

Characters: Nishikiyama Akira, Majima Goro

Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Fighting, First Kiss

Summary:

Nishikiyama and Majima keep seeing each other after Kiryu goes to prison.

(Also on AO3)

It’s hard to tell what has brought Nishikiyama to go along with this. He never tries to dwell too much in this train of thought, knowing that it would only bring to the surface very unpleasant feelings that he’d like to keep hidden.

The thing is this: without his precious “Kiryu-chan” around, Majima has been getting restless, and Nishikiyama needs to get stronger. Yes, he’s making a name for himself and yes, people now respect - fear - him, but it’s not enough, and as much as it hurts his pride to admit it, he knows that it would sting even more when Kiryu is released from prison and he’s still not on his level.

Between the two, Nishikiyama has always been the brains kind of guy and sure, that can certainly help when it comes to pure combat, but he’s aware that he can’t rely only on that.

 That’s why, when he gets news of Majima being around his territory - poor thing must be so restless without someone to fight - he goes to personally greet him, provoking him into a fight.

What better way to get better, after all, that measuring himself with the same person Kiryu used to go toe-to-toe against?

He should be able to get some very nice pointers from this, and besides, consider this some sort of payback for what happened at Serena during the Empty Lot affair.

 He puts up a nice fight, but in the end, the one who comes on top is Majima. Nishikiyama knew this already, but just like Serena, it hasn’t stopped him; he’s tenacious like that.

When Majima leaves, Nishikiyama feels like he’s been stomped by a pack of wild animals, and yet there’s a manic smile on his face.

Today he’s learned a lot.

He wasn’t expecting Majima to come back, and then to come back again, and again.

He had assumed that once he would’ve realized - but he must’ve have known already, right? - that Nishikiyama wasn’t on the same level as Kiryu, he wouldn’t have shown his face around anymore, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Alright, this is something he can work with. Actually, for him, this is excellent news: it means that he’ll keep getting stronger and stronger. By the time Kiryu gets out of jail, he’ll have surpassed him; oh, that sounds so good in his head: he’s always lived under Kiryu’s shadow, but soon he won’t anymore…

 Still, he can’t for the life of him figure out why Majima keeps going back to him.

Is it because he’s the only one with enough balls to openly challenge him? Maybe, since Nishikiyama is pretty sure that only Kiryu has ever sought him out for a fight; everyone else is scared shitless of him.

Maybe he feels he owes it to Kiryu to check on his bro, and although this should enrage him because it would mean that, as always, Kiryu’s at the center of attention, on the other he finds himself not that against the idea of someone - anyone - checking on him. Had it happened sooner, maybe things might’ve gone differently…

 Regardless of the reason, Nishikiyama welcomes Majima with open arms every time and with the sharpest smirk on his face.

 It’s quite… liberating, Nishikiyama can’t deny that.

For once he doesn’t have to think about the family, he doesn’t need to worry about his plan; all he needs to do is to dodge and punch, dodge and kick, get up and do it all over again, maybe even try to get Majima’s tanto and use it against him if he feels bold.

He wonders if this is why Majima is the way he is, if he too feels this intoxicating high, though he’s not pretentious enough to think he can even begin to comprehend what goes on inside that head of his.

Whatever the reason could be, what truly matters is that they both keep indulging in this unspoken thing they share. It feels good to be able to let go, even if for just a short while.

Maybe that’s why they keep coming back to each other. That and no other reason whatsoever…

  Surprisingly, they don’t always fight, or better, they don’t always fight first. Sometimes Majima would find himself at Nishikiyama’s office to drag him somewhere to have a drink or have some fun - at least Majima’s idea of fun - and then they would fight.

Why do the do this? Fuck if they know, but it’s fun, so they keep doing it. Anything’s better than being sucked in the monotony of being a clan’s patriarch, despite the surge of power Nishikiyama feels at the growth of his family; soon, it’ll become Tojo’s strongest, he knows it.

  He’s not as familiar with using a bat as much as Majima is, but he still manages to give him a run for his money at the batting center.

Sure, Majima still wins, but only by a small margin. Not that they’re keeping track anymore, since Nishikiyama has decided that this is enough foreplay and goes to hit Majima right as he’s preparing for another ball. He manages to hit him on his side before he can dodge out of the way, sending him stumbling for a few steps.

“Naughty naughty, Nishi-chan~” he says, using the nickname that he knows Nishikiyama hates, a manic smile on his face. “Someone’s got to teach ya a lesson…”

Nishikiyama can’t help but to return the smile, staring at Majima with his sharp gaze. “Oh? And will you be the one doing the honors?”

A laugh.

“Ya bet yer fuckin’ ass I am!”

 Majima doesn’t pull any punches, but neither does Nishikiyama. At first it almost feels like a swordfight, with Majima trying to get him with his bat, while Nishikiyama parries, but in the end he decides to let his bat go, preferring to use a style more familiar to him.

Sure, going against a bat-wielding maniac unharmed seems like a bad idea, but Nishikiyama feels confident in his own abilities. Besides, where would the fun be otherwise?

At first, Majima forces him on the defensive, but eventually, Nishikiyama manages to kick his bat out of his reach, sending the other on a giggling fit.

“Not bad, Nishi-chan!” he says, hand going to his back pocket to grab his trusted tanto, which he unsheathes and points at Nishikiyama. “But now it’s time to get serious!”

“Heh. Bring it.”

  They keep staring at each other as they catch their respective breath.

Nishikiyama has gained a few cuts, courtesy of Majima, but overall, it’s all superficial damage. Majima isn’t doing that well himself: his face is beginning to swell very close to his only good eye; Nishikiyama almost feels guilty about the way he stomped on his face, but everything’s fair in love and war, he supposes, and they are at war, sort of.

Besides, it’s not like Majima is against cheap tactics, given that, as soon as he gets up, he tries to jam his fingers up his eyes to return the favor, having left his tanto discarded on the ground.

Nishikiyama has to hold his arm back with both his hands, furiously pushing against Majima, who then uses the momentum to make him lose his balance, going down with him. He barely realizes he’s fallen on the ground until he opens his eyes and sees Majima hovering over him - he’s heavier than he thought - with a victorious smirk on his face.

“Looks like I win.”

All Nishikiyama is able to do is to try to catch his breath as he keeps staring at Majima. He must’ve hurt his head in the fall, because all he can think about is how good - majestic even - he looks like this, panting and sweating for the fight, with his signature manic gaze still in his eyes, instead of arguing that just becomes he’s on top of him now, doesn’t mean he’s won the fight. Yes, something must be terribly wrong with him…

 Even when he’ll think back about this moment, he still has no idea about what has possessed him to grab Majima by the neck of his hideous snakeskin jacket and crash their lips together. He’ll only know that he did it, that he was the one who initiated it.

Unexpectedly, Majima doesn’t oppose any resistance. By the sound that escapes his lips before Nishikiyama can seal them with his own, he must be surprised by such a tactic, except that it is no tactic at all. Even if Nishikiyama doesn’t know what it is, he’s certain that it’s not just a trick, because if it was, he would’ve premeditated it, instead of letting it be something done in the spur of the moment.

What has to be more surprising, though, it’s how good it feels. Besides… is that blood, what Nishikiyama tastes on his lips? Must be, given that he’s kissing Majima of all people, but who drew it from whom? That’s the real question, not that the answer really matters though.

 When they pull away, Nishikiyama has no idea what to expect from someone as unpredictable as Majima, so he tries to mentally prepare himself for anything, and yet, he doesn’t know how to respond when Majima looks down at him, still shocked, and says:

“No, looks like you win.”

It startles a chuckle out of Nishikiyama that immediately evolves into a laugh, and soon he’s followed by Majima. Do either of them know why they’re cackling like two kids? Absolutely not, but they’re doing it anyway.

 Then Nishikiyama drags Majima down again, and they kiss over and over and over, neither of them knowing how long they’ll feel this insatiable thirst for the other, but also with no intentions of stopping.

Eventually they’ll have to get back to being the leaders of their respective family, but for now they’re just two people who are into each other and nothing more, two people who are enjoying this moment and have all the intentions of making the most of it.

 Damn, Nishikiyama had forgotten about this feeling.

It’s the closest he’s been to alive in a very long time.

[alilbihh]

hocus pocus — 2

masterlist  previous part  next part

pairing: maknae line x reader

summary: jungkook wags his tail and his eyes look like truffles. jimin drinks blood out of juice boxes and bendy straws and tries to wink but ends up blinking both his eyes closed. taehyung likes the ocean and all kinds of art and apologizes to rocks. you don’t know if they want to take you out the date way or the assassination way and somehow you think it’s both.

genre: werewolf!jungkook, vampire!jimin, hybrid!taehyung, witch!reader; humor (??); poly!au (in the future!)

words: 7.2k

You don't really know how you got roped into this.

Maybe you hadn't. Maybe Namjoon drank a luck potion that day and managed to get through to you. Maybe he used one of his manipulative tactics on you that he seems to do to all his customers. ("Or maybe you're soft," you hear Namjoon say. You smack him upside the head).

But it's not all bad. His shop smells like sage and rosemary and butter cookies and something soft all around, so that the edges are safe enough to press against. You wonder if your own store smells this homey to other people.

The whole store is like a library. The walls can barely even be considered walls anymore, stacked from top to bottom with books - most with cracked spines, well-worn pages and a musty smell that spoke of ages long past. No low hanging vines or roses gossiping to the nearby hydrangeas and no Jungkook trotting around in oversized clothes.

There's none of that, but when you close your eyes you can almost feel a gentle breeze, the muted buzz of cicadas, a bird fluttering somewhere overhead, as if you hadn't stepped inside a building at all. Namjoon's store is a different kind of gentle. Like something wise hangs in the air, just out of reach.

There are random items scattered about, and you remember what Namjoon once told you. How his store is dedicated to the lost. Objects that they value most are scattered about neatly. There's an assortment of jewelry and photos and family heirlooms and paintings. You smile lightly at the wedding rings and grimace at the less than decent items. (There are more dildos than one would think).

Sometimes people wander inside without remembering what inclined them to do so, drawn to items they don't remember they'd lost and items they'd been searching their whole lives for. Objects appear without warning, waiting to be found by the lost. It's how Namjoon met Seokjin. It's how the two met the ginger cat that walked in one day and has been here so long Namjoon even named him.

("I say we call him Ginger." You'd suggested, your cheek pressed to their horribly uncomfortable couch, and you immediately feel claws digging into your back.

"The cat hates it," Seokjin says, popping a cheeto into his mouth with conviction.

Namjoon nods solemnly, "It is kind of a terrible name," he admits.

"OH!" You say with mock surprise, twisting your head like they do in those terrible horror movies just to glare at Namjoon. "What an interesting opinion, soundcloud user Runch Randa."

Seokjin cackles and the cat makes a strange choking sound, almost like it's laughing too. Namjoon's ears flush red.

The weight momentarily disappears from your back, only to reappear seconds later. "Oh, yep, that's a male alright."

"Jin-hyung!" Namjoon yelps, horrified, "You can't just- just do that without asking!"

"Joon, babe, it's a cat. I'll say please next time, okay?")

It was then decided that his name would be Kimbap. He's grown a bit chubbier than before, and you wonder what Seokjin has been feeding him for that to happen so quickly.

The silence reminds you of why you're here in the first place. ("I'm being used."

"NO you are NOT! Just- think of it as a favor to your old pal Namjoon."

"You're insufferable.")

You've mostly been idling around the counter so far, only helping the middle aged lady that had walked in a few hours back. She'd been drawn to a pair of old baby shoes. "I tried selling them once. My husband didn't let me." She smiled lightly, the shoes small and snug and delicate as they sat in the palm of her hands. "They've never been worn, after all."

She walked out without another word, and for a moment too long you wondered how brave Namjoon must be to hear these stories every day.

"Hello?" A tiny voice whispers, a lilting tone of wonder. You search around and spot the tip of a head by the edge of the counter, wild strands sticking out every which way. Leaning forward reveals a little girl just barely shorter than the counter, chubby cheeks and all as she makes grabby hands at you. "Are you a witch?" She asks with stars in her eyes.

"Why, yes I am!" You grin, and in a blink and a snap of your fingers the lights overhead turn off, the candles' flames flickering alight one by one. She stares on in wonder, mouth agape.

It's then you're reminded of your true reason of being here.

"Would you like your future told?"

To lie to children, that is.

You have no idea how to work this thing.

The crystal ball is perched on some sort of decorative table centerpiece that Namjoon likely found on Walmart, and if the crystal ball itself has any magical properties you certainly don't know how to make use of them. It's colored a charming, rustic gold that you're not sure whether is spray painted or natural but it's pretty all the same.

Nevertheless, making up people's futures has been fun. The cheery little werewolf girl is too energetic and will likely hurt herself in the near future if she's too careless. The human with the pigtails will find love soon in the most unconventional of places. The bratty fox hybrid boy that kicked your shin is straight up going to end up in jail (but will find someone to help him through his struggles, you added just for his parents not to potentially sue you).

Namjoon walks in at some point just as you're done performing a magic trick on a wide eyed boy that's no older than nine, the highest form of magic you can perform, most likely. He leaves with a skip in his step, little daisy tucked into his shirt pocket. Purity and innocence.

The real store owner watches the little boy leave softly before turning towards you with a raised brow.

"Namjoon, my man! Are you finally here to save me?" You cheer, clasping your hands together. The traitor in question pats your head softly, and you instantly deflate.

"Not yet, Y/n-ah, just here to get something." He says with his back turned to you, climbing the ladder on the wall in search of a book, much like Belle does in Beauty and the Beast. Namjoon is both the beauty and the beast, in this case. Your instincts tell you to run while his back is turned, but something tells you that you won't get too far before someone inevitably finds and snitches on you because you're surrounded by traitors.

"You came all this way to get a book?" You ask, stupefied.

"Spell book. I gotta be quick though, Jin-hyung says that I'm on bathroom cleaning duty if I don't hurry up."

You laugh at that, "You know he'll just find a way to make you clean the bathroom anyway, right?"

"Yeah. I hate him. He's the devil."

"He's your boyfriend."

He sighs, a fond thing. "Yeah." And that's that.

Kimbap climbs onto the counter with ease, despite how chunky he's gotten. You pat him solemnly as you glare at Namjoon with all your might.

"Mind telling me what you're doing that's important enough to have me be here, lying to innocent children?" You quip, looking away from your glaring to coo at Kimbap nuzzling into your hand.

"You're actually quite good at reading people. The ball does look like you don't know how to use it, though," he says as he pulls out a book that's so thick it's more of a dictionary than anything. "The ball is sad." He adds.

"The ball doesn't have feelings."

"It doesn't," Namjoon agrees as he slides down the ladder, and for a second you worry for his safety as his knees wobble when he reaches the ground, book safely in hand. "It's not the ball that has magic. It's the air that does. Everything that does. The world is magical, holds more magic than you'd think, you just have to be the one to look for it. The ball is more of a handy tool." He grins and for a second he looks too wise. Too grown. Something about his tone makes you feel like he knows more than he's letting on. It makes you feel small.

"You wanna take a peek into my future, then?" You ask, and you're answered by a pair of knee-deep dimples.

"Can't. Tried once, unintentionally. The memories are all fuzzy." He looks a bit too happy as he says it. A little too fond.

"What does that mean?"

He pats your head again as he leaves, answers over his shoulder, "It means I'm in your future." The muted buzz of cicadas and fluttering of birds and the gentle breeze are ever so present as Namjoon opens the glass doors, steps into the outside. "Your future is awfully warm, though," he adds right before leaving, right before he trips over the doorstep and nearly falls face first into the concrete. He rights himself, stepping out calmly as if it never happened. You're too bewildered to laugh.

"I think it was destiny? Like, it wasn't my lack of housing options that brought us together. I think Y/n's, like, my soul-roommate."

Bright robes rustle as Seokjin props his elbow on the counter, resting his chin on his hand with a sigh. Jungkook flinches when the older male's too-large wings skim at the edge of a nearby bookshelf, and it rocks back and forth for a second too long before regaining its balance. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Jungkook takes a good look at his very much angelic friend, the man in question squinting his eyes suspiciously at him.

"So you mean your soulmate?" He says, voice flat, eyes narrowed.

"No, hyung," Jungkook exasperates, "My soul-roommate. As in, I wanna be her roommate forever."

Seokjin squints. Downs his glass of water as if it were vodka.

Now, Seokjin could tell it like it is right now and rid Jungkook of his stress like wringing out a washcloth, fast and easy and with little repercussions. But Seokjin will not. Seokjin will let this drag on until the man figures out what do himself.

This isn't the kind of decision he can make, anyway. "Alright. That's nice, Jungkook-ah."

"Yeah! Yeah. It is." Jungkook picks up a broom Seokjin's wings had knocked over, apologizes quietly to it before placing it back against the wall.

The angel drums his hands on the wooden counter, looking up in thought. "And what about that Jimin fellow?"

Jungkook trips over his own feet on his way to the tray of crystals, and the older laughs almost maniacally at him. "What about him?" Jungkook slurs.

"Nothing, nothing, I've seen enough." He says with a laugh, wings fluttering in delight with a mind of their own.

Jungkook huffs indignantly, reaches for a nearby crystal colored a soft purple, begins polishing it aggressively with his apron. It warms in his palm, like it's been resting near a fire.

"Who's that?" Jungkook's ears perk at Jin's soft exclamation, and he looks out the window curiously.

There's a deer hybrid by the door.

The buck looks through the glass with an almost childlike curiosity, eyes lighting up like a fire. Something inclines him to walk in like it does with every customer, so he does; bending a bit so his antlers fit through the door frame, and Jungkook can't help but consider the gesture to be the most adorable thing.

The boy's sneakers squick, squeak, squish as he steps further into the building, marveling at the tiny expanse of the shop Jungkook considers his home. A lone bulb hangs by the shelves of poetry, its glow muted until the boy steps in to read some of the spine titles. Jungkook can't help but feel like the room has gotten a tad bit warmer, a tad bit brighter.

The werewolf watches the hybrid pad towards the tray of crystals. Some of them are raw and jagged and the size of his palm; others are smooth and fitting enough to be made into a necklace, maybe even a pair of earrings. The boy reaches for a purple one buffed into an oval, marvels at it before pressing it to his chest.

"Do you like purple?" Jungkook asks once he gets close, laughs as the boy jumps. He continues, "Amethyst. It's pretty. It cleanses one's energy field of negative influences and is known to relieve stress and dispel anger, fear, and anxiety. Also alleviates sadness."

The hybrid stares at him. The hybrid stares at him because there's a werewolf talking about energy as if it's a tangible thing and telling him rocks have magical properties. "Rocks can't do that."

"Hey!" Jungkook yelps, grabs at a nearby rock, holds it close to his chest, "You can't call them rocks. They're crystals, crystals." 

"Oh." the buck blinks once, twice. He stares at the not-rock in his hand. Pats it a little bit. "Sorry."

"s'okay."

The boy looks small tucked into his jacket like that, and Jungkook watches as he fiddles with the zipper a bit, holds it between his fingers. "You work here?" The boy asks as softly as a voice can get, walking past a lamp that warms to life beside him.

"Yeah- yeah! I do. Work here, that is." Jungkook replies, just as soft, working at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. The boy's gaze is so so warm. Something urges Jungkook to shift his gaze to the ground and the other can't look away.

Jungkook laughs lightly as the boy sneezes suddenly, sniffles and rubs at his nose. "Is it the smell? It's quite a lot, isn't it? It messed with me in the beginning, too." He adds, tone a little too fond.

"Ah, yeah, I guess. Smells strong here, but, like. Nice." The boy says, steps in close to a vase filled with orchids and lilies and peonies and gardenias; femininity, purity, love, trust. He feels as a leaf curls around his outstretched finger like it's inviting him closer, welcoming him home. And he laughs, softly, like he can hear the flowers' hushed whispers.

"What do you think flowers talk about?" He mutters, and Jungkook almost flusters at the low rasp of his voice. Daegu, it comes to the werewolf all at once. Daegu boy. Jungkook's struck with the thought that he's never been to Daegu but it kinda already feels like home.

"Uh. I don't know. I've done some embarrassing things in front of them, so. Probably that."

The other laughs, movements syrupy slow as he stands up straight, antlers towering over the werewolf's form. Jungkook kinda wants to touch it. Kinda wants to touch all of him. Kinda wants to drown himself in the other's voice, the rough low of it, kinda wants to get his lips sticky with it. "Looks like they like you, though," he adds.

"I guess I'm just too charming, huh?" The boy says and then does something incredible. Something so mind boggling and out of place and so so endearing it has Jungkook's heart do something uncertain in his chest; an inverted beat, everything backwards, all the blood pumping the wrong way.

The boy winks.

Oh no.

Jungkook makes a weird noise from the back of his throat and he guesses there's something on his face because in just a second the boy laughs, laughs so hard it's like his heart is trying to crawl its way out his chest, like it's too big for him to hold on his own. It's beautiful. Jungkook wants to live in that sound, listen to it for hours on repeat like a broken radio.

It seems that's when the magic breaks because the boy remembers he's here to do business and takes notice of the weight in his hand, looks down at the crystal in his palm. "How much is this?"

Jungkook blinks. "Oh. I don't know. Y/n's responsible for that kinda stuff." He suddenly smiles, cheekily adding, "guess it's free!"

A laugh tumbles out the boys' lips, big and unreserved. Jungkook thinks he's just like that. Open and honest, easily able to light up a room with just a smile. "I can't just take it for free," he says as he places it back on the tray where he'd taken it.

"Sure you can! I'm encouraging it!"

The boy shakes his head, gaze flickering back to the crystal on the tray. He remembers how warm it felt on his palm, fitting like it belonged.

"Can crystals really heal you?" He asks, looking at the werewolf from beneath his lashes. He continues and the words don't feel like they're his, like someone's plucking them from out of him, "It just. Doesn't make sense. For it to be that easy, I mean."

Jungkook smiles and it melts the boy down to his bones. The younger boy picks up the crystal, tap tap taps at it like it'll give him the answers he needs. Offers it with an outstretched hand and a knowing smile. "They can heal you if you believe they can." Jungkook rolls his eyes with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "Just take it, you nerd."

Daegu boy bites his lips cherry red. "Yeah. Yeah, okay," Taehyung's so close Jungkook can see flecks of gold in his eyes, like leftover traces of the sun. He takes the crystal. And then in a blink he's gone, hands in his pockets as he trudges back out the way he came, "I'm Taehyung, by the way!"

"I'm Jungkook!" A goofy smile and a silly wave. The boy waves back. Ends up hitting his antlers on the doorway, backtracks with his head clutched in hands, and Jungkook openly laughs.

The boy leaves and the werewolf is struck with the thought that maybe he falls in love way too easily.

Something about today feels slightly off and you have no idea what it is.

Maybe it's just the lumpiness of the bed. Not the actual bed, just the jacket Jungkook had left laying around that's currently digging into your back as you lay lifelessly on your bed. You think you're having a crisis, a midlife crisis at the peak of your adulthood. And that's cool. That's fine. Totally normal and not at all disconcerting.

You feel a shadow tower over your body, and you peel open an eye to spot the very familiar that's causing your back such anguish, his brow cocked with purpose. "Why do you look like that?"

"huh?" you hum, and you think you're blinking but it's like someone is doing it for you, like you're drifting in and out of consciousness. "Look like what?"

He snorts like the answer is obvious, and it probably is. "Like someone just told you your ass is flat."

"That is rude and I am offended." You say without a hint of anger in your voice, and you briefly think of how that's probably your normal tone with Jungkook. Kinda soft and kinda playful and a fondness hidden just under your tongue, trying to wriggle its way out.

Jungkook says something akin to noona, do you want me to tie your hair for you? and noona, are you going to hyung's party? and noona, did you brush your teeth today? all at once, and at first you're mildly offended at the last one before you swipe your tongue over the front of your teeth and realize you haven't.

Then his words somewhat catch up to you and your brows furrow in question, "What party?"

"Ah. Namjoon-hyung's and Seokjin-hyung's. Something about an anniversary of theirs, but it's been less than a year? So I don't really know what they're celebrating? I think it's a pre-one-year-anniversary-party. Which is stupid because why don't they just celebrate it when it's actually been a year? I don't know. It's kinda wild."

You laugh at that, sitting up groggily and it's then that your familiar releases a little shriek, "Yikes! Do you want me to hire an exorcist? I think there's, like, three of them just around the block, I can run and get them for you!"

Your feet pad over the somewhat cold floor, and you slap the man's chest as you pass him by, his laughter following you on your way to the bathroom, and you can hear his tail bumping wildly against the wall as it wags carelessly.

At some point while you're brushing your teeth Jungkook pads lightly beside you, joining you with a toothbrush of his own. You're both staring at each other from your reflections in the mirror and you try to give him a smile but it results in toothpaste dribbling down your chin and Jungkook laughs so hard he spits a bit on the mirror.

Some odd sense of peace engulfs you then and it feels oddly dreamy, like an early morning breeze. Jungkook opens the windows to let some fresh air in while he makes sleepy sounds and you just kind of sit there, looking but not seeing, thinking of nothing and everything.

It's an early friday and the shop won't open for another two days so you have nothing to do but you feel like you do. You think it's the stress getting to you but you're not sure if that's it. You wonder if maybe Namjoon's psychic powers are contagious and your third eye has opened without your knowledge.

You watch as Jungkook pads over to your shared kitchen; the one that doesn't have your cauldron and your stove and your potions like the one just downstairs by the shop does. In fact, this one doesn't have a stove at all. Sometimes Jungkook walks all the way down to the other kitchen just to make proper food because it's not like you have the money to buy another stove, anyway. ("Jungkook we don't have a stove how are you going to make chicken nuggets?"

"But I have a lighter and determination."

"This is a bad idea and you're going to regret it.")

(He regretted it.)

Actually, you're not quite sure when Jungkook started living here. You can barely even remember how it was before Jungkook, when it was just you living alone in the apartment right above your dainty little shop, and now you can't imagine waking up without his sleepy sounds and your playful banter. It feels surreal. You wonder if it will last. You want to wish that it will, but you wonder if it's selfish.

You come to at the tragic sight of the familiar in question aggressively pouring cereal into his bowl, the milk already inside splashing around in waves. You sigh and stand up, the couch beneath you squeaking in protest.

Jungkook smiles as you come to a stop beside him. "G'morning," he says so so softly, like it's the first time he sees you- pretty little grin, pretty little curve to his lips.

"hi." you say, just as soft. This is nice. Everything is nice and smells and feels like Jungkook; solid. Safe. A comfort.

"You wanna watch Your Name?" he asks suddenly into the open air, and you laugh quietly at his determined eyes.

"That's like your de-stressing mechanism."

"Hey, it's valid."

And so it's a quiet friday morning. Jungkook has Kiki's Delivery Service queued and he's hoping there will be time to watch Ponyo like he's wanted to for so long and the afternoon will pass by like that, the two of you sitting around and watching movies and nature documentaries and tossing popcorn kernels at each other- sometimes with purpose, other times without.

Jungkook speaks up somewhere between shrimps being able to see colors we don't even know exist and lizards literally shooting blood out their eyes, and you turn away from the nature documentary to face him, "So are you going to that party? Jin-hyung said there'll be cake and mario kart and many people and stuff." He says before stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

You blink for a few seconds in thought because yes yes yes but no no no. Yes because you love your friends and you love being able to see them happy and you love seeing Namjoon lose to Jin at mario kart for the umpteenth time. But no because the last time you met a new person you almost fell in love with them so no, you will not be meeting anyone new for a while.

(Well, maybe not necessarily in love, you tell yourself. That seems excessive. More like a maybe-love. More like a I could love you, if you let me).

"I'll think about it," you lie through your teeth, and the werewolf pretends to be convinced as he flashes you a little smile that's knowing in a way that makes you feel a bit small.

"Okay," he says, shrugs, turns back to the TV that's now saying something about dolphins being insomniacs but you're too caught up in your familiar's nonchalance to pay any attention to it.

The couch is a lumpy disaster. A huge mistake. Possibly the biggest one of your life. You kinda wish couches had never been born as you try for the fifth time to adjust your legs only to fail miserably, settling for fiddling with your glass.

This is downright blasphemy. Outrageous. You don't know how you got here or what's happening, but Jungkook disappeared somewhere in the crowd and Jin is, as expected, beating some poor person's ass at mario kart, and Hoseok and Yoongi are getting a bit too intimate by the sugar cookie icing, and you think the punch you're drinking has more alcohol than you were accounting for.

You think you should chew the gummy worms that are mixed into the punch better because there are more than a few instances in which you forget they're in there and end up choking on them. But it's fine because the home you're in smells like scorched firewood and maple syrup and Kimbap is sitting beside you on the couch, dressed very politely and with a little bow tie tied to his collar.

You'd tried to get up once, tried to face the crowd. Tried to face Jungkook's admittedly inevitable betrayal. There were plenty of faces you recognized, some you didn't, and at some point you were trying to push through the people cheering for Seokjin when your hand brushed over someone's chest; pecs. Pecs means Jungkook.

He took one look at your face and quite literally dived and disappeared into the crowd to avoid your glare, and you pretend he's escaped your grasp even when you see his bumbling form run into the kitchen three seconds later.

So here you are, back on the lumpy, overused couch of the infamous fiends that are Namjoon and Seokjin, petting their cat. Kimbap is a funny fellow. Always with his head held high, confident as he strides from one corner to the next and paws at your ankles for attention. You strive to be Kimbap.

"You have a good life," you say to the cat, petting lazily at his head. "Eat, sleep, some adventure, more sleeping, definitely more eating. You don't have to worry about love or being alone or - or rent."

Kimbap blinks, one eye then the other. Yawns. Promptly whacks the middle of your face with the tip of his tail. "Fucking punk," you mutter.

So you're at a party. You're never usually at parties, but the owners of the distasteful couch will have been together for one year as of three months from now, and you don't know why they don't just celebrate it three months from now when it's actually been a year, but the punch tastes bad enough to be considered good and Kimbap is nice enough company and everyone's having fun so you don't mind much.

"Why, hello there." A voice says from above you, and your shoulders stiffen and your grasp on the punch cup tightens.

You look up and it's Jimin. Jimin, the vampire. Jimin, Jungkook's crush. Jimin, a Raphaelite painting come to life, dark pants and a shirt with so many buttons undone it can't even be considered a shirt, more like a suggestion of one.

He plops on the couch beside you just as Kimbap scrambles away- another traitor- and you look away from his collarbones to see the boy grinning, openly and unabashedly, fangs and all. He's definitely not alcohol drunk. He's drunk off something a little more intangible, maybe.

"Look," he mutters but you're already looking. At his eyes and his hands and his stupid eyelashes. Spider-leg long eyelashes. No one should feel this overwhelmed by eyelashes.

Jimin takes one look at you and promptly swallows his glass of vodka as if it were water. You think he's smiling when he turns to look at you again but you're looking at the ground, sinking deeper into the couch - cheeks aflame, human fondue. You think you can become one with the couch. Maybe it's not that bad. You pat it fondly.

The vampire laughs with his whole body, doubling over, almost toppling off the couch. Your breath hitches a bit but you try not to think too much about it. Try not to think about anything, really.

"The punch is good," you say lamely.

"No it isn't."

"No, it isn't." you agree, then down the punch in one go. You slam the empty glass on the armrest and feel your face contort with so much adamant disgust that Jimin laughs fully, and the sound is beautiful and incredibly - Jimin, you not-think.

You're still Not Thinking. It's actually amazing how much you're Not Thinking, you not-think. It's amazing what the human brain can do once you set your mind to it. There's so many things you're not thinking about! You're not thinking about how Jimin shuffles the tiniest bit closer to you, or how he leans into you fully when he laughs, or how he lights up the room with his laugh alone.

It's kind of a blur what happened after that. Jimin started talking about how kiwi is the worst of all fruits, and the conversation somehow diverts into the plot holes and the fall of capitalism, and then somehow- somehow- into slang terms for penis. ("I'm just saying that if someone were to approach me and tell me their wang is hard again I can and will block them from my life," he says with so much open hate it has you choking on a laugh).

You learn he volunteers at a nearby shelter.

You learn he, for some reason, thinks the O blood type is an actual abomination and should be burned for its sins. ("Nothing against people with O blood types, though, I'm sure they're lovely!" he makes sure to add.)

You learn he's been convinced by outside sources that Tony Stark is a raging feminist.

You learn he's beautiful and lovely and sometimes, when the light hits him just right, you can see flecks of red in his eyes.

Talking with Jimin is easy, really easy. You love words, but sometimes they're easier to say than others. You're surprised how easy they were to come out, how easy they were to say. You thought you would whisper them or they would get stuck in your throat. You thought you would slur them together or fracture them into too many. But with Jimin it's just easy, always so easy, he's always so patient and willing to listen.

Jimin is so tender, so pretty, lighting up a room without even realizing it. He's so bright. Bright enough for you to think this, this. This is why Jungkook likes him so much, and it's then that you slump backwards and every previously undiscovered lump reintroduces themselves to your butt. You were wrong, you take it back - the couch fucking sucks.

At some point it becomes so bright you had to excuse yourself, had to hide and curl in the nearest bathroom.

You're curled up in yourself on the toilet seat when a voice in your head tells you that you can't stay here forever. You have an assignment due monday. Jungkook will probably give out all the shop's products for free and adopt three more goldfish and a hamster and a golden retriever completely on impulse. Kimbap will probably miss you. Or not. Many times you don't know if he likes you or if he uses you for food and pats.

After a moment or two you stand up, fake a flush. Wash your hands, dry them. Dab some cold water on your neck. Wash your hands again. Dab some more water on the back of your neck, your forehead, your chest - anything to cool down. Wrists? Knees? Jungkook always puts some cologne there because of heat glands or something, but you're not sure if that has anything to do with him being a werewolf.

When you walk out it's with a confidence that you most certainly don't have, and you pretend you didn't just almost have a mental breakdown in the bathroom of your friend's almost-anniversary party as you walk back to the lumpy couch. Only this time it's not just Jimin.

This time it's Jimin talking so so tenderly to the boy next to him, little giggles spilling from his lips as he whispers into his ear, throwing himself onto the boy's shoulder and smiles at him with so much open adoration that your chest kinda ached a bit.

And it's not Jungkook like you expected - no. It's a boy. The boy. Honey boy. The boy that takes trains early in the morning and loves the ocean and loves his family before anything else. A split second and the boy smiles and then you know, you know it's the boy and not some sort of fever dream, some sort of hunger confusing your eyes and your brain and your heart. A smile all mirth and joy, one you think can't quite get captured right in a photograph. Boxy and bold and wild.

You turn back the way you came from and you think you hear someone calling after you but your brain is too hazy to make out what was said at all. You look around frantically for Jungkook, find him still hanging by the kitchen, drunk off the punch gummy worms and trying to pour some more into his cup but spilling half of it onto the kitchen counter.

"I'm leaving." You say to him, just to let him know, not because you expect him to follow you but because you expect him to worry when he searches and can't find you. You turn with the intention of leaving and he gently grabs your wrist, and you see something in his eyes - hazy and dreamy with alcohol and confusion and something else.

"Why? What's wrong? Did something happen?" He asks, tugs you forward gently to bring you closer, voice not reaching beyond a whisper, soft all around the edges.

"No no, nothing happened, please don't worry." You say, try to pry him off you just as gently, but he remains firm as he looks around for the potential threat that doesn't exist - doesn't exist, because you're making a big deal out of nothing, you know you are.

Because the boy you're already in love with is off limits and the two boys you just might have been almost in love with are together and you're a fool. The biggest fool. The biggest fool because you've almost just fallen for not one, not two, but three people, three people that are not at all interested, and you think there's something wrong with you that you're not quite ready to deal with just yet.

You look up and you see his jaw tighten, something akin to anger flicker in his eyes and no- no no no, you didn't mean for this to happen, didn't mean to ruin his night. "I'm going home, please don't worry about me and have fun. Please?"

He releases a breath and looks back down at you, expression softening so much it melts you down to your bones. "I won't let you go home like this. Let me walk you?"

You want to say no, want to let him have his fun, but he's looking at you with such quiet determination and you're just so, so tired. "okay," you say breathlessly.

You make sure to say goodbye to everyone before you leave, patting Namjoon extra hard on the back so that he stumbles forward with an oof. Jungkook's hand is on your back the whole time, a quiet reassurance.

You think you've done a pretty good job at avoiding them. It's kinda hard with Jungkook, since you live with him and all, but you try to eat your meals at separate times and avoid looking him in the eye when he gets too close. You take train rides at night now, just in case, try not to look at the ocean when you pass it by. Flinch so hard when you passed by an animal shelter that a kind old lady actually stopped to ask if you were okay.

There's kind of a box in your chest. It stores all the unwanted feelings, keeps them all at bay. But sometimes the box breaks. Breaks when you need it intact the most. Your box is crumpled, old, tearing at the seams, little bits and pieces spilling bit by bit until the day comes when they break out all at once, and you think the day gets closer the more you deal with things alone.

You think the day is today as a boy comes flying through the door, clothes and hair disheveled, and you think you look more than a bit petrified as the vampire you'd been avoiding for a few weeks launches towards you, smacks a few crumpled bills onto the counter.

"How do I say fuck you in flower?" He says, something wild threatening to tumble out of his chest as he inhales a shaky breath, and you scramble to gather the flowers for the bouquet, despite the oddity of the request.

Carnation, foxglove, meadowsweet; disdain, insincerity, uselessness. You add a daffodil in there just for the heck of it - new beginnings. Which is ironic, coming from you.

He watches as you tie the bouquet together, and there's something gentle about his gaze despite the fact your heart is threatening to tumble out of your chest and he looked seriously intimidating, like, two seconds ago.

You hand the bouquet over after tying a bow around its end and he takes it with a smile, walking out the door without even bothering to wait for his change. There's silence for a moment. Nothing. Then he walks right back in, bouquet still in hand, places it back on the counter and pushes it closer to you. You stare, stunned.

You make a weird noise and you think you've just keyboard smashed in real life because that's when Jimin loses all composure, laughing joyfully and clutching at his stomach.

"It's- for you," he says after a moment, gaze flickering from you to the bouquet then back to you then back to the bouquet.

"What did I do?" You ask but you know what you did. You straight up ran away from him. Straight up told him you were coming back and then you just didn't. Kinda ditched him there on the lumpiness of the couch, but you didn't think he would notice, didn't think he would remember anything that isn't related to honey boy - not that you'd blame him.

Jimin looks at you knowingly. You manage to hold his gaze for less than a second before looking down at your shoes.

"Do you wanna have dinner with us?" He's drawling. You think it's a nervous tic. "Me. Taehyung. Jungkook, too, if he wants." He says and looks at the door behind you, as if waiting for Jungkook to walk through it.

Ah, you think, mustering up a smile, so his name is Taehyung. "Taehyung," you say, testing how it sounds on your tongue.

"Yeah," he smiles something a little too fond, a little too endeared. "Taehyung."

"But- Me?" You fold your arms, shift on your feet, uncertainty lacing your every word, "You want me to go, too?"

Jimin looks a little too confused, a crease between his brows. The crease goes soft when he smiles or feigns surprise, but it never quite mushes away. You kinda wanna kiss him there one day.

"Of course I do. Why would I not?" A sludge that had been spreading through your insides seems to evaporate the tiniest bit at that, and you can almost feel your heart melting out of your chest, dripping over your ribs like cheese fondue.

"Oh," you mutter, and that's that.

Jimin smiles again and you wonder how he does it, how he manages to smile so much, if he ever gets tired of it. He fishes through his pocket for a moment, pulls out his phone. "Let's exchange numbers, yeah?"

And so you do. In complete silence. Please tell me what to say, you beg your shit brain, but it just continues the mantra of curse words on repeat. It's sunny and he's close to the window where the roses are giggling under their breaths, where the light is hitting him in all the right ways.

"What, no tips?" You ask the boy's back as he leaves, bouquet in hand and carrying it all too delicately, like someone who has a lot of love in his heart, and he's laughing over his shoulder as he opens the door.

"I gave you one last time!"

"That's not how it works!" You yell but he's already gone, leaving a trail of giggles in his wake.

"Are you serious? They invited us over for dinner?"

"Yeah," you say as you pick up a box with a huff, softening as Jungkook runs over to grab it from you. You mutter a thank you before continuing, "Is it that hard to believe?"

"Kinda!" He huffs but you're almost sure it's from mock anger than it is from carrying heavy boxes around, "We're going, right?"

"I don't know.." Your familiar gasps a bit too dramatically as he sets the box down on the counter.

"Noona, I'm pretty sure there's a law that states that you have to go to dinner when two attractive men ask you to."

"Source."

"Namjoon is the smartest person in the world and he confirms this."

"I confirm this." You jump as the man in question pops up behind you, and you have no idea how and when he got here.

You groan. "Fine."

Jungkook whoops loudly and Namjoon, despite not really knowing what's going on, joins in with the same amount of enthusiasm. It's incredibly endearing and you hate both of them.

[clumsyclifford]

intimacy prompts - 37 with mashton? feels like it would work for them

i got this idea and then i just felt like a compelling need to write it im sorry im not taking these prompts literally enough however this plot is absolutely crucial frankly i don’t know why it’s not employed in fic more often

-

“This stuff doesn’t work,” Ashton says.

Michael frowns. “You’re saying you don’t want to fall in love with me?”

“I’m saying there are better ways to fall in love than to just a bunch of questions,” Ashton says. “If I were going to be in love with you, don’t you think I’d have done it by now? I’ve known you for, like, seven years.”

“I’m pretty sure you are in love with me and you’re just in denial,” Michael says dismissively. “But that’s not the point. I’m just curious. Look, worst case scenario it doesn’t work and we just become closer friends.”

“And best case scenario?” Ashton asks, raising his eyebrows. He can’t really think of a best case scenario here, because falling in love with Michael through a series of carefully curated questions just feels fraudulent, and Ashton wouldn’t believe himself if it “worked.”

“We fall in love,” Michael says. “Duh.”

Ashton rolls his eyes. “Fine. But I want it on the record that I don’t think there’s any merit to this experiment, and I’m mostly doing it so I can have material to blackmail you with.”

Michael smirks. “Sure you are.”

(And maybe a little bit because he’s curious to see what will happen. If maybe it is possible to fall in love in thirty-six questions. If Ashton were going to fall for anyone this easily, he reckons it would be Michael.)

-

Some of the questions are kind of funny. When Ashton asks Michael, “Would you like to be famous? In what way?” Michael snorts before going off about how badly he wants to be a rock star, and how he’s worried he’ll never make it, because everyone in his band sucks and he doesn’t know if this song he wrote is good enough for any record labels. Then Ashton hits him and tells him that if they’re really going to do this, they have to be honest, and from there it gets, well. 

“If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future, or anything else, what would you want to know?” Michael reads, and then props his chin in his hand and looks expectantly at Ashton.

If Ashton had known just how probing these questions would be, he’s not sure he’d have agreed to this game. (If it can be called a game.) It’s not that he’s uncomfortable, but it’s hard to be open and honest like this, with no buffer, just him, Michael, and the truth.

“Nothing,” Ashton says, which is the only truthful answer he can come up with. Michael looks unimpressed. “I mean it. I wouldn’t want to know anything. What’s the point of life if you can just look up the answers? Why, what would you say?”

“I —” Michael purses his lips. “I’m not sure. But not nothing. I guess, I don’t know, I’d want to know if the band will last.”

“But if you knew the band would last, you’d stop working as hard to keep it together,” Ashton says. “And if you knew it wouldn’t, you’d just give up, wouldn’t you?”

“Would not,” Michael says, defensive, almost offended. “I’d do my best to make sure that future never came true.”

“It’s the future, Mike. It’s — it’s going to come true, that’s the point.”

“If the future tells me something I don’t like, I have every right to try and fight it,” Michael says stubbornly. “The band doesn’t tank unless I say it does.”

Ashton’s gut twists, although not in an unpleasant way. Actually, the dogged determination to protect what he loves is one of Ashton’s favorite things about Michael, and hearing him talk about the band like he’d rather die than lose it is making Ashton feel, well, something. He’s not sure what, and not sure he wants to know, although he has a feeling it’ll identify itself before the thirty-six questions are through.

They work through a few more questions in the second set. Then Michael, slightly strangled, says, “Uh. How close and warm is your family?” He clears his throat. “Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?”

“That’s two questions,” Ashton says. 

“It’s written as one,” Michael tells him, turning his phone around like Ashton won’t take him at his word. “Well, uh. Go ahead. It’s your turn.”

Ashton bites his lip. “You already know all of this about me,” he says, which is an evasion tactic, and Michael sees right through it.

“You — it’s part of the thing,” he says. “If you don’t want to answer it, I guess…”

“No, I just — I don’t think I’m going to say anything surprising.” Ashton sighs. “How close and warm is my family? Enough. My mum’s gotten better at keeping us close. I think it helps that I have money now. My childhood was unhappy until I joined the band. So, no. I don’t think it was happier than most people’s.”

“Until you joined the band?” Michael echoes, tilting his head. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “Like, I didn’t really have anything pushing me forward until that. It gave me direction. And three new friends, which didn’t hurt.”

“You’ve never said that,” Michael says, studying Ashton. Ashton feels like he’ll wilt under Michael’s gaze, too vulnerable, too easy to pull apart.

“Yeah, well.” Ashton clears his throat. “It’s your turn.” He wants to avert his gaze but also really, really doesn’t, and is saved by Michael looking away to reread the question from his phone, and they move forward.

The deeper they get into the questions, especially in the third set, the more Ashton wants to crack a joke, and the worse it feels to do so. They’re in the thick of it now, and even if it’s just a test, to see if it works, it’s not exactly the kind of thing Ashton wants to laugh at — just in case it does. (It can’t. There’s no way it could, because Ashton’s known Michael all this time, and hasn’t been in love with him.

And yet.)

“Tell your partner what you like about them,” Michael reads. “Be very honest — say things you might not say to someone you’ve just met.” He gives Ashton a lopsided smile. “Good thing we didn’t just meet. Lay it on me, Irwin.”

Ashton licks his lips, which suddenly feel dry. “Okay,” he says. This shouldn’t be hard. There’s a lot he likes about Michael. But all of the things immediately flying to Ashton’s tongue are things he would say to a complete stranger; surface compliments, or basic acknowledgements of skill. You’re a good guitarist is ridiculously shallow, and even you’re very dedicated sounds too vague to be true.

“I like that you’re the kind of person who knows how to heal,” Ashton says quietly. Michael furrows his brow. “I mean, I like that you’re someone who doesn’t ever fully break. You’re — you’re so strong, and you put up with so much shit, and every single time, I think, this is it, this is going to be the one that breaks him, but I’m always wrong. I’m glad I’m always wrong. I don’t know what I’d do if you really did break, but I’m always amazed. I’ve never — I think I’m the type to shatter, but you’re not. You can pick yourself up. I admire that about you. I always have.”

Michael swallows. “Oh. That’s — that’s really, like. Thank you, I think.”

Ashton rubs the back of his neck. For some reason, he feels more like an open book from this question — which is really, for him, about Michael — than any of the other ones. “Yeah,” he says. “Uh, you go.”

“I don’t really know how to follow that,” Michael says lightly. Ashton cracks a smile. “Okay, well, um. Alright. I like that you have this, I don’t know, endless optimism. It doesn’t make any sense to me, because I feel like with all the shit you’ve gone through, you should be full of, like, hate, and anger, but instead you always smile, and you believe in people, and,” Michael gestures aimlessly, unaware of the way Ashton’s palms feel clammier every second, “I don’t know. You’re relentless in your optimism, even though you’ve been burned. More than once. I don’t think I could be like that if I — but you are. So…I admire that. It’s very — noble.”

“Noble,” Ashton murmurs, cheeks pink. “Thank you. That’s very kind.” 

“Not really,” Michael says. “It’s just true.” But that makes Ashton feel even warmer, a fizzing sensation building in his chest that he can’t really diagnose. He’s used to pressure like this, but usually it’s anxiety or something, not — whatever’s happening right now, doing this. This kind of pressure feels like it needs to be relieved by someone else.

They make their way through the last of the questions, and by the time they’re through, Ashton feels like he’s just been on the emotional rollercoaster of a lifetime. “I need water,” he says.

“Get me some?” Michael requests, with a halfway smile. Ashton chuckles and takes his leave, returning with two glasses of water.

“Well,” he says delicately, “how do you feel? In love with me?”

“It’s not finished,” Michael says. Ashton frowns; he’s pretty sure there are only thirty-six questions. “Now we have to look into each others’ eyes for four minutes.”

“What?” That’s just...strange. And the more Ashton thinks about it, the more nervous he gets. “Why?”

Michael shrugs. “That’s what the article says. Answer the questions, then look into each others’ eyes for four minutes.”

“Four minutes,” Ashton says hoarsely. “That’s kind of long.”

“I think that’s the point,” Michael says. “Shall we?”

Ashton’s panic response is kicking in, but he’s in too deep now to back out. “Sure,” he manages. Michael smiles, soft and small the way he only ever does for Ashton, and some of Ashton’s tension dissipates.

They sit across from each other, cross-legged on the rug, hands in their laps, and Michael sets a four-minute timer on his phone. “Ready?” he asks. Ashton’s not sure he’s ever going to be ready for this particular task, but it doesn’t really matter; Michael hits the start button and then he’s confronted with Michael’s eyes, gazing into his own, and the realization that it’s going to be this for the next four minutes.

For what feels like an eternity, Ashton twists his fingers around themselves, nervous energy manifesting in fidgeting hands, and he keeps wanting to look away, desperate to close whatever window is being opened right now, because he’s absolutely certain that Michael is seeing into his soul. Then Michael reaches across and gently wraps Ashton’s hands up in his own.

“Stop fidgeting,” he whispers. Ashton can feel the calluses on Michael’s fingertips skimming across the back of Ashton’s hands. He stops fidgeting, but Michael doesn’t take his hands back, and Ashton finds himself hoping he doesn’t decide to. 

Michael’s eyes are very pretty. Ashton zeroes in on that fact. They’re the kind of green that looks like sea glass, maybe, and they’re ridiculously easy to get lost in. Again and again, Ashton has to force himself not to look away. He’s never stared at anyone this intently, for this long, in this kind of silence that feels loaded with tension.

(Since when is it loaded with tension?)

Michael’s palm is warm against the back of Ashton’s hand, and Ashton thinks about that, about how Michael always feels warm when Ashton needs him to be, and thinks about the thirty-six questions, and wonders why they were supposed to make him fall in love with Michael. Most of those questions hadn’t been the kind of thing you’d fall in love with for anyone. Knowing that the last time Michael cried by himself was last night, watching Bambi, shouldn’t really make Ashton fall in love. It wouldn’t. 

Although the knowledge that Michael has been crying alone at all is pretty painful. So is the fact that Michael had clearly been relieved to share that information, as if, slightly less recently, he’d cried on his own for something a little heavier than Bambi. Ashton wants to know what it was. He wants to be the person who holds Michael together while he stitches himself up. Michael’s always had an instrumental role in his life — it had been Michael, in the first place, who’d recruited Ashton for the band — and Ashton could spend all his days trying to return that favor and still come up short.

The pressure in his chest, or the butterflies, or the sparkling soda, whatever it is is back with a vengeance, bubbling over until Ashton feels hot and cold all over. He tightens his grip on Michael’s hands.

The realization that they could kiss right now doesn’t so much hit as settle easily into Ashton’s already volatile mind. In fact, Ashton thinks, he kind of wants to kiss Michael like this. It feels like a natural extension of the questions and the staring, the next bridge to cross, the easiest way to communicate to Michael that — well.

It’s not that Ashton’s fallen in love with Michael, it’s just that maybe being in love with Michael has been Ashton’s reality for a little longer than he’d known.

As soon as that thought lands, the timer on Michael’s phone goes off, a breezy alarm song that startles them both. Michael tugs a hand out of Ashton’s grasp to turn the alarm off, and the eye contact breaks for a second, but Ashton stills feels like he’s in a trance, especially when Michael immediately turns back to him, eyes wide and questioning, head at a halfway tilt.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, which is not what Ashton had expected him to ask, and catches him by surprise, enough that he actually says what he’s thinking, though he shouldn’t, though it’s a dangerous train of thought, though it’s probably a mistake because Ashton still doesn’t really believe in the magical thirty-six (and a half) questions.

“I want to kiss you,” he tells Michael, holding unconsciously tighter to Michael’s hand.

Michael exhales, a sigh of…maybe relief. “Oh, thank God.” And he leans in, freeing his hand from Ashton’s grasp to put both palms against Ashton’s cheeks, fingers curling around the back of his head, and kisses him.

The bubbling pressure in Ashton’s chest feels light and airy all of a sudden. Ashton reaches for Michael, anything to get his hands on him, and settles an unsteady hold on Michael’s shoulders just to anchor them in place. The angle’s awful — they’re both still sitting on the floor — but the kiss feels like coming home, and it makes more sense to Ashton than most of the other things in his life. Michael is uncharacteristically gentle with him (Ashton’s seen him kiss other people, knows how rough and tumble he can be), and after a moment, not long enough, he breaks away, resting his forehead against Ashton’s. Ashton’s whole face feels too warm.

“Believe me now?” Michael teases. It takes Ashton a second to understand what he’s talking about.

“I’m not in love with you,” he says, but the way his heart sinks at that, and the way Michael flinches backwards, immediately disprove that statement. “Okay, I might be, but not because of the questions.”

Michael smiles, which turns into something of a smirk, but without losing any of its initial gentleness. “Well, it worked for me.”

Ashton finds that difficult to believe. “You can’t be in love with me now just because you know more about me.”

“Well, I already liked you a whole fucking lot,” Michael says easily.

Ashton does a double-take. “You did?”

Michael sighs. “Oh, Ashton. You’d be the worst if you weren’t the best.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Ashton says, although he fails to bite back a smile. “So now you’re in love with me?”

“I’d be an idiot not to be.” Michael pushes himself to his feet and then holds out a hand for Ashton to do the same. He doesn’t step backwards when Ashton rises, leaving virtually no space between them. “I want to kiss you again.”

“You can kiss me as many times as you want,” Ashton says breathlessly, and Michael does.

[faewhump]

Unseelie Pet: 15. Chapter

Alex meets an old acquaintance out on a walk, Malachi plays a game with him and his tactic of trying to play nice shows some unexpected side effects. 

Previous Masterlist Next

Content warnings: dehumanisation, humiliation, dubcon touching (not sexual), drugging (faerie food), captor bonding, dubcon kiss

Tagging: @galaxywhump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @whumpsideblog @thewhiteraven73 @slaintetowhump @frnkieroismydaddy @u-n-o-f-f-i-c-i-a-l

Alex stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the lesser faerie across the forest glade. After he’d gotten over the humiliation of being collared and leashed like an animal, the strolls had quickly become his favourite part of the day. Part of it was that they offered the opportunity to memorise the outlay of the Court, but he also greatly enjoyed going outside and stretching his legs in general.  Malachi mostly held the filigree gold chain connected to his collar slack, and so it had been easy to ignore – up until now.

Now the sight of Darerca brought back all the humiliation and embarrassment, and he was unable to take another step. Malachi didn’t notice his sudden distress and continued walking, causing the leash to go taunt and pull on the collar. Without thinking Alex immediately started walking again as his training kicked in, and a cold shudder ran over his back when he realised that Malachi’s meticulous efforts had actually paid off.

He was tense and kept his head down, hoping with all his heart that Darerca wouldn’t notice or recognise him. Faeries usually didn’t waste a second glance at another’s pet, and he was neither outstandingly pretty nor did he wear particularly noticeable clothes today. He was just one of many human pets that populated this Court, he wasn’t remarkable in any way, surely she wouldn’t recognise him…

Darerca laughed when she saw him. “Now this isn’t something I’d ever thought I’d see!” she gloated. “Oh, it’s too good! Rían’s favourite, insubordinate human reduced to a tame pet!”

Alex flushed crimson and balled his hands into fists, he was mortified. Anger shot through him, and he was about to shout profanities back at her, just to show her that he wasn’t broken yet… but caught himself just in time when he noticed the expectant way Malachi watched him. The Fae was just waiting for him to do something stupid and wouldn’t hesitate to punish him on the spot. Which probably was exactly what Darerca wanted.

Still shaking in anger Alex breathed deeply and quickly followed Malachi, not looking up or acknowledging Darerca in any way. A couple of hundred yards further down the path Malachi stopped and turned around. Alex stopped as well and didn’t resist when Malachi gently cupped his cheek and tilted his head up.

“Good boy,” he praised with a proud smile, then placed a kiss on Alex’s forehead.

Alex bristled, he didn’t like it when Malachi treated him like this in public, but at the same time he couldn’t help the rush of relief, the Fae was pleased with him. Since the last punishment he’d been especially careful not to upset Malachi again and had even managed to find some sort of comfort in his overbearing caretaking. The Fae had insisted on personally putting salve on Alex’s back every night before bed, and even though he hadn’t allowed the welts to be healed with magic, they had all but disappeared by now.

“You look upset, my sweet.” Malachi gently stroked Alex’s cheek with his thumb. “Would you like to walk further or go back inside?”

“Back inside, please,” Alex said, making sure to widen his eyes the way Malachi found cute.

“Of course, darling,” Malachi cooed and readily lead the way back.

The next day Alex didn’t want to go outside at all.

“Come on, pet, you know how important it is for you to get proper exercise,” Malachi reminded him sternly. “And the weather is so nice today, it’ll be lovely.”

Alex shook his head. “No, please,” he whined, looking up at Malachi from where he knelt on his favourite sitting pillow. “Please, I can’t – not today, please.”

Malachi sighed.  “Alright, just this once you may stay inside, but only because it pains me too much to see my darling this upset. We won’t go outside today if you promise me that you won’t make a fuss about it tomorrow.”

“I won’t, I promise. Thank you, Malachi.” Alex smiled at him, almost overwhelmed by relief. There was no way Darerca could see him today, and even though he would have to risk it again tomorrow, at least he was safe for now.

“Hmm, what shall we do instead…” Malachi mused, causing Alex to tense again. “Ah, I know!” he exclaimed, and with a flick of his writs a wooden box appeared upon the table. “We will use the time to play a game.”

Immediately Alex’s relief transformed into dread, he well remembered the last ‘game’ Malachi had forced him to play. Warily he obeyed when Malachi ordered him to come sit at the table with him. He felt uncomfortable so high up on the chair, usually the only furniture Malachi let him use whenever he was in the room was the bed and the stool in front of the dressing table. Alex’s confusion increased even further when instead of some sort of torture equipment Malachi took a chess board and pieces from the box.

“You want to play chess with me?” Alex asked with surprise.

“Well spotted, my dear,” Malachi said. “Do you know how to play?”

“A little,” Alex replied. It had been a long time since he’d last played, the social circles he’d been in generally preferred card or dice games over chess.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you if needed.”

“Thanks,” Alex said automatically. He attentively watched Malachi set up the board, trying to recall all of the rules. Both the board and the chess pieces were made of polished jade, making Alex realise that the entire set must have cost a fortune. The small wooden game his father had carved himself definitely didn’t compare.

“Here, I will give you the first turn,” Malachi said generously and turned the board so that Alex could access the white pieces. “Please, go ahead.”

Worrying his lip Alex debated which piece to move first, this situation had come so suddenly and wasn’t like anything he’d expected. He was about to take one of the middle pawns, then hesitated.

“What will happen if I lose?” he asked. The memory of the losing pet receiving thirty lashes as a punishment at the ball was still fresh in his mind.

Malachi seemed confused by his question. “Well, you will hopefully recognise and analyse the mistakes you made and therefore play better next time,” he said.

“That’s all?” Alex was surprised. “There won’t be any punishment?”

“I hadn’t planned on it, no,” Malachi replied, then grinned. “But if you would like to make it more interesting…”

“No!” Alex breathed deeply, then added more quietly: “Please, that won’t be necessary. I’ll do my best, I promise.”

For a moment Alex feared that Malachi would insist, but then the Fae’s grin softened.

“Very well, how could I resist my darling pet when it’s asking so politely?” Malachi gave him a smile, clearly happy when Alex returned it. “Now please, the first turn is yours.”

At first Alex stayed tense, he found it hard to believe that there wasn’t any kind of hidden danger and only relaxed slowly. He gradually grew more comfortable with the game, surprised at how many things he still remembered from playing with his father all those years ago. True to his word, Malachi helped him whenever he was stuck and even explained his own moves and strategies. Engrossed in the game, Alex didn’t even notice that he was actually having fun.

Despite his generous assistance Malachi checkmated Alex’s king quite easily. He still congratulated Alex on the good game and praised his intelligence, very pleased that his pet was smart enough to be an interesting opponent. Once they were done Leah brought Alex his dinner, and he obediently relocated to the floor to be handfed by Malachi. Soon his mind buzzed pleasantly from the faerie food, and he was content enough that the gentle way Malachi petted his hair didn’t even feel bad.

As promised Alex didn’t complain when Malachi hooked leash into his collar the next day. He was still scared to run into Darerca again and therefore nervous and jumpy, making sure to follow even closer behind Malachi than he usually did. As if he was sensing Alex’s discomfort, Malachi lead him on a narrow and little-used path. The woods here were much more vivid and lively than those in the human world, and when they didn’t meet any other faeries, Alex eventually managed to relax and focus on the beautiful scenery.

A tree had fallen across the path ahead, and Malachi held his hand out to Alex to help him climb over it. Alex hesitated, then took the offered hand and felt himself blush at the strong and yet gentle way the Fae assisted him. It was so confusing, on the one hand Malachi hurt and humiliated him, but at the same time he was also incredibly caring. When he took care of him Alex could almost believe that he wasn’t just a replaceable toy.

And it was so easy to give in, the Fae never hurt him as long as he behaved but only praised and rewarded him. Alex had thought that he would be better at resisting than the other pets, but it simply wasn’t fair how nice Malachi was whenever he got what he wanted. He allowed him to pick books at his leisure now and had even gifted him the luxurious chess set after their game the day before.

Alex looked up at the Fae, entranced by the pattern of light and shadow the leaves above painted on his face, only enhancing his ethereal beauty. Malachi’s eyes flicked down at him and he smiled, the little gesture enough to take Alex’s breath away. Pull yourself together! Alex reprimanded himself, but still found that his gaze travelled back to Malachi again and again.

Once they were back in the room Malachi had Alex sit on a pillow at his feet while he fed him pastries and other delicacies. They discussed the contents of the book Alex was reading at the moment, and apart from the face that he was literally on his knees Alex felt like Malachi talked to him on one level. He readily leaned in when Malachi pulled his head to rest against his leg and closed his eyes, enjoying the soft way the Fae ran his fingers through his hair. These kinds of touches meant that he was safe, Malachi never gave him affection when he was angry.

“Come up here, sweetheart,” Malachi said after a while and patted the couch next to him.

Alex looked up with surprise, but Malachi only repeated his invitation and gently helped him climb up. He’d gotten so used to sitting on the pillows that being on the sofa with the Fae felt almost forbidden, and he didn’t even mind it when Malachi pulled him to rest half in his lap.

“Good boy,” Malachi purred and wrapped his arms around Alex, holding him close.

Resistance rose in Alex and then settled again, this actually felt kind of nice. He leaned into Malachi and inhaled the flowery scent of his perfume; everything was so warm and fuzzy. There was the dim thought that maybe he shouldn’t cuddle with his captor, but how could that be right when it felt so good? Malachi steadily rubbed his back, whispered gentle praise and covered his hair in tiny kisses.

Slowly, Alex tilted his head up and tentatively kissed him back on the lips. He felt Malachi stiffen in surprise and pulled back, worried that he had gone too far. With a fond smile of his face Malachi cupped Alex’s cheek and carefully caught his lips in another kiss. Alex sighed, this time it felt even better than the one before. His whole body tingled pleasantly, and he wrapped his arms around Malachi’s neck, sitting sideways in the other man’s lap as they continued their gentle exploration.

Eventually, Alex stopped the kisses and rested his head on Malachi’s shoulder, content to just snuggle again.

“Good boy,” Malachi murmured again and went back to rubbing Alex’s back. “You’re doing so, so good. Shh, sweetheart, I’ve got you. You’re so perfect, absolutely perfect for me.”

[harrylee94]

Log Entry XXXXXX - Chapter 3

Summary: A new space station, complete with the most high spec and up to date technology there is to offer, has been set up at the edge of the known universe, a new way point for explorers to keep in contact with the rest of the human race. It has been carefully designed by the best scientists and engineers Earth could offer, and now 7 brave souls are being sent out to ensure everything works perfectly.

However, when Logan wakes from cryosleep from the journey, he is informed that several things are now in need of repair, though everything had been in perfect working condition when the station had been reconstructed before he and his crew had arrived. They will have to solve the problems they’ve been left with before the station is up and running, and yet Logan can’t help but feel he’s done this before…

Relationships: Intrulogical (Remus/Logan)

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Parasites, Remus having an overactive imagination, It’s an Among Us crossover so there will be bad stuff afoot.

A/N: This was so difficult to write, partly because I got a job, but mostly because it was emotionally draining.

For those of you who don’t know, this story is based off of a comic by @fangirltothefullest which I HIGHLY recommend you check them out on the link above! Their art is AMAZING.

Note to everyone before we begin; there will be graphic descriptions of gore, dismemberment, possibly torture, and any other awful things that come with the territory of writing a story in an Among Us universe.

Link to; Part 1 Part 2

To read it on AO3 please click here.

Chapter 3: Log Entry #3

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:02 AM

Logan hit the ground with a pained grunt, his shoulder having hit the ground much too hard, and he pushed and rolled himself across it until he’d plastered himself to Remus’s side. He was warm and real and here and now he was holding him. Logan curled into his chest and gripped at the skin-tight suit that Remus was wearing, stretching the fabric but not bringing himself to care as he listened to the beating of his heart.

“You only get like this after something so shitty happens that you can’t logic your way out of it,” Remus said, his fingers gently rubbing circles into Logan’s scalp.

He hummed.

“... You want to talk about it?”

“Not yet.”

“Sure. Take your time.”

Logan smiled. This is why he loved him. Remus was loud, he was gross and he was strange, his ideas bordered on the demented at times, he was intrusive and annoying… but he was also spontaneous and accepting. He could be quiet when it was needed, and he would listen with his full attention (provided he had something to keep his hands busy). He understood more than his first impression led people to believe, and he would protect Logan with everything he had.

Tears ran down Logan’s cheeks as he thought of his body, shredded and so completely empty on the ground, and he choked on a sob at the thought of him dying alone.

“Hey,” Remus said, his voice soft as he rubbed Logan’s back. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

Logan shook his head. “No. No it’s not.”

“Why not?”

Logan shook his head again, curling further into a ball atop him. “You… I wasn’t there.”

“Weren’t where?”

“With you.” He could remember that focus, running to the reactor, forgetting everything else. Forgetting Remus. “I left you!”

“Hey, no, I’m right here,” Remus said, kissing Logan’s hair, but Logan was all but sobbing now. “It’s okay, Ana-Logie. I’m here now.”

“But you won’t be, because I’ll leave, or I’ll look away for a second, and you’ll… you’ll…”

“Breathe,” Remus told him, pushing them both upright and cradling Logan in his lap. “Like you taught me, remember? In for four. Hold for seven. That’s it. And out for eight.”

Logan shook as he followed Remus’s instructions, struggling against his emotions, but gently, over time, they calmed to a more manageable level and his grip on Remus’s clothes loosened.

“Good,” the moustached man said, continuing to rub circles into his hair and back. “Just keep breathing.”

The scientist nodded numbly against his chest and relaxed into his hands until his shaking ceased. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“But-”

“No buts!” Remus interrupted. “Not unless it’s the sexy kind!”

Logan chuckled and set his head against Remus’s shoulder, looking up at him as he wiped at his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Remus replied, though he looked a little surprised. He had every right to be, considering Logan didn’t say those three words very often, and to have done so unprompted was unusual. “What is it? What happened?”

“You won’t believe me,” Logan said, running lines down Remus’s cheek with his fingertips.

“Try me.”

Of all the people who were with him on this shuttle, Remus was the one who would be the most likely to believe him. Not that that was any guarantee that he would. He had already wasted time with his emotional state though, so perhaps he should keep the explanation short. “... Groundhog Day meets The Thing and I’m Phil.”

Remus blinked at him a few times before his face fell. “What?”

“This… This is the third time I’ve woken up in that cryopod,” Logan said. “You’ve fallen out of your pod three times. And… and we’ve all…” He stopped, looking away. He shouldn’t have said anything. Remus didn’t believe him, and it would have been better if-

“Died?”

Remus’s soft tone -- no, more than that, it had an edge of anger, and fear -- made him turn back. There was no disbelief in his eyes, no hint of criticism or of simply trying to appease him. It almost made him tear up again, but he kept it down and nodded, not quite trusting his voice.

“... I died.”

Logan nodded again.

“We all died?”

Another nod.

Remus hummed and stroked his cheek. “Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?”

Logan’s hope crumpled and he pulled away, or at least he tried to. “Let me go.”

“No,” Remus said, holding him tighter to his chest.

“Let me go!” he exclaimed, kicking out.

“Logan, stop!” Remus cried, struggling with him. “I believe you!”

He paused. “You think it was a dream.”

“You wouldn’t have reacted like this if you didn’t know that it was real.”

“... You insulted me to check if I was genuine.”

Remus shrugged. “You don’t make up stuff like this, but we did just get out of modified freezers after sleeping for years.”

“A fair point,” Logan granted with a blush. It wasn’t like him to overlook something so simple as proof. He blamed his high emotions. “It could still be affecting me.”

“Might be,” Remus said. “Do you think it is?”

Logan frowned. “It felt so real…”

“Then it’s real until we know it isn’t,” Remus said with a decisive nod. “You said it was like The Thing?”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:57 AM

Strangely, Remus’s questioning had actually been quicker than the distractions he usually pulled, the kisses and delaying tactics replaced with hugs and supportive mutterings, and now the two of them were heading into the depressurisation chamber. Remus was holding both of their helmets so Logan could more properly look at his tablet, trying to find any clue in the messages they received from the construction crew of what it was that had caused this loop, or at least what these creatures were, but there had been nothing.

“And our fearless leader arrives!”

Logan looked up from the tablet to find Roman stood in the middle of the room, arms stretched out in a flamboyant and unnecessary manner.

“Aw, bro!” Remus exclaimed in return, stretching his own arms out in a mirror image of his brother. “I never thought you’d admit my superior leading skills.” He grinned as Roman physically stepped away from him with a look of disgust.

“He was talking about Logan, you unhinged octopus,” Virgil said, though he sounded more playful than biting.

Remus gasped dramatically. “How did you know I loved cephalopods?”

Both Logan and Virgil rolled their eyes and Logan nudged his partner with his elbow. “This is not how I was hoping to start the conversation.”

Remus had the courtesy to look at least a little chastised and he stepped back, allowing Logan to take the place of the ‘fearless leader’, as Roman had put it, though he was definitely not fearless so he wasn’t sure why he had said that.

“As we are all here,” he began, looking around at each of them, noting how they were all more or less where they usually were, though he did make a note that Virgil’s previous panic attacks had probably been brought on by his tardiness, “I have some news. Now please keep an open mind as I know that what I am about to say will sound rather fantastical, but I assure you that I am speaking the truth.” The others looked at him in confusion, as he’d expected they would, and he took a stabilising breath. “I have lived through this day twice, and we have all died, both times.”

The air was heavy with the silence that followed, and he tried to hold strong, but he could see the disbelief in their eyes.

“Did Green put you up to this?” Orange asked with a snort.

“That’s not funny,” Virgil muttered, and Patton moved to comfort him, sending Logan a worried look.

“What proof do you have?” Janus asked, looking amused.

“... None,” Logan admitted quietly.

“That’s because this is a useless charade,” Janus said with a wave of his hand, rising to feet. “As entertaining as it is to see you try to make a joke, perhaps next time make it something more believable.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Logan said, but even Roman had turned away. “This is serious!”

“Whatever, Blue,” Orange said, slipping his tablet into its pouch. “Can we just get started?”

Logan’s shoulders fell. He should have known that this would happen. Remus was one thing, but everyone else? He could see them losing their faith in his abilities, in his cognitive functions. His leadership was now under question.

“Are you serious?”

Logan almost jumped when Remus stepped past him, helmets now set aside, and he looked ready to tear someone limb from limb.

“Logan doesn’t lie, not even for jokes,” Remus said, his voice low and dangerous. “He’s trying to warn you guys about something and you just dismiss it outright? What the fuck?”

“Rem, don’t try it, alright?” Roman said, stepping forwards to meet him, eyebrow raised  and arms folded across his chest. “It’s sweet that you’re defending him and all, but we all know the effects of prolonged stasis.”

“We know you probably didn’t mean anything by it, Logan,” Patton said, “but-”

“He’s not lying!” Remus exclaimed, but no one was listening. “Come on! Janus!”

The man in yellow sighed. “Just get your helmet on.”

Their words stung, but Logan knew that if their positions had been reversed he would have thought the same thing. “Remus.” The man turned back to him. “It… It was a dream.”

“Logie…”

“It’s fine,” Logan said with a forced smile. “They’re right. We should just get on with things. We’re on a tight enough schedule as it is.”

Remus gave him a look that should have meant tears, he could see the heartbreak in his eyes, but he stepped closer and took Logan’s face in his hand to press a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. “I believe you,” he whispered, “even if they don’t. I will always believe you.”

Logan smiled, comforted by the support even though he knew it wasn’t enough now. “Let’s get through this.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:15 AM

Virgil, Janus and Orange had all headed off in the same directions they had the previous times they had entered this place, their expertise leading them to very specific locations, but Roman had decided to go to Shields while Patton accompanied Virgil in the Medbay, something that Logan would not have chosen but they had all decided to make the decision themselves, since they ‘wanted Logan to take it easy’. In other words, they had decided that Logan’s skills and intelligence had been compromised.

Remus, who would have usually headed straight to the central control panel in the Weapons room, had been helping Logan sort out the oxygen filter, and they were now sitting side by side, the tasks in the room complete and their helmets resting in their laps.

“They weren’t going to believe us,” Logan was saying. “When it comes to anything outside of my area of expertise they don’t listen. The only reason I was named leader was because I knew so much about the mission. Roman probably would have been chosen otherwise.”

“That princess wouldn’t know the first thing about leading a mission like this,” Remus said with a snort. “He’d have led us all into a black hole to be strung out into wires thinner than a hair, or crashed us into an asteroid, or a planet. Maybe even a star.”

“He’s not quite as bad as that,” Logan said with a chuckle. “He’s actually quite competent, when he needs to be.”

“Well they’re still all a burning bag of dicks for not listening.”

Logan hummed. “We might have scared Virgil enough to keep him from entering, and maybe even Patton, but everyone else… Even proof wouldn’t have made much of a difference.”

Remus looked like he wanted to argue, but instead puffed out his cheeks and slunk further down against the wall, releasing the air as a fart noise. “Our friends suck.”

“They are being practical,” Logan pointed out. “If this were any other situation I would commend them for not trusting my word.”

“But it’s not any other situation.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It fucking sucks worse than an elephant giving you a wet willy.”

“... Elephants don’t have fingers.”

Remus shrugged and leaned into Logan’s side to rest his head on his shoulder, which was enough of an invitation for Logan to rest his own on top.

“You said it was Orange first, right?”

“I did.”

“Do you want to see if we can try and save him?”

Logan turned his head to regard his partner more critically, but, again, he seemed entirely genuine.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:22 AM

“I really don’t need any help,” Orange said as he continued to work on the reactor. “Aren’t there any other tasks that need doing? I’m sure the list was long enough to keep us all busy for several more hours yet.”

“There certainly is an abundance of tasks that need to be done,” Logan agreed, fingers twitching with the need to adjust his glasses but he and Remus had donned their helmets again before they had left the oxygen room. “However, I believe it would be more… socially fulfilling if we completed tasks together.”

“He means it’ll be more fun if we worked together,” Remus said, though why he felt the need to clarify, Logan was unsure.

Orange hummed. “Well, I’ll be needing some fuel soon, and I think I saw the tank in Storage,” he said, closing a panel and pressing a few buttons. “If you get me about ten gallons then I’ll have this done in no time.”

“Great!” Remus exclaimed and grabbed Logan’s hand to pull him away before the scientist had a chance to protest. “We’ll be back before you can say ‘mouldy entrails’!”

“Whatever,” Orange said, still concentrating on the panel before him.

“I thought we were going to stay close to him,” Logan said once they were out of earshot.

Remus shrugged. “You said he always died in Storage.”

“I did.”

“So that means that whatever cuts his chest open does it there.”

“That might be true, but that does not guarantee that it will be the same this time.”

“You said it has the last two.”

They pulled to a stop next to the fuel tank as Logan shook his head.

“Things have already changed,” he said as Remus found an empty fuel container to fill up. “Patton has never gone with Virgil before, Roman hasn’t gone to work on the shields, I’ve never told-”

“Hey, cool your jets, Wall-E,” Remus said, catching Logan’s hands in his before Logan had the chance to pull out his tablet to go over everything he could on there, to find something to try and make some sense out of everything. “Everything’s going to be fine. We’ll get through this, yeah?”

Logan took a deep breath and nodded.

“Great. Now let’s get this stuff to Orange, yeah?”

“Yes,” Logan agreed and looked around for a second container, only to find the surprising sight of a man in cyan blue stood near the door. “Patton! I thought you were going to stay with Virgil.”

For a moment their navigator said nothing, and Logan started to wonder why he looked so stiff, but then he relaxed, his body language becoming something much more soft and familiar.

“I was, but now we’re waiting for some of the samples to process,” Patton explained. “He’s staying in the Medbay but I wanted to see how everyone was doing! I see you two aren’t fueling around!”

“Yes,” Logan said, unimpressed by the pun, though Remus snickered. “Well, thank you for checking on us.”

“No problem!” Patton said, rocking back on his heels before heading on. “I’ll go check how Janus is doing. See ya!”

“Bye Pat!” Remus called after him with a wave. Logan watched after him with suspicion for a few moments more but still collected the container and brought it back to Remus.

“I think they got him.”

Remus blinked at him. “They who?”

“The… The Things,” Logan replied, unsure what else to call them. He should have thought of it before; it had always been Roman and Virgil, and they had always gone to Medbay. Medbay wasn’t safe, and now Patton had been caught. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Wait, Patton?”

“Yes!”

Remus stared up at him, his eyes growing wide. “Janus.”

They dropped the containers without a second thought and sprinted after Patton, skidding around corners until they reached the Communications room. As luck would have it, Roman had been near the corridor and the commotion had caught his attention.

Patton had turned back to look at them all in surprise, or rather the creature that had taken Patton’s form had, as there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt that this wasn’t their lovable father friend anymore. No, this thing’s arms had been buried deep inside of Janus’s chest, one sharp tentacle-like appendage having exited his back with a small number of vertebrae clutched in its grasp, and the other coming out of Janus’s mouth.

Bits of spinal cord dropped to the floor from within the vertebrae, landing with a squelch in a pool of gathering gore, and a few moments later Janus’s limp body joined it. The three of them watched in horrified fascination as the creature’s appendages morphed back into Patton’s suit covered arms, and the blood covering them seeped into the fabric, removing all evidence of the brutal murder it had just commited.

“Whoops,” Thing-Patton said with a shiver inducing smile. “Looks like I should have been more careful!”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:35 AM

Patton was struggling in Remus’s grasp, kicking and wiggling and hissing as everyone left alive stood around the table in the cafeteria. Logan’s heart hadn’t stopped racing since Remus had charged towards the creature that had torn through flesh and bone and tackled it to the ground. He was still holding back his panic at the thought that he was holding it with his bare arms with no protection against being slaughtered in front of everyone.

“What the hell is going on?” Orange demanded, as Remus struggled with Not-Patton for a moment and was forced to push him down against the table. “Green!”

“He… It… The thing that looks like Patton killed Janus!” Roman explained, going to join his brother to hold the Thing down. “We saw it!”

“Let me go!” Not-Patton shouted. “You’re hurting me!”

“What do you mean, ‘Patton killed Janus’?” Virgil asked, looking like he wanted to jump in to help, but Logan had set himself between them. He knew what Virgil had become.

"It's not Patton!" Remus exclaimed grunting when Patton swung his head back into his nose but never once losing his grip. Perhaps all those scraps were good for something after all. "Fuck! He killed Janie! He’s dead! He’s dead God damn it! You tore him to fucking shreds!"

Logan so desperately wanted to go to his side, to wipe the tears that were falling down his cheeks, but he had to stay here. He had to protect them from Virgil too, or all of this would have been for nothing.

“He’s not the one with blood all over him!” Virgil declared, waving at Remus’s gore covered suit. “How do we know it wasn’t you?”

“Purple’s got a point,” Orange conceded with a nod, and Not-Patton smiled.

“Yes! Thank you, Orange!” the creature said, still struggling.

“No!” Roman exclaimed. “I don’t know what you are or what you did to Patton, but we saw what you did.”

“But Remus-!” Virgil began but Logan cut him off.

“Do you honestly think that all three of us would lie to you about this?” he asked, waiting for a few moments before continuing when no answer was forthcoming. “I don’t know how, but this… this thing is able to absorb… blood through the suit.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Oh I wish it was.”

Virgil looked between the three of them, looked at Not-Patton who was struggling under the twins’ weight, then over at Orange who was considering Patton with suspicion. “You can’t seriously think they’re telling the truth!”

“All three of them are corroborating the same story,” Orange said.

“Orange, no,” Not-Patton begged, and Logan had to force himself not to look at it when he heard the wetness of its voice. “Please. Please! I didn’t do it!”

Orange’s expression twitched. “What are we supposed to do with him?”

“Orange!” Virgil cried, but Logan couldn’t help but feel relieved.

“We could throw him out the garbage chute,” Remus suggested as he and Roman kept a tighter hold on the squirming body beneath them.

Roman stared at him. “You want to pull a HAL 9000 and vent him into space?”

“He just tore my best friend up from the inside out in front of our eyes!” Remus all but screamed in his face. “He pushed pieces of his spine out through his back! There were pieces of his liver and pancreas all over the floor! He’s got fucking tentacles for arms!”

Roman continued to stare at him in silence for a few seconds, at his red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks, then he nodded slowly.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” Orange said, but he also nodded in agreement, though he looked severely conflicted. Not that Logan could blame him; it still looked like Patton after all.

“What?!”

Logan spun around, holding his tablet out in some poor excuse of a shield as Virgil charged at him, only to get pulled to a halt by Orange.

“You’re all crazy!” Virgil screamed at them as Roman and Remus started to drag a wailing Not-Patton towards the garbage chute. “You’re crazy!”

“Logan, the door,” Roman said, and Logan headed to the panel to open it.

The door to the dumping ground hissed open and Not-Patton’s cries only grew in volume as Virgil continued to shout and scream at them to stop. The twins struggled to shove the Thing into the alcove, and it tried to cling onto Roman before Remus batted it away, and then Logan shut the door.

There was a lever that needed to be pulled to activate the venting, one that had to be held down to keep the hatch open, and it burned at Logan’s fingers through the suit. He could hear Not-Patton banging on the doors, Virgil screaming behind him, Roman trying not to throw up as he held back sobs…

“Logan.”

He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, Remus’s hand falling on his shoulder. “I…”

“Let me.”

He shook his head, but still he couldn’t move. He was frozen, stuck, unable and yet knowing he needed to. “I can’t.”

Remus’s hand covered his, fingers curling slowly through his own. “Let me.”

Logan took a deep, shaking breath, forcing the noises around them away, and swallowed as he let his arm drop, leaving only Remus at the lever. Much as Logan had done, Remus hesitated, but it was only that, a hesitation.

The banging fell into silence as the chute emptied, its contents emptying out into the void of space as Remus held the lever for five seconds, ten, twenty…

“Remus,” Logan said softly as he touched his partner’s arm, then up to his wrist until he could peel his fingers from the lever. Once they had come loose it was like a chord had been cut and he dropped to his knees, clutching at Logan’s hand as he held his head with the other.

“I killed him.”

“No!” Logan insisted, kneeling before him to hold him, even as he kept an eye on Virgil, who looked stunned. “That wasn’t Patton anymore. It wasn’t even human.”

Remus choked on his tears and gripped Logan’s back.

“We did the right thing,” Roman said as he slid closer, sliding his fingers into his brother’s hair.

“The right thing sucks,” Remus said into Logan’s shoulder, but eventually raised his head enough to smile at his twin. “Thanks bro.”

“No problem,” Roman said, and he leaned closer to press his forehead to Remus’s.

It was a beautiful moment, one that didn’t happen nearly enough between the siblings, but in the moment of distraction Logan had taken his eye off of Orange and Virgil. He should have known better. He was doing so many things wrong!

Lights flashed overhead, an alarm blared, and all three of them looked up, drawn from their moment of solidarity.

“The reactor,” Orange said and took off running, Virgil following soon after, and Logan scrambled to his feet.

“Virgil,” he said, pulling Remus up. “He’s the other one.”

“What?” Roman said, only to have to catch up with them as they  headed towards the reactor. “Other one of what? What are you talking about?”

“It’s the Thing, Roman,” Remus explained simply, “except this time there are two, and we only got one of them.”

“That’s-!” Roman started, only to cut himself off, no doubt thinking of what he’d witnessed. “What are we going to do?”

“Stop him.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:51 AM

They had been too late. Orange had been bleeding out on the floor and Virgil nowhere to be seen when they had arrived, the countdown bringing them closer and closer to the end of everything. They had stabilised the core as quickly as possible, but now they were walking around the station like a tiny waddle of emperor penguins in the dead of winter, jumping at every little sound. Logan was disgusted with himself for making so many mistakes, for not being strong enough to do what had to be done. Now there were only three of them left, and he had a feeling that it would only be a matter of time before that number went down to zero.

“He’s got to be in the vents,” Remus said, glaring at the grate in the corner of the cafeteria, shifting the pipe he’d picked up in his hand. “This is turning into an Alien movie.”

“There’s only one or two survivors in most of those!” Roman hissed in complaint. “I’d rather not have that happen. Four is plenty enough already.”

“I don’t think we’ll get much of a choice in that,” Remus said. “Whatever happens, next time, we do something different.”

“Next time?”

Remus looked back at Logan as dread started to build in the scientist’s gut. “Groundhog Day, you said.”

“Remus,” Logan said, reaching for him, and catching his hand.

“If we lose, you have to warn me next time,” he said, only sparing a few moments to watch him before turning back to keep watch. “You have to let me help you, alright? I know what you’re like.” He smirked. “You can be as stubborn as a crocodile chowing down on a wildebeest.”

“This isn’t a game, Remus,” Logan said. “Losing you -- losing any of you -- hurts.”

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Roman asked.

“He already told you, and you called him a liar.”

“He…” Roman blinked. “You can’t have lived through today already. That’s impossible.”

“I know,” Logan agreed, “and if I wasn’t living it I would agree with you.”

“But-”

The lights started flashing again.

“Oxygen,” Logan muttered as he looked at the light. “Two locations. We won’t be able to fix it in time if we don’t split up.”

Remus nodded. “I’ll take the one in Admin, you two take the other.”

No. No, he couldn’t let Remus go on his own. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let him die alone. He wouldn’t-

All thoughts in Logan’s head screeched to a halt as Remus pulled him in for a deep, needy kiss. A last kiss.

“I love you,” the love of his life said before he pulled away.

Logan didn’t get the chance to call after him, Roman dragging him towards the oxygen room before he could even breathe. He wouldn’t have been able to say anything though; he felt too numb, knowing Remus was doing this, even though he knew the consequences.

As they entered the room he headed over to the panel next to the filter, entering the code to fix it… and the countdown didn’t stop for a moment.

“... He didn’t make it,” Roman murmured, and as the numbers dropped lower and lower Logan took his hand, squeezing tight as the air thinned, as spots appeared in his vision, as he became dizzy and dropped to his knees. Wheezing, he pressed close to the warm body beside him as consciousness finally slipped through his finger.

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:00 AM

The light of the cryodeck grew brighter beyond Logan’s closed eyes as he steadily awoke, his fingers curling. He waited in silent hope for several long and dragging seconds until he heard the familiar sound of Remus falling out of the cryotube. He didn’t know whether to laugh in relief or cry, knowing now that he would have to live through everything all over again.

[willow-salix]

Isolation update!

Day 81 of Isolation on Tracy Island and we are all scarred for life. And it’s all Grandma’s fault.

We were alerted to the fact that something was going on when we heard music coming from the lounge. We could hear her singing along and she seemed to be really vibing.

Stupidly we thought it might be nice to share something with her that she was obviously enjoying. We will never make that mistake again. I should have learnt after the soap opera incident.

We trooped into the lounge half way through a song and the first thing we saw on the holoprojector was a woman in a black dress singing. But that wasn't the strange thing...

“Is that a cat?” Gordon asked. “And is he wearing a fancy suit?”

“She’s singing and dancing with a cartoon cat?” Scott frowned.

“Wait, is she dating the cat?” Virgil wanted to know.

We watched as the woman sang with the cat about how opposites attract.

“Well, they are definitely opposites,” John goggled. “But I’m worried about the attraction side of things.”

“That cat’s got some serious moves!” I grinned, trying to copy the dance and failing miserably.

The music video ended and another started.

“Oh, I love this one,” Grandma squealed excitedly. “I remember my mother playing these on the radio when I was a little girl.”

“Hey, I think I know this one too! My mum was the same, playing all the old songs when I was young.” I joined in, humming the first few bars. That was as far as I got.

EVERY NOW AND THEN I GET A LITTLE BIT LONELY AND YOU’RE NEVER COMING ROUND.

“Where is she?” Alan asked.

“Why are there doves?” Scott wondered.

“It’s full moon,” I chipped in. “That's never a good sign.”

“Her hair is huge!” Kayo whistled. “It’s like she put a poodle on her head.”

EVERY NOW AND THEN I GET A LITTLE BIT TERRIFIED AND THEN I SEE THE LOOK IN YOUR EYES

“What's with his eyes!” Alan screamed as the young boy on the screen turned to face the camera, his eyes glowing from within. And when I say glowing I don't just mean in a cute, beautiful way, I mean that he looked like when you pull the head off a doll and stick a torch up in there. Dang was that weird.

“Don't go down there, it's haunted,” Scott warned the woman in the floaty white dress who was running down a dark hallway in the creepy old mansion she was apparently staying in. “It’s always haunted in the movies.”

“He's got wings now?” Virgil asked.

“Gordo, swimmers!” Alan yelled.

“Why are there ninjas?” Gordon asked, distracted from the swimmers by the sudden appearance of masked ninjas bouncing here and there for no apparent reason.

“What kind of school is this?” John asked out loud, clearly more confused than he'd ever been in his life before and he'd sat through drunk conversations with me.

“Oh, that fancy dinner just got all kinds of creepy,” I gasped.

Grandma was oblivious to our horror, or she was enjoying adding to it by singing along really loudly and dramatically, sweeping her arms around like the big haired harpy on the screen. We ignored her as best we could, our eyes riveted on the screen that was traumatising us further by the second.

“Are they fencing now?”

“Someone let the circus in, there’s acrobats everywhere.”

“Her dress is so white, I’d never be able to keep that clean.”

“Oh look, the cool dudes have arrived and they are getting down to some moves on the stairs.”

“Apparently she really needs that guy…”

“Why do they not have shirts on? We wouldn't be able to wear that in our high school.”

"I know, what's the point of shoulder pads but no shirts?"

“Her hair is cushioning her brain, that’s why she can keep bashing against walls like that.”

“Is he naked?”

“Yep, wet and naked.”

“Yes, run away, love, run away!”

“There's glitter in his face mask, that’s weird.”

“That’s not the only thing that’s weird about this whole situation.”

“John, they have a situation.”

“What? They all have the eyes!”

“Ahhh he's flying, get away! Run while you still can!”

“Don't kick like that! That's ridiculous, you’ll poke someone's eye out with your big toe!”

“Well, he’s...bendy.”

AND WE'LL ONLY BE MAKING IT RIGHT

'CAUSE WE'LL NEVER BE WRONG

“You'll never be wrong? Who are you trying to kid? This whole thing is wrong!”

“Are they related to torchy?”

“They dance as bad as Alan.”

“Hey, cheap shot!”

“Don’t stroke her with your wings! That’s so cringey.”

ONCE UPON A TIME I WAS FALLING IN LOVE.

NOW I’M ONLY FALLING APART.

“Wait...is she a teacher?”

“Phew. it was a dream.”

“That doesn’t make it any less creepy, Gordo.”

“Wait...what? What’s going on now?”

THERE’S NOTHING I CAN DO

A TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART

“Ewww.” I hid my face against Virgil’s shoulder, far too creeped out to keep watching.

ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WAS LIGHT IN MY LIFE

BUT NOW THERE’S ONLY LOVE IN THE DARK

“The darkness was better, I promise you,” I mumbled.

NOTHING I CAN SAY

A TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART

“Turn around? Freakin’ Run!”

The song ended much to our relief and as one we all prepared to execute a tactical retreat.

“Well, I better go check on that thing.”

“Yeah, Dad wanted me to check it out too.”

“Well, I had better come along to make sure that-”

“Oh no,” Grandma cut in. “You can’t go yet, this next one is one of my favorites.”

We all sank back down, helpless trapped for the foreseeable future.

SOMETIMES I FEEL I'VE GOT TO...RUN AWAY

I’VE GOT TO...GET AWAY.

“Dude in bed, at least this isn't as weird as the creepy school,” Gordon commented.

“That horoscope is rubbish,” I huffed. “So generic, I’d never put that out, it’s lazy.”

“You've got standards,” Scott patted my shoulder.

“Yes I do!”

“Wait, who's that?” Alan asked.

“Is that a meteor?” Gordon looked at John.

“Not one I’ve ever seen.”

“Gahh,” Alan screamed. “Creepy star people!”

“Why are there always creepy people in these videos?” Scott shuddered.

“John, is that your ex?” Gordon asked slyly.

The glare John threw his way should have, by rights, killed the fishy on the spot.

ONCE I RAN TO YOU

NOW I RUN FROM YOU

“Yes, run away, that’s sensible.”

“Get away is a good idea.”

“Are they fireballs now?”

“Mystical fire balls,” I nodded.

The dude on the holoprojector had gotten up out of bed, avoiding the weird, floaty star people and was making a break for freedom… No, he was making for the fridge.

"Yes, drinking more will help this situation," I told him sarcastically.

"At least he's got jeans on now," Virgil pointed out.

"Why is that singer looking so pleased with himself?" Kayo asked.

"And why is he looking down on this and watching? Is he god?" I asked.

"Are you sure you haven't met them?" Alan asked John.

"If they touched me I’d throw myself out the airlock," he answered.

We cringed our way through the rest of the sing, not knowing what to make of it at all.

"Why are all the music videos so strange?" Scott had to know.

"I don't know," Grandma admitted. "It's just how they were, I think they wanted to make them memorable."

"Well I'll certainly not forget that horror in a hurry," John shuddered, spearing Gordon and Alan with a look that promised retribution if they dared ask one more question about his relationships with star people.

All in all we sat through twelve videos, watching a group of people doing a weird synchronised dance while singing about Prince Charming, another one about spinning someone right round, something about a chameleon and a particularly strange one about Rasputin that John insisted was not historically accurate at all. Honestly I wasn't listening to the words, my attention was locked on the very energetic bloke with the long beard who was dancing like a mad man at the front of the stage. And don't get me started on the strange guys in dungarees that were singing about someone called Eileen. I don't know what was going on but they really seemed to want her to follow them, they kept yelling at her to come on.

We escaped while Grandma was searching through her phone for some more. The second we got out of the lounge we scattered, every man (and woman) for themselves, our logic being that we had more chance of at least some of us managing to stay lost if we weren't in one big mass.

If I thought lockdown was sending people crazy… it's got nothing on the 80s.

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary - Chapter 15

Warnings: smut (just a tad), bit of angst

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @valkyrie-of-the-light

Her sleep had been restless. A couple of hours of broken, disjointed dreams that have left her both confused and anxious. Vivid memories of people and events of the past; incidences while overseas in Kuwait and Kabul, troubles in New York City and Boston, the flight for both safety and survival on the Sultan Kamal Bridge. All joining together in chaotic, mind numbing fashion. Causing her heart to pound furiously in her chest and her lungs to painful contract, struggling to catch a breath as her eyes snaps open. And it takes several minutes for her to both orientate herself with her surroundings and manage to calm herself down. Her stomach clenching, head pounding, sweat beading across her brow and gathering at her temples. A mixture of the dreams themselves and the shedding of alcohol from her system.

She’s suddenly aware of a tiny foot pressed into the small of her back and a warm, furry body next to her head on the pillow. And when she opens her eyes, she finds Mac intently watching her, both his ears up and alert, and his head cocked to the side. Normally he sleeps at her or Tyler’s feet, but had more than likely been disturbed by her kicking and thrashing during her sleep -or maybe even concerned- and had moved up to lie where he could keep a better eye on her.

“It’s okay baby boy,” she whispers, and strokes those impossibly large ears and runs the tips of two fingers down his snout. Then scratches him under the chin and presses kisses into that soft fur. “Mommy’s fine. She just had a bad dream. You go back to sleep now.”

 He stretches, yawns noisily and then retreats to Tyler’s side of the bed, where the sheets are cool to the touch and undisturbed. Frowning, she reaches across a snoring Millie to snag her husband’s charging cell phone from nightstand, turning on the screen to check the time.

 1:35.

 Groaning, she sets the cell phone down and then sits up in bed, yawning loudly and pushing her hair away from her face. The rest of the house is in cozy slumber; the baby down the hall in his crib, the twins downstairs in their pillow and blanket fort, Ovi and Chloe on separate ends of the couch. All signs point to Tyler still being home. Somewhere. Wallet and cell phone always where he leaves them before going to bed every night, a half empty bottle of various and various prescription med bottles next to them. The latter is evidence that he’s had a rough night. The majority of his nights are fairly good; the pain allowing him to rest at least somewhat comfortably without the need to turn to drugs to fight both the agony and the insomnia. But the other nights are horrible. Constant tossing and turning, nausea and headaches a side effect from the different meds, pain that will just not subside or even turn down a notch.

  A couple of days leading up to a mission, things got especially difficult. The insomnia became relentless. He was anxious, on edge, ready and willing to bite anyone’s head off that he thought even looked at him the wrong way. His mind consumed with all the variables; the mountains of information he’d been given, the things that could possibly go wrong and the percentage that they will, worry about how she and the kids will handle him being gone and if it will be the one time that someone hell bent on revenge will use his absence to their advantage.  There were so many things went through his mind that she’d never even considered until last night; when he’d tearfully confessed about being scared that he wouldn’t make it back.  That is only comfort was the fact that he knew how strong she was; she was fierce and tenacious, and she’d be able to go on without him and raise their kids on her own. In five years, he’d never once mentioned those fears. He’d always been the strong one; the rock. The one who kept shit together when it seemed as if everything was falling apart. The one who made sure everyone else’s fears and anxieties were taken care of, yet completely ignoring his own.

  She knew he saw it a sign of weakness. That he struggled with such things. All his life he’d been taught to bottle things up; his father instilling him in that it wasn’t many to show emotion, then the army with the same line of thinking, followed by his own perceived failings as a husband and father the first time around. He’d spent many years building up the walls that surrounded his heart, and they’d been damn near impenetrable by the time she’d come around. But solely by surely, he’d let her in, starting with the physical. And she’d patiently and methodically chipped away at those walls with little to no resistance on his part. Perhaps he’d been ready to let someone in. Relieved to have met someone that was willing to give him a chance. Someone that wasn’t afraid to show him just how much they wanted him. And maybe it was because she’d been just as damaged as he was, and helping heal her would in turn grant him the absolution he’d been searching for since the death of his son.

  Carefully slipping out of bed, she pads over to the window that overlooks the driveway and peels back the curtain, peering out into the night.  It was something she repeated several times a night when he was away; all three of the older kids tucked into bed with her, paranoia revolving around revenge seeking villains running on high. She would be on constant vigil, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Pacing the bedroom and constantly peeking out from behind the curtains to see if anything or anyone lingered in the shadows. Tonight, it is still, not even the slightest of breeze in the tree tops or the rustling of wild animals through the tall grass and shrubs. All of the vehicles are in the driveway, but the light to the garage is on; bright rays just managing to squeeze through the bottoms of the doors.

  “Stay here,” she whispers to Mac, running a hand over his soft fur. “You stay here and keep an eye on Millie, okay?”

  Yawning, he moves up the bed, curling into a tight ball and pressing himself against the little girl’s back and resting his chin on her hip.

  “Oh Mille…honey child…” she sighs as she leans over the bed, gently plucking the thumb out of her daughter’s mouth, then smoothing her hair away from her forehead and pressing a kiss to her brow. Her daughter stirs: only long enough to mumble something in her sleep and nestle her cheek further into her father’s pillow.

  Grabbing one of her husband’s hoodies from the back of the bedroom door, she slips it on and zips it half way as she steps out into the darkened hallway, pausing at the nursey door to see if she hears any noise coming from inside before heading down the stairs, floor boards creaking under her bare feet. And she stops in the living room just long enough to check on everyone; covering the twins with the unzipped sleeping back they share, tucking an old comforter around Chloe’s sleeping form and laying the throw from the back of the couch over Ovi.

  He’s awake immediately.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she assures him, and pulls the throw up to his chin. “It gets cold in here at night and you didn’t have a blanket on. You’re going to catch a chill. Go back to sleep.”

  “Is everything okay? Is Tyler…?”

  “He’s still here. He can’t sleep. He’s out in the garage doing God knows what. He doesn’t leave until tomorrow night. Well, tonight now. Quarter to ten. Did he talk to you?”

  “A little. He seemed in a bad mood. I didn’t want to ask too many questions. He wants me stay right in the house. Not in the basement. To keep an eye on everyone.”

  “You don’t have to. We’ll be fine. It’s not like the basement is miles away.”

  “I’d rather be close by though. I’d feel better if I was closer. It makes me feel better. Just in case. If that’s okay with you.”

  “It’s perfectly okay,” she says, and takes his face in her hands and presses a kiss to his forehead.  “Now go back to sleep. He’ll be in a better mood in the morning and you can talk to him then. Okay?”

  He nods and stretches out once again, drawing the throw tighter around his body and nuzzling his face into the cushion. “Esme?” he calls to her, just as she reaches the front door, and she pops her head back round the corner.

  “Thank you,” he says. “For doing mom things for me. Like you just did. I really like it.”

  She smiles. “Good night, Ovi. Get some sleep.”

  “I love you,” he says, and tears immediately well in her eyes as her smile broadens.

  “I love you too.”

  ******

 He sees her out of the corner of his eyes; lingering in the doorway in one of his hoodies and who knows what else underneath. If anything. The sweater is absurdly large on her; extremely baggy, falling well below her knees, the sleeves rolled up several times. Her hair messy, eyes tired and no make up gracing her youthful features.

 Yet he’s never seen anything…or anyone…more beautiful in his entire life.

  “You should be asleep,” he says, and continues with the task at end; two large wooden tables end to end, one dedicated to dismantling and cleaning weapons, the other for not only keeping the parts separate and organized, but for the rebuilding as well. Two large and heavy gun and ammo crates sit close by; open and waiting. One Nik and Yaz had brought with one, the other was his own personal stockpile that was kept in the garage under lock and key and hiding away from curious eyes and hands.

  “I was going to say the same thing to you. It’s one thirty. What are you doing?”

  ‘Things that need to get done before tonight. There’s lots to do.”

  “There always is,” she says, as she journeys towards him, eyeing the collection of various weapons on the table and those still in the crates. “These aren’t all going with you, obviously.”

  “Have to figure out which ones will be the best to bring along. IRA is some heavy-duty shit.  They’re heavily armed. I don’t want to underestimate them.”

  She nods, then picks up the tactical vest that sits in the crate belonging to him. Holding it in one hand as her fingertips explore the heavy and coarse olive green fabric; travelling over loose threads, slices made from blades, dents, holes and pulls made from bullet fragments, shrapnel from explosives, various sharp and possibly deadly debris. Blood staining the cloth in several different places. Not nearly as bad as the mess the one he’d worn in Dhaka had been; the blood so heavy it had soaked right through and could be wrung out like a sopping wet washcloth. With its seemingly endless bullet holes and pieces of glass and other debris lodged into it. She can remember when the surgeon had brought it out to her in the hospital in Mumbai, a sheepish expression on her face when he asked her if she wanted to keep it.

  Logic had said no. To just burn the goddamn thing. But she’d numbly taken it from him and sat there in the waiting room with in on her lap, Tyler’s blood soaking through her clothes, the smell pungent and nauseating. And she remembers how she’d taken it into the bathroom and sobbed as she attempted to clean it in one of the sinks. Scrubbing until she was exhausted, and her hands were raw and bleeding and she’d cried herself dry.

  She hasn’t thought about it in almost six years. Those horrible moments afterwards. In a hospital where English was the second language and she felt lost and alone. Her shocked and traumatized brain shutting down and her body moving on auto pilot. Not fully comprehending what any of the surgeons or specialists were saying to her. Percentages on coding on the table, percentages on making it through the night, percentages on making it a week. Numbers and more numbers. Chances of brain damage because of such profound blood loss. Every scenario more dire than the next. Words that she wouldn’t even recall until days later and the fog finally lifted.

  “What do you know about them?” he asks. “You always know about these kinds of things.” There’s pride in his voice as he says it, and his smile is soft and reassuring despite the storm that’s brewing in his eyes.

  “You’ll want flash bangs, concussion grenades and the standard one for sure. Several of each. I’d lean towards taking more of the concussion ones than flash bangs. They get the job done and cause a bit more damage,” she moves towards the table. “Three rifles. One with night vision. All fully automatic. Bump stocks. Heavy duty scopes for night and day. At least several magazines for each. You’ll be able to get more there. They’re easily available on the black market. Especially in Belfast. You don’t even have to be quiet about wanting these things there. Someone is more than willing to cough them up at a good price. And you’ll want the standard shit like two handguns, a couple of knives.”

  She picks up one of the rifles, a fully automatic with laser sensory and high definition scope. The exact same make and model that he’d carried and used when taking Ovi to the extraction point. She hasn’t held a gun of any type in years, but her knowledge is still there; checking to make sure the magazine is empty and there’s no ammo in the chamber before lifting it to her shoulder, peering through the scope and pulling the trigger.

  She doesn’t like what she hears. To the untrained ear, the ‘click’ would seem to just right. But she moves to the second table and begins dismantling it; all the memories and the hands-on experience instantly coming back to her. And he watches her; a smile on his lips; pride, awe, utmost respect. The way those hands move so quickly, completely stripping down the rifle and expecting each piece and cleaning each one before just as quickly snapping everything back into place.

  She tries again. This time nodding.

  “Let me guess,” she says. “It’s been lagging and pulling to the left.”

  “How’d you…”

  “There was debris lodged next to the firing pin. Eventually it would have just seized right up and you would have been well and truly fucked.”

   Tyler smirks. “Is it wrong I am totally turned on right now?”

  “Some men like their women in lingerie and heels. You like when I read Guns and Ammo and talk fully automatics and bump stocks. It is what it is.”

  She steps beside him now and they work silently and diligently side by side. Neither of them speaking despite the flurry of emotions both are feeling and the words that they both know should be brought out into the open. They haven’t done something like this in years, since the early morning hours before he drove her to the extraction point so she could meet up with G and the others and he could hook up with Ovi’s captors.

  The same silence had overcome them even then, but for entirely different reasons. Back then they’d been coming off one hell of a wild five-day ride; spending what time they didn’t devote to the job having sex. Nothing else. Just two people giving in to lust and need and carnal want. Both had been feeling other things yet neither of them had the courage to admit it. So they’d made plans instead; he’d meet her in Colorado three days after the extraction and they’d spend a week there before travelling. Getting to know each other outside of sex.

  That had been the goal. Until everything just went to shit.

  “I’m going to take the kid to the range in the afternoon,” Tyler says. “Just for a couple of hours.”

  “Why?” she asks, as she adds parts of a Glock nine-millimeter to the second table.

  “He hasn’t held a gun since he killed Gaspar.”

  “He probably hasn’t wanted to. I’m sure that traumatized the shit out of him. I mean, he was only fourteen and killed someone. That would screw anyone up.”

  “I figured now is a good as time as any for him to learn. Just in case.”

  “Well in case you haven’t noticed, I’m perfectly capable of using a gun.”

  “You’ll the kids to worry about. I’d rather you think about them than worry about having to use a gun. Ovi’s 19. He’s a man, just like you said. He can handle it. And I trust him.”

  Tyler doesn’t trust many people.  It takes a long time for him to form that kind of bond with someone. If he ever does.

  “Did you come to bed at all?” she inquires, as she takes in his tank top and athletic shorts, the thin sheen of sweat that covers his body.

  “Slept for maybe half an hour, forty-five minutes tops.  Millie woke me up kneeing me in the balls when she was climbing into our bed. So hopefully…” he grins and playfully nudges her with his elbow. “… there’s a baby in there already because I don’t know how good things are going to work now.”

  “If there’s one thing I don’t want happening, it’s finding out I’m pregnant and you’re not even around,” she says. “That’s not something I want to have to tell you over the phone or Skype or whatever. So just hurry up and get home and then we can properly concentrate on things. Deal?”

  “Deal,” he agrees, and leans in to press a kiss to her temple.  

  “Did you work out? Because you’ve got that oh so lovely gym smell going on. It’s sort of nasty yet totally sexy all at the same time.”

  “For about an hour.  Needed to sweat the booze out.”

  “I could have thought of other ways to help you do that.”

  He grins. “Not with our daughter hogging every inch of the bed and all the covers. I don’t know how she manages to do that. She’s five. How does she manage to take up that much room?”

  “Because she’s tall as all hell. All legs and torso like someone else I know.  Do you know how many times I’ve gotten up to go the bathroom and I come back and you’ve stretched out and taken up the entire bed? You leave me like this much…” she holds her hands a foot apart.

  “Just lie on top of me.”

  “Oh, you’d like that. That’s just an open invitation. We both know that if I did that, no sleeping would ever occur.”

  “But it would be no sleep for a good reason,” he points out, then loops a piece of hair behind her ear and once more pressing a kiss to her temple. “A very good reason. A very fun reason.”

  “There won’t any fun happening if your daughter doesn’t go back to sleeping in her own bed,” Esme points out, and then side steps to the second table and begins the process of putting cleaned weapons back together.  “And this sucking her

thumb business. She does this every time you’ve gone away for a while. She just reverts right back to these things.”

  “She’ll be fine. She always is. She’s tough. Like her mom.”

  “It’s getting harder on her, Tyler. She’s getting older and she’s starting to notice things and ask a lot of questions.  She’s not a baby anymore.”

  “She’ll always be my baby. Always.”  

  There are no if’s, end’s, or but’s about it. This is his first child after Austin. A rainbow baby, or so he’d been told. Before Esme, he’d never even considered the possibility of having another kid. That meant having to settle down, or at the very least find someone he could tolerate well enough to co-parent. And he’d been such a mess that adding another human being to the world would have been the worst mistake he’d ever made. Who needed a father that was THAT fucked up?

  Millie was the start of a new life. A second chance. A perfect, beautiful little being that had been conceived during the craziest and most unsettling of times.

  “She’s curious and she’s crazy smart and knows when things aren’t right,” Esme continues. “She has your instincts. She just knows when there’s something wrong. You can’t keep hiding it from her forever. The whole truth.”

  “She’s only five,” he reminds her.

  “Five going on fifteen some days. I’m serious, Tyler. You need to tell her.  I don’t know how you’re going to do it or when, but the truth…the whole truth…needs to come from you. Don’t you think it would be better that way? To hear it right from you? She idolizes you. She takes everything you say as gospel.”

  “I’ll tell her. When she’s older.”

  “So on her wedding day when you’re getting ready to walk down the aisle?”

  He frowns. “Don’t be a smart ass.”

  “And this time you’re telling the kids that you’re leaving. I’m not doing your dirty work. You always take off in the middle of the night and then I’m the one that has to explain things when they wake up and you’re gone. So you figure out a way to tell them. I’m tired of being the bad person.”

  “It’s just easier if we do it that way. If I leave you to explain it.”

  “Easier for who? You? Because it tears my heart out of my goddamn chest. Because I’m the one that has to put up with their meltdowns and listen to them cry for hours. So I’m not doing it. Not this time, Tyler.  You made the decision to go and now you can be the one that breaks the bad news. Pull up your big boy pants and get it done.”

  “Will you pull down my big boy pants before or after that?” he teases, grabbing a hold of her wrist when she attempts to punch him in the gut ad pulling her into him. An arm wrapped tightly around her waist, a hand on the back of her head as he holds her to him.

  “Sometimes you really test my patience,” she mumbles into his chest, her arms wrapping around his torso. “But I’d still miss you if you weren’t here anymore. Promise me you’re coming back. Promise me that you’ll be walking back through the front door. Because if you...”

  “I promise you. Nothing…no one…is going to stop me from coming home. Everything’s going to be okay. In and out. A week tops.”

  It’s wishful thinking. He knows it. But he has to hold onto some kind hope that things aren’t going to go nearly as bad as he’s anticipating.

  “And I’m fine with it, you know,” her hands up and down his back. “If you really want to take this job that Nik is offering you. To run things. If she’s telling the truth that you’ll be home more, it would be stupid not to take it.”

  “The money is good. Damn good. More money in a week than I’d see in two months doing anything else.”

  “Nik’s right, you know. You are the perfect person to pull this off. You’ve been doing the job for years. You have the experience. And the reputation.”

  “That’s not always a good thing.”

  “People respect you. And they fear you. You’re the best person for this, Tyler. And you know it. So if you want to do it...”

  “Let’s give it until I get back,” he suggests. “In case things really go to shit and I just want out once and for all.”

  “But right now, you want to do it.”

  “Yeah…” he runs a hand over her hair and down her back. “…I do. I think it’s best for us. For our family. It’ll be more stable. Less surprises. Less being on the move. Although maybe you really like when I’m gone so much because I’m not here trying your patience or driving you insane.”

  “I’ll take you driving me insane and testing my patience over the alternative any day,” she says, and tilts her head back to look at him. She hates this; those hours before he leaves when her emotions are already so raw and fragile. Where the ache of loneliness and worry has already started to settle in and the tears come effortlessly and easily.

  There is just not enough time. There never is.

  “Don’t…” he pleads, pushing his fingers through her hair, hands settling on her shoulders, thumbs run along her chin. “…this is hard enough…don’t do this…”

     Leaving is always hard, despite the strong and stoic front that he always presents in the hours and the minutes leading up to his departure.  Knowing how badly they’ll miss him and how much they actually do need him there. And he’s torn every time; between just saying ‘fuck it’ and walking away from the job for good, and knowing just how much the money would mean to all of them. But he is never okay with leaving. It tears him apart inside in ways that she could possibly never begin to understand.

  “I’d never leave you unless I had to,” he says. The same words he’d used years in Dhaka, when he’d had to force her to leave with Ovi and Saju.  “You know that.”

  “Do you ever just wished you’d walked away?” she asks, lower lip quivering, tears brimming. “That you’d just said no and pushed me away that day in the motel?”

  “Once or twice. When I think I’m an epic fuck up as a husband and a father. When I think about all the bullshit I’ve put you through. Why? Do you?”

  “Sometimes. When the pain and the worry is just too much to bear and it feels like I can’t breathe. And it’s not because I don’t love you. Because I do. I love you so much that it physically hurts sometimes. But then I think maybe it’s because I love you too much. Do you think that’s possible? To love someone too much?”

  “Maybe,” he admits.  He’s often thought about it himself; at one point is the agony just too much to bear? When you can’t stand the thought of being away from them. When all of your thoughts are consumed with worry and fear and you can barely concentrate on anything else.  “But I’m glad it happened. Dhaka. Maybe not the ending. I could have done without the ending. It would have been a lot better to just come here to Colorado and take things from there.”

  “Definitely a lot better,” she agrees, fingertips trailing along the neckline of his tank top.  “I could have done without you nearly dying in my arms, that’s for sure. And it would have been really nice to end up in Turks and Caicos or the Dominican Republic or a place like that. Instead of spending all that time watching over you in a hospital.”

  “Hey, you think you had it bad. I was the one stuck in the hospital bed pissing into a tube. But think of it this way…” he hooks a finger under her chin and tilts her face up towards him. “…if none of that happened, if the things in Dhaka never happened, then none of this would have either. We wouldn’t have Millie. Or the boys. We might not even have each other. So I think in a way it was all worth it. All the pain and all the time in the hospital and all the rehab and all that other bullshit. It was all worth it to get where we are now.”

  She sniffles, tears threatening. “When did you become the thoughtful and introspective one? Aren’t you supposed to be the quiet and brooding one that just kicks and takes names?”

  “Like you said…” he grins and pecks her lips. “…I’m a lover and a fighter.”

  “Well in that case…” her hands slide down her chest, fingers fidgeting with the bottom of his tank before slipping underneath. “…can you guess which one of those I’d really like to come out and play right now?”

  “Please tell me it’s not fighter because I don’t think I have that much energy left in me.”

  “The other takes just as much energy. If not more.”

  “Yeah, but it’s fun. Fighting, not much.”

  “Not even the making up?”

  “Maybe at the time. But afterwards? Afterwards I feel like complete and utter shit. Because this…” he runs a finger over the bruises that mar her throat. “…and those…” he nods down at her forearm. “…that shit should never…ever…happen.”

  “It’s not like it wasn’t consensual,” she points out. “We were both into it. And you would have stopped if I told you to.”

  “Still makes me feel like an asshole. An abusive asshole at that. So please, don’t ever get me that riled up again. Because that’s twice now and I fucking hate myself for both of them. Can we agree on that? That we don’t let things get that out of control again? Because that was fucked.”

  Rough sex is one thing. He’s all for that. But that kind of rough sex?  He’s more than capable of flipping that switch and giving her exactly what she wants and needs. But what had led up to it? The shit that had been said and the accusations that had been tossed out and the fact he been thisclose to actually inflicting serious physical injuries on her? Well that’s a side of himself he never wants to visit again.

  “It was a little...intense…” she admits. “I didn’t mean the things I said. Especially about the kids. When I said you were using them as a replacement for Austin. I didn’t mean that. Because I know you’re not. That you’d never do something like that. It was a shitty, horrible thing for me to say and I’m sorry. I won’t even use being drunk as an excuse. I was just being a huge bitch.”

  “Isn’t that like your second name?” he teases, his hands sliding across her shoulders and down her arms before settling on her hips. “I’m pretty sure I saw that as your middle name our marriage licence.”

  “And this…” she smirks. “…this is a prime example of when you test my patience. I’m trying to be serious here and you…”

  He silences her with a kiss, then slides his hands around to the small of her back, resting just above her ass. “I’m sorry too. For the things I said. I was drunk and being a total dick. I shouldn’t have brought your ex up like that. And I shouldn’t have gotten so pissed off when you said what you did about Nik. But that’s a fucking sore spot and you know it. That’s the first thing you bring up and excuse me of every time we fight. You honestly don’t think I’d do something like that do you? Cheat on you?”

  “I want to believe you wouldn’t. But I see the way she looks at you. She doesn’t exactly hide it.”

  “What does it matter? I love you. I’m married to you. And I’ve never do that do you. Not with Nik. Not with anyone. And besides,” his palms slide down to her ass. “Where the hell would I find the time and the energy to have an affair? I’ve got four kids at home. And a wife that won’t keep her hands off of me.”

  “Excuse you, but I’m not the ones with my hands on your ass right now. So I think it’s the other way around.”

  “Can you blame me? It’s an amazing ass.”

  “I think you might be a bit biased,” she teases, and applies just a tad of pressure as she scrapes her fingernails down his chest and onto his abs, then sliding lower to toy with the drawstring on his shorts. Twirling them around one of her fingers before scraping her nail through the wiry patch of hair on his lower stomach before following its path.

  “Maybe just a bit,” he admits, and digs his fingers into the soft flesh of her ass. “Doesn’t make it any less true though. It’s all mine though. No one else’s.”

  “Does that mean this…” she gropes his growing erection through his shorts. “…is all mine?”

  “It has been for almost six years.”

  She grins. “Very good answer, Tyler.”

  “In that case,” one of his hands passes over her hip and slips under the hoodie and in between her thighs. “This is mine, then?”

  There is a mischievous glitter to her eyes. “Have you ever…for one second…doubted that?”

  Not once in nearly six years. Since they’d given in to the desperation and the need and the lust in that Dhaka hotel room. And he slides his hand through the hole in one of the legs of her shorts, fingertips brushing against her mound, finding those lips already moist and hot.

   It’s always been so easy to illicit that kind of reaction from her. He’d learned that right off the hop when they’d first started hooking up. All he had to do was look at her a certain way, or find those little sensitive spots that drove her wild when kissed or licked or nibbled, or even indulge in a little dirty talk in his deep, accented voice. And when all three were put together, she was more than ready and willing to go. Even then it had been his secret weapon. Always knowing what he had to resort to get exactly what he wanted out of her.  Always having the upper hand.

  Always.

  He presses two fingers inside of her, and she issues a long, content sigh and drops her head onto his chest.  Her own hard working him as he fingers her at slow, steady pace. Her breathing growing rapid and ragged, breath warm against his chest. And he shudders when he feels her thumb pass over the head of the cock, spreading precum in its wake. “Tell me…” his voice rumbles in his chest, as he presses his palm flat against her pussy, forcing his fingers are far as they can go. “…tell me who this belongs to.”

  “You,” her voice is muffled against his chest.

  “I can’t hear you. Tell me. I want to hear you say it. Tell me who this belongs to. Who you belong to,” with his free hand, he grabs a hold of her hair and pulls her head up and back. “Tell me.”

  “You,” she says, as her hand continues to jerk him off. Those slender fingers so nimble and so fucking perfect. “It belongs to you, Tyler. I belong to you.”

  “Good girl,” he praises, his hand tightening in her hair, yanking her head back further, mouth zeroing in on the tender, pale flesh. Licking, nibbling, suckling, his beard scratching and burning the tender skin. Marking her more than once as his fingers continue to work her into a frenzy and her hand never once stutters or halters.  

  The hair on his face is rough and coarse as his lips move along her jaw to her mouth; lips and tongue demanding and hungry against her own. The kiss is savage and relentless, robbing both of them of breath yet neither of them willing to break away.

He brings his free hand to rest over top of her own, halting its movement. “Stop,” he orders. “You’ll make me cum.”

  “That’s the whole point.”

  “Not like that. I don’t want to cum in your mouth. I want to cum inside of you. We’re trying to make a baby here, remember?”

  He kisses her once again; both of her hands now working together to yank and pull at his tank top. His heavier and stronger body pushing her across the garage, mouths only breaking contact when he removes his pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. Eyes momentarily closing and a moan escaping his lips when she drags her teeth along his chest and bathes his nipples with her tongue.

  She falls backwards as the back of her legs hit the edge of the old couch in the corner, her fingers working on the drawstring of his shorts as his hands quickly remove all of her clothes, allowing them to drop into a pile on the floor. Placing a hand on the side on the side of her face, he kisses her again as her hands push his shorts over his hips and ass. Anxious to feel that hard, strong body against hers.

  “Get on top,” he instructs, hands on her hips to guide her as he sits down. “I want to watch you. I want to watch you as you ride me.”

A gasp leaves her mouth as she slides down onto his, hands on his shoulders for stability, loving the feeling as he stretches and fills her in a way no other man has ever done before. His head falling forward to lick and suckle at her breasts as she begins to move; slow at first, repeatedly pulling herself up and off, and then taking him all the way to the hilt. One of her hands on his shoulder, the other in his hair, fingers tightly gripping the longer locks. Giving a pout and a mewl of disappoint as he abandons the delicious, agonizing torture of her breasts.

  “Open your eyes,” he says. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

  She finds it almost impossible to do. Even after five year she finds this example of intimacy too much to bear; raw and unapologetically vulnerable. When he’s buried deep inside of her and his eyes are dark and intense and never waver from her face.

  “Feel good?” his voice is low, a deep rumble within his chest, and his fingers bite into her hips as he encourages her to move faster. Harder.

  She nods, then issues a small cry when he presses his thumb against her clit. Eyes closing, head falling forward.

  “I said look at me,” he pulls her head back by the hair once again. “Keep looking at me.”

  She does as she’s told, mesmerized by how beautiful and vulnerable he looks in this moment. As he temporarily hands her some of the control. His throat tightening; vein bulging and pulsating on the left-hand side. Breath coming out in ragged gasps. Eyes dark and intense.

  “I want you to look at me when you come,” he says, and adds another finger to the mix. Stroking, plucking, and pinching at the sensitive, hard nub. Until he feels the beginning of her orgasm take hold. The muscles in her calves and thighs tightening, her fingernails digging into his shoulder and scalp. The initial fluttering of those internal muscles. His finger and thumb continuing their ministrations as his hand encourages her to continue riding him.

  “You are so beautiful,” he praises. “You are so beautiful, and you feel so good and I love you so much.”  And he grunts as she begins to move even faster, desperate to find her release. Increasing the pressure of his thumb and finger, rubbing at her clit until she’s crying out his name. Her eyes never once closing or leaving his own.

  “Good girl,” he breathes, as he grasps both hips now, continuing to thrust through those impossibly tight -almost painful- contractions. Until he’s coming as well, her name tumbling from his lips, eyes closing and his head falling back against the couch cushion. Filling her with hot, thick semen. Cock sputtering, balls contracting, until his legs begin to cramp, and he feels light-headed.

  She collapses against him. Both arms circling his neck, head on his shoulder.

  “I love you,” he says yet again, and tightly wraps both arms around her.

  Never wanting to let her go.

[cheryllcher]

one little kitty up on the roof...

can you hear my heart crying in the distance?? yep and today it brings some preeeeeetty long angst cuz I’m writing out everything + my own ending :) it’s in chat blanc’s pov most of the time, so yes, spoiler alert, but there’s also a little from marinette and bunnyx’s perspective and I also added “lyrics” to the song that chat blanc sang hehe sooo gonna wait for the tears to come in the corner of my room since I’m torturing myself with this one :> (yikes… even after cutting scenes and making some as short as possible it’s extremely long but I swear it is a one-shot and i don’t wanna make it a 2-parter ://)

Blue. That’s the first colour he saw. His vision cleared, and he realised he was underwater. He fully awoke from his restless unconsciousness, where he dreamt that he razed his home to the ground with a huge ball of Cataclysm, along with his family and the love of his life. However, what he saw in front of him confirmed that his nightmare was a reality. His eyes widened. So it’s true, I did this to them. This is all my fault.

He swam, away from the last of his family, away from the girl who had captured his heart. He didn’t realise that he could breathe underwater, only focusing on running away from his mistake. He proceeded to scale the familiar TVi building, seeing as it’s the only building that is standing. He ignored the pounding of his head, a voice screaming for him to go back and somehow get the magic earrings in his possession. He felt like he no longer had a sense of purpose, due to the strings that controlled him being cut off from him forever, but the power and the hopelessness and the mantra of Get the Miraculous for The Wish! still remained running through his mind, his body, his heart.

He knew everything about someone who he had locked up in his heart, and the only thing he knew about himself was his name and what he did.

My name is Chat Blanc, and I just made the biggest mistake in the history of mistakes.

Seconds turned to hours turned to days turned to months. He wondered around the building he was stranded on, rolled around the roof that he had so many memories of. He looked at the moon that stayed up in the sky all this while with a small portion of it exploded, yet another reminder of his mistake. The sun was nowhere to be found. His sanity slowly slipped away, disappearing till the rogue power that was left in him took over, yet somehow it mixed with a small part of the other person inside him. He now spends his days idly waiting, the need to make a wish to fix his mess growing desperate.

—

Chat Blanc was sitting on the edge of the roof, staring past his feet into the water below as he had been doing every few hours now. His white cat ears drooped against his white hair, which would have camouflaged if not for his hair having silver streaks from the reflection of light. His body stood out against his blue surroundings, his white silhouette an indication of him being the only living thing in this world.

“One little kitty up on the roof, languishing on it without his lady…”

He missed the voices behind him while he was lost in his thoughts, but later one of those voices managed to cut through the fog in his head.

“Chat Noir?”

The cat ears perked up, not believing what it heard. He turned around to take a peek, hoping to prove to himself that he wasn’t being delusional. He was pleasantly surprised to see that the melodious voice of his Princess was real.

“My Lady? I thought I lost you! I was so depurressed that you were gone.”

It pained him to see his love back away from him slowly, fear evident in her bluebell eyes that he loves oh so much. He heard her ask him what happened, but backtracked and told him not to tell her anything before claiming that they were going to fix the mess that he caused.

“Well, of course we’re going to fix this now that you’re back and that you’re going to give me your Miraculous!”

She kicked him away just as he was about to touch the object of his desire.

“My Miraculous? What’s going on with you Chat Noir?”

“I’m sorry if I come off as rude. Please give me your Miraculous my Lady. Chat Blanc has… made a few mistakes.”

Then as she came closer, something flared up inside him. A voice, a voice he had trapped away for so long was surfacing, taking control of just a moment. Save me my Lady, save me! A single tear slipped out the corner of his eye as that voice managed to get a hold of the voice box. 

“Save me…”

This little kitty made a mistake, please let him fix it, and bring back his love…

—

They’ve been playing cat and mouse for a while now, after Chat Blanc took over again and failed to swipe the earrings once more. He had managed to shock her though, speaking her true name, addressing her as the person behind the spotted mask.

How did you manage to find out her identity? Bunnyx thought to herself after getting over the initial shock that one of her closest friends was the one who entrusted her with her Miraculous. She went back in time to a few minutes before she went to get Minibug, and to her horror saw Ladybug leave Adrien’s room just as he entered. He saw her. 

“Oh no, just what have you done, Marinette?”

Her anxiety increased tenfold when she found what happened after a completely different story from that of her memories. She picked up the unicorn plushie that she had acquired from Rose all those years ago to see it disappear. Aw man, I was supposed to return that to Rose today. You have to fix this, Minibug!

She went forward by a few seconds, to discover Adrien and Marinette… together? “It’s worse than I feared. You have to hurry Ladybug!” Desperation was clear in her voice as she went back to where the actual Ladybug was.

Chat Blanc used a Super Cataclysm against Ladybug, but she managed to dodge it. The TVi building did not have the same fate though, crumbling down to join the rest of Paris. The world around Bunnyx shook, and she quickly went though the altered timeline to see Marinette and Adrien’s relationship blossom for a few months. She went back to the world Chat Blanc was in, trying to look for clues to obtain the answer to this mystery. She returned to the alternate timeline to find a nightmare brewing.

All this time… Adrien was the cat, and Hawkmoth had been under our noses… I want to murder Gabriel Agreste!

She kept watch on Chat Blanc and Ladybug, grimacing as her leg faded away, and hoped that the heroine would be able to save them all.

The Butterfly had threatened his Bug, and the cat had failed to protect his Princess…

—

Chat Blanc had been caught completely off guard when Ladybug collided into his back and took his baton. He had long since figured out that this Ladybug was brought from the past by Bunnyx, and was probably watching from wherever she was. The evil power laughed in delight, still trying to push away the other voice who has become very persistent.

“Try again, my Lady!”

He threw more of his destructive power at her but she kept running further away, till she was trapped at the edge of the fallen Eiffel Tower. She still refused to cooperate and even called her lucky charm, so he decided to try a different tactic. Fine, if she won’t understand, then I’ll give her answers. 

And so he cataclysmed the ground below her and sent her plummeting into the water. The trapped soul screamed in pain. No! Marinette!

—

Marinette would have appreciated the beautiful colours around her if she was in a different situation. She dove deeper into the water with the help of her yo-yo for oxygen, finding statues of herself and Hawkmoth. The answer to the question had been revealed to Bunnyx.

They crashed though Hawkmoth’s lair after figuring out it’s location. They were ready to take him down, but the villain addressed Chat Noir by his civilian name and revealed his missing mother to be in a glass coffin behind the man, shooting an arrow through the young boy’s heart.

“I’m doing this all for her, Adrien. For you. For us.”

“F-Father! Why? Why? WHY?”

The boy got angry, his powers going out of control. He was a millimetre away from cataclysming his body when he stopped, and the villain took advantage of it by hitting him out of the lair and straight into the metal of the famous Parisian monument, the Eiffel Tower.

“We can save her with your Miraculous, and with hers,” Hawkmoth said as he stalked closer, his son moving away with each step.

Then Ladybug arrived and tried to reason with her partner, which ultimately failed when the butterfly Miraculous wilder sent an akuma out to his own blood and flesh while he was distraught. And when his son succumbed to his power after a long resistance, he forced him to obey him and destroy his sworn enemy so that they could get the jewels that she possessed. It backfired though when the now white cat villain hesitated and ended up using it on himself. As the white ball of destruction grew, Ladybug reached forward towards her kitty in concern while Hawkmoth cowarded and tried to shield himself.

“My Lady…” “My Adrien…”

Ladybug returned to the surface, determined to put an end to all of this. She needed to save her kitty, her partner. He was extremely uncontrollable now though, his power growing in his hand, with a threat on his lips. He was going though a fight internally, one side trying to be the dominant one. 

No! You can’t do that!

Yes. I. CAN!

“You don’t love me anymore, so I’ll destroy everything! You, me, our memories, everything that’s left!”

He was going to cause the end of the world.

The kitten’s in pain, he’s out of control. Please save this kitty, dear Marinette…

But then, she admitted defeat and was going to surrender, coming closer till she was a breath away from his lips. His heart swelled with love for her, the locked away soul reaching out to her. Save me…

“I’m no longer Chat Noir, Princess, my Marinette. I am Chat Blanc.”

“But to me, you’ll always be Chat Noir. I know he’s in there somewhere. Please, my kitty, my chaton… Please come back to me…”

Pain. Pain everywhere while the internal conflict flares up from Ladybug’s plea. Chat Blanc bent down on his knees, head pounding in pain as he tried to fight the akuma residing within his bell. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as the voices in his head screamed. The trapped little soul of Adrien fought with all his might to go back to his love as Ladybug held him, whispering words of encouragements and hopes for him to come back. Adrien won in the end, the corrupted akuma flapping out it’s target in the form of a pure white butterfly.

Chat Blanc is very sorry… Please forgive him, my dear Ladybug…

—

The Miraculous Cure may have fixed everything and saved the future, but Chat Noir remembered. He remembered every detail, every time he tried to inflict hurt on her. He remembered the identities, how his father had not shown him any mercy. He was going to have nightmares, that was for sure. 

Ladybug, who currently sat beside him with her head on his shoulder, had said that she had forgotten most of what had happened, only what had happened before she time travelled. But he was not going to let her know of the pain, not going to let her see how much she had actually suffered, so maybe it was a blessing that she forgot. They were going to take Hawkmoth down though, since Chat Noir revealed his identity, but refrained from saying he knew hers. That is for after everything is over.

For now, they will just enjoy their company for a bit before planning starts.

One little kitty up on the roof, watching the sunset with his Lady… bearing the pain and guilt deep in his heart…

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (109/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[21 February, 233 Before Age.   Interstellar Space.]

"Six Saiyans all at once?    You must be slowing down in your old age, little mammal.    I remember a time when you defeated fifty without breaking a sweat."

In the sickbay of Luffa's star-yacht, Dr. Topsas applied bandages made of his own webbing to Luffa's wounds.   On occasion, he would hold out a section of his silk with two hands and smear a medicated gel onto one side with a third hand.   Four other limbs supported the weight of his massive arachnoid body.    He used the eighth to hold one of Luffa's hands as he worked.    

"They were tougher than usual, that's all," Luffa said.    "And I knew you'd be along to patch me up, so I didn't bother blocking their hits."

"Yes, of course," Topsas said as he wrapped up Luffa's right shoulder.   "You meant to shred your forearm like this.  Forgive me.  It can be difficult for my untrained eyes to tell the difference.    What seems to be a careless mistake is actually a masterful forgery."

"Ow!" Luffa said.   While she had been watching him tend to her arm, one of his other limbs had stuck something into her thigh.  

"A regenerative serum," Topsas explained, "to help repair that tendon in your leg.  Most Saiyan patients might have caught me before I managed to inject them with it, but you acted as if you were completely unaware.   It pleases me to see how much you trust me, Luffa."

"Look, I know you two missed each other," said Zatte, who had taken a seat on one of the other examination tables in the sickbay.   "But could you cut the banter for a few minutes and tell me what's going on?"

"Some clown named Trismegistus is powering up Saiyans and sending them after me," Luffa said.   "If Dotz hadn't foreseen their attack on Planet Lubegev, they would have wrecked the place and waited for me to hear about it and walk into their trap."

The revelation startled Zatte enough to make her forget her earlier impatience.    "You mean they wanted to fight you?" Zatte asked.    "That's crazy."

"I think you just defined the Saiyan species, Ms. Zatte," Topsas remarked.  

"They weren't that crazy," Luffa said.   "Their combined power gave me some trouble.   Plus, they were very well-trained for fighting as a group.    Pretty sure some of them used to serve in the Royal military.   These guys would have been pretty talented, even before Trismegistus got ahold of them.   With his Jindan treatments, they were pretty impressive.   If they hadn't lost their nerve in the end, I might have been in some real danger."

"Define 'danger'," Zatte said.  

Luffa looked at her and smiled.   "They might have killed me."

"Yes, but let us remember that they did not kill you," Topsas said as he waved a diagnostic scanner across Luffa's back.   "You prevailed over difficult odds, as we have all grown accustomed to seeing.  Then you returned to the ship, where you will make a full recovery, much to the relief of your long-suffering wife."

"Thank you, doctor," Zatte said.  

"Hey, I told you I was okay when I came on board," Luffa said.  

Zatte pointed at Topsas.   "I just like to hear it from him, all right?" she said.   She looked at Dotz, who was lying in one of the beds, with an intravenous drip in her left arm.   "I'm sorry, I should be thanking you.  If Luffa hadn't known about this in advance, it could have turned out much worse."

"Oh, uh... well, I'm afraid I wasn't much help, ma'am," Dotz said.    "I only forecast one Saiyan, not six, and I had no idea they'd be so powerful.   If anything, I should be apologizing..."

"Oh, come on!" Luffa shouted.  "You guys are acting like I lost back there.   I had my back against the wall and I still kicked their asses!   It was amazing, at least until the end when one of them turned coward.    Isn't anyone happy for me?"

"In a word, no," Topsas said.  

"Hell no," Zatte said.

"I still feel guilty about it," Dotz added.

"Well, too bad," Luffa harrumphed, "because this won't be the end of it.   I may not have precognition powers like Dotz, but I've fought enough battles to know this Trismegistus isn't finished yet."

"What are you saying?" Zatte asked.

Luffa hobbled over to a chair and took a seat.   With most patients, Topsas might have questioned the point of getting up from an exam table to sit in a chair only a few paces away, but he had learned to pick his battles carefully where Luffa was concerned.    

"Those guys who jumped me on Lubegev had the same upgrade as Jolok, the Saiyan who put Dotz in a coma and tried to take me out on Quadzityz," she explained.   "When Jolok and I fought, he told me he was defying orders by running off to fight me, but he did it anyway because he thought he could catch me off guard and take all the glory for himself."

"...And?" Topsas asked.

Luffa rolled her eyes and groaned.   "Think about it!" she said.   "If there were only seven of these jacked-up Saiyans, why wait to deploy them?  Why draw it out, long enough for one of them to lose patience and run off to go into business for himself?  The reason is that there's a lot more than seven.  Trismegistus is trying to build an army of Saiyans with these powers.  These six were supposed to be the first wave.    A test, to see how well I'd do against them.  But it would take a while to move that many pieces into place.   Jolok couldn't wait that long, which is why he tried to start things early."  

"The first wave?" Zatte asked.   "Luffa, you make it sound like this is the start of a full-scale offensive!"

"Hah!    You always say the sweetest things," Luffa said.   "To be honest, I have no idea how many Saiyans are in league with Trismegistus.   Once those six fail to report in, he'll know they weren't enough to beat me.  So next time he'll send eight, or ten!  If I beat them, he'll send more, assuming he has more to send.   But I think he's thought that far ahead.    One thing's for sure.   There's plenty of Saiyans out there who'd love a chance to take me down, even if they have to gang up on me to pull it off."

"And how, little mammal, do you expect to defeat these enemies when you're still recuperating from the last battle?" Topsas asked.

"By doing the one thing those bastards would never expect," Luffa said as she rose out of her chair.    For a moment, she seemed to strike a heroic pose, like a wounded warrior preparing for an epic last stand.    Then, she shuffled over to the bed next to Dotz and lay down in it, pulling the covers over herself.

"I'm sorry, but what would that be?" Zatte asked.  

"Following my doctor's orders!" Luffa exclaimed.   "My body will get stronger with every battle I fight.   As long as I stay one step ahead of my injuries, I ought to be able to keep up with Trismegistus' attacks.   He thinks I'll run myself ragged trying to stop his goons, but I'll tackle them on my terms, not his.   And then, when he's finally out of options, he'll have to give me what I want."

"What's that?" Dotz asked.  

"King Rehval," Luffa said with a satisfied smirk.   "If that bastard's not already mixed up with Trismegistus, then it's only a matter of time before he will be.   They need each other.  Trismegistus has a way to increase a Saiyan's power, so if he really wants the most out of it, he'll have to use it on the strongest Saiyan he can find, and that's still Rehval."

"What if you're wrong?" Zatte asked.  

"Then I'll deal with it," Luffa said.   "For now, all I can do is fight these guys with everything I've got."

"But what if that isn't enough?!" Zatte shouted.  "What if they're too much for you?"

"Take it easy, would you?" Luffa said.   "We can always ask for a second opinion."

Dr. Topsas cleared his throat before speaking.   "I have little experience with such matters," he said, "but if you sincerely wish to hear my advice, then I would recommend--"

"Not you, Doc," Luffa said.  "Dotz here is a fortune teller.   She may have gotten the details wrong, but she knew when and where the Saiyan attack would happen.  I bet she could predict the next one if we give her a chance."

"I'm not worried about where the Saiyans will strike next," Zatte said.   "What I want to know is whether you'll still be alive when it's over!"

"Well that's easy enough," Luffa said.   "Dotz can read my fortune, can't you, Dotz?"

Dotz was taking a drink of water when Luffa said this, and nearly spit it out.   "I, uh... I'm not sure if I should get involved in this..." she said.    "I wouldn't want to cause any hard feelings between the two of you."

"Don't swear it, Dotz," Luffa said.  She reached across the space between their beds and offered her hand.    "Zatte and I have been through tougher situations than this.   And I'm a lot stronger now than I've ever been before."

"That isn't the point," Zatte said, putting her hands on her hips.   "Dammit, you always get this way when you smell a worthy adversary."

"It's great, isn't it?" Luffa replied as Dotz began examining her open palm.    "I feel like a kid again, hunting dinosaurs in the wild.   I'd probably have trouble keeping still, but Doc wants me to rest, so it's sound tactical advice."

"I should really get to the bridge," Zatte said.  

"What's wrong?" Luffa asked.   "You don't want to know my future?"

"Oh, I'm sure you live to be a hundred, and you conquer the whole galaxy or something," Zatte grumbled.  

"I'm sorry," Dotz said, "but I'm having some trouble."

"What is it?" Topsas asked.    With a speed that belied his bulk, he moved to Dotz's bedside and checked the readings on medical sensors.  

"No, I'm fine, doctor," she said.    "What I meant was that I can't seem to read Luffa's palm."

"What is it?" Luffa asked.   "Bad news?"

"No, it's..." Dotz swallowed hard as she tried to find the right words.    "Well, it just... stops.    Unless I'm doing something very wrong, Luffa, you have no future."

"How very  melodramatic," Topsas said.    

"Cool," Luffa said with an impressed smile.  

"Wh-what?!" Zatte asked.  

Dotz looked at Luffa's hand very carefully as she ran her fingers across her palm.    "I've never seen anything like this before," she said apologetically.  "I've been telling fortunes for thirty years, and I've never..."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Luffa said.    "You're not fully recovered from your run-in with Jolok, so maybe that's got something to do with it.   Besides, my species makes its own destiny.   It'd be kind of boring to know how the movie ends, right, Zatte?"

But Zatte didn't answer.    When Luffa looked up, she saw her running out of the sickbay, sobbing.

*******

[21 February, 233 Before Age.  Interstellar Space.]

Cardune's entire life had been leading up to this moment.    He had been so blind in his youth, wasting his talents on pointless battles, siezing just enough plunder to break even.    Marriage, family, success, they had all been hollow pursuits, but he did not regret those years, for even these had been part of the plan that had been laid out for his life.  

He loved Trismegistus, more dearly than he had loved anything before.  The Thrice-Blessed One had transformed Cardune, perfecting him into his true self.    In his former ignorance, Cardune had come to him seeking strength of the body, but Trismegistus had given him so much more than that.     It made so much sense now.     What good was physical might without harmony of the spirit?   Only by balancing the mercurial and sulfurous essences in his soul could Cardune achieve his true potential.    This was Jindan, the power that turned an ordinary Saiyan into the Universal Reagent.    Through Cardune and others like him, Trismegistus would transform the entire universe.    

There were difficulties, to be sure.    No path worth following would be easy, least of all the Sacred Way.   Cardune had sacrificed much in exchange for his newfound power.   Trismegistus had taught him that this was the way of alchemy.    It was best to forget what he had given up, so as to fully embrace what he had received.    This was easier said than done.    Often, Cardune caught himself thinking about his partner, and their daughter and son.    Mostly, he wondered what had become of them after he was admitted into the cult.    Once, he thought he had seen his daughter serving as an attendant to one of the high priests.    It was hard not to be relieved, even proud, but this wouldn't do.    Cardune had given up his family, so it was no longer his place to worry for their safety, or to take comfort in their prosperity.    

This was why his joints ached from time to time.   His emotional indiscretions interfered with his spiritual balance, which diminished the effectiveness of the Jindan formula in his body.    Meditation helped.     While it never seemed to improve his condition, it at least distracted himself from the pain, and kept him from dwelling on things he couldn't control.    Like the clock on the wall of his quarters.  

Trismegistus was an alchemist, possessed of the secrets of creation itself.    For the Thrice-Blessed, remaking the universe was no different from a child mixing vinegar and baking soda.    He never called himself a god, though somehow this seemed to make him seem even more noble, as if he were laying silent claim to something even higher than divinity.    The Saiyans who belonged to his flock would become his Holy Reagent, the means by which he would effect his great work, but the kinetics of this act were a complete mystery.    Mere acolytes like Cardune could not hope to understand.   He was a glob of clay wondering when the potter would begin.  

Cardune could only act on what he knew, which were the orders he was issued.    He was given command of a starship, and he and his crew traveled to a particular location and held their position until the time was right.    Their supplies were limited, as Cardune was expected to lead his crew in ritual fasting at certain intervals.    Cardune found the hunger useful for diverting his attention from his own problems, but the other officers relied on their assigned consorts to distract themselves from their empty stomachs.  

Sex was held in high regard within the Jindan cult.    Trismegistus taught his followers that it was a means of balancing bodily humors.  Through repeated physical intimacy, they could rid themselves of those essences they did not need, and replenish essences which they lacked.    Ever a prudish species, the Saiyans found this polyamorous philosophy deeply disturbing, but this was part of the price for the Jindan power they all shared.    Trismegistus had arranged a complex system to determine who was to sleep with whom.    Higher ranking members were given greater freedom of choice in this, while the lower members had none.    As the commander of his ship, Cardune could have anyone else on board whenever he wished, but he preferred to decline this privilege.     Whenever he took a consort for the night, it only reminded him of the husband he gave up to join the cult, and so the entire exercise was self-defeating.    He only partook as often as he did in order to set a good example for his crew.    

Mostly, he spent his off-duty hours waiting in his quarters, letting his hunger and restlessness argue with his faith.    His orders were to hold his position in deep space, maintaining radio silence and a cloaking field to avoid any possible detection.    For three weeks, he and his crew had been cut off from the rest of the universe, waiting for a sign to move out.   If it pleased Trismegistus, they would die here, waiting for his sign, and the ship would serve as their cosmic tomb.   At times, Cardune wondered if their master had forgotten them.    He forced himself to repeat the mantras he used during meditation, in an effort to refocus his devotion.

And then, at last, the sign came.    Cardune hadn't known what to expect.   There was no subspace radio transmission, no voice speaking to him in his mind.    Just a feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a sudden urge to find his spear.    All of Trismegistus' followers were issued spears.   Along with the Jindan power and the Mindworm, which guarded them from telepathic assault, the spears were said to be the third of three blessings Trismegistus bestowed upon his flock.   Cardune was never told what the spear was for, just that it was important.    Now, as he found it leaned against the wall of his quarters, he began to appreciate its importance.    

The head of the spear was shaped like the barbed point of a harpoon, and now it glowed a dull red color, though Cardune could feel no heat when he touched it.    Instead, he felt an almost instinctive understanding that this was the moment he and his crew had been waiting for.   Trismegistus had cast them into the darkness, and now he was summoning them back.   And suddenly, the mental anguish Cardune had endured these past three weeks seemed to melt away.   Gazing at the spear, he felt there was nothing he could not do, and he knew that his entire crew now shared the same feeling.    

With a newfound sense of purpose, he stepped out of his quarters and headed for his post to order his ship into action.    

*******

[21 February, 233 Before Age.    Interstellar Space.]

On the bridge of Luffa's star-yacht, Zatte had finished crying, and somewhat awkwardly tried to get on with the work of checking the ship's systems.      She could sense Luffa approaching the entrance to the bridge.    For those who could sense ki, it was hard not to notice Luffa's presence on board.    While she had the chance, Zatte turned away from the door and wiped her eyes one last time, in an effort to look a little less pathetic.  

"Hey," Luffa said as she stepped through the doorway.   "I would have been here sooner, but Doc thought I should give you some space."

"It's okay," Zatte said.   "I'm fine, really."

"I'm sorry," Luffa said.   "Whatever it is I've done, I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," Zatte said, finally turning to face her.   "You can't be sorry for what you are.   I'm sorry.   I lost it back there.    I let you down."

"What are you talking about?" Luffa asked.  

Zatte turned and took her hands into her own.    "You want to fight," she said.   "It reminds me of the day the colony fell.    You were covered in Tikosi blood, and we both expected to die there.   You always told me how much you enjoyed that battle, and how impressed you were with me."

"I guess it is a lot like that," Luffa said.  "I probably got a little too excited about this Trismegistus thing."

"I know you love this sort of thing," Zatte said.    "But it scares me.    It always has.  Fighting is one thing, but against the kind of odds we faced on Dorlu Prime?   I know that's a dream come true for you.  Most days I can handle that.    Today, I slipped.   She said you had 'no future’ and I just couldn't..."

She pulled Luffa close and wrapped her arms around her tightly.   "I want you to have a future!" she said.    "I want to be there with you, and fight for your cause, and I'll burn for you if I have to, but I want to grow old with you too!   I want one of us to die in the arms of the other, and if it's me, then I want you to leave my corpse behind wherever it happens to fall."

"Hey, I already promised you that at our wedding," Luffa said.  "Dorlun funeral, all the way.  I won't let your death get in the way of the living."  

"And if you die first, then... then..."

"Of course," Luffa said, returning her embrace.   "If we make it that long, that's what we'll do.    But there's no guarantees.  We won't make it there unless we fight for it.    Every step of the way."

"You're right," Zatte said.   "It's just... it's hard sometimes."

"It's okay," Luffa said.   "It really is.   You're allowed to be weak sometimes.    Weakness is part of getting stronger.   Look at me.   I took a real beating on Lubegev, and now I've got to stay in bed and heal up."

"Can you really beat them?" Zatte asked.    

"I think so," Luffa said.  "But I won't know until I try.    That's why I have no future, Zattie.    The only future a Saiyan can have is the one she takes.   It's whatever I make for myself."

They held each other for a time, and then an alert sounded from one of the bridge consoles.    Luffa pulled away from Zatte to check it out.   "It's a recorded message from the Federation Council," she said as she read the display.   "What the hell do they want?"

She tapped the console to begin playing the message, and the main viewscreen displayed the image of a bald man with brown skin and a red military dress uniform.  He smiled somewhat insincerely as he spoke into whatever recording device he was using.    "Madam Federatrix," he said.  

"Ryba Booth," Luffa said aloud, though she knew he couldn't hear her.  There was a somewhat one-sided rivalry between them.    Booth commanded a military dictatorship before Luffa forced him to co-found the Federation along with three of his adversaries.   He longed for greater power over the Federation, to extend his personal rule to other worlds beyond his home planet of Despye, but Luffa's influence over the Federation made this impossible.   She was too popular to outpolitick, and too powerful to overthrow.   His only chance was to wait for her to fail on the battlefield, and then he could use his command over the Federation starfleet to usurp her position.   The smile on his face suggested that he felt closer to that outcome than he had been in some time.

"If you are receiving this message, it is because I am unable to reach you directly.   The Federation is under attack by an enemy fleet.   I have deployed our own fleet to intercept the invaders, but intelligence indicates that many of them are Saiyans.  Should any of them manage to land on an inhabited world, my ships may be incapable of dislodging them."  

Luffa and Zatte exchanged concerned looks.   "If these are anything like the Saiyans you fought on Lubegev--" Zatte began.

"I know," Luffa said.    "Booth may have no idea what he's dealing with..."

"I'm including tactical charts with information on the planets most likely to be invaded.   I believe the Saiyans will attempt to concentrate their forces on Gudgid III, so I've--"  there was a disruption in the message, as the audio briefly devolved into static-- "hold the line for now.  The Ninth Wing may be vulnerable, but--"  Static again.   "--ommend you join the battle at coordinates J58 by 126."

There was an interruption in the playback of the message.   The image of Booth became distorted, and though he appeared to be speaking, the audio was gone.   Luffa looked over to the navigator station, but Zatte had already there, plotting a course.    "It'll take us four hours to get there," she said.

"Then we'd better hope Booth can last until then," Luffa said.  

"Luffa, you're hurt," Zatte said.

"I know," she said.   "I'll have to get creative when we get there.   Let's take a look at his charts..."

"Luffa, you said you would rest," Zatte reminded her.

"I just want to take a look," Luffa said, "and then I'll go back to-- This... this can't be right!"

"What's wrong?" Zatte asked.  

Luffa tapped a few keys on the console and put the charts on the main veiwer.   "Look at this," she said.  "Booth's showing Saiyan activity in at least two dozen star systems."

"Two dozen?   But what about Gudgid III?" Zatte asked.  

"I mean, they could converge on Gudgid," Luffa said.   "Normally, that would make sense.   Harass the border, keep the defenders spread out while they try to chase you down, and then concentrate your forces on a planet worth sacking.  Booth's analysis is sound, or it would be if these were garden variety Saiyans.    But if we're talking about Saiyans as strong as the ones I just fought... If these are more of those Saiyans jumped up with this magic power, and if they're all working for Trismegistus, then they could do more than just sack one planet and run for it.  They could hold an entire sector or two if they play their cards right.   It might take weeks to clear them all out!"

As Zatte looked at her wife's face, she saw her expression grow increasingly concerned.   There could be no doubt now.  In four hours, Luffa would fight again.  And again. Perhaps she would prevail, but at what cost?  This was the question Zatte wanted to ask, but she didn't want to break down into tears again, and so she asked another question instead.

"Even if we do clear them out, what'll be left of the Federation when it's over?"    

NEXT: Fight Fire With Fire.

[realfxntasy]

The decline of Game of thrones SPOILERS INNIT

So the show has finally came to an end, it took the world by storm with its twists and turns, the violence, intrigue, characters, worlds and winning the award of most genitalia shown on a TV screen. But the last season was unfortunately blasted with lots of heat, negative opinions rained fire on the show’s creators just as Dany did to all those innocent Kings Landings citizens. So where did the beginning of the end start for game of thrones? Let us take a look at thrones in its entirety and talk about what happened to the show we all once loved.

I absolutely loved the first six seasons, they were incredible, season one introduced us to a world of deep political intrigue, not your usual fantasy, this one was incredibly dark and realistic, realistic even when it had zombies and dragons, like a world that really could exist, because the show managed to capture so elegantly the motives of each character and why they acted as they did. Seasons two, three and four brought the same brilliant realism, intrigue and storytelling but upped the ante with some incredible spectacle, I remember watching the battle of kings landing for the first time, seeing the shot of wildfire explode and thinking this show was just something else, season three brought serious shock in terms of the red wedding and season four showed off the shows continuous ability for intense battle sequences mixed with great character development during the battle for the wall. The first four seasons for me are basically near perfect, I’m sure there are flaws here and there but none I can remember too well, they facilitate game of thrones as one of the greatest shows on television.

Season five is where things began to change a little for me, not greatly though, season five was still fantastic, the plot with the sons of harpy, the tensions on the wall, in Mereen and so forth but I felt the pacing did struggle at some points especially in Mereen and Kings Landing, luckily by the end of the season I felt things really begin to kick off as Dany had to fall to the whims of the slavers and re open the fighting pits, Cersei got in hot bother with the sons of the harpy and was arrested for her sins and who could forget Hardhome, it was amazing. However even though season five was still a high quality part of the thrones story it does to some degree begin to mark the beginning of the end as this was when things really began to deviate from the books, I hadn’t read the books the first time I saw season five so I wasn’t sure what I was missing out on, but my god, I’m up to date on the Song of Ice and Fire novels now and there is some difference, mainly where a certain place named Dorne is concerned, this is where most people’s complains about season five stem from, the whole Dorne arc seemed to be a little rushed and quite flimsy at points, but this was game of thrones, it had delivered so much, so why would we have been worried? Well I certainly wasn’t but looking back now this was where you can really put the show creators into question, they properly deviated from the books this time and it was up to them and their own creativity and it was the first time the show seemed to fall short a little, not that I hated the Dorne arc or anything but at the same time the frustration people feel comes from how good it was in the books I believe.

Season six, I really enjoyed season six, it was the point where the show seemed to really be moving on to its grand conclusion, Bran was having visions about Ned Stark and Lyanna and if you had seen any internet theory video on the fabled R + L = J then you knew what was coming, the hype was real, Jamie was facing off the Blackfish in a part now taken from the books, rather than his Dorne arc which the show writers created the season before and the change in quality here with a sequence from the book was more evident, the battle of the bastards gave us one of the most gut wrenching and intense battles not just on TV but really in any medium, straight out of a movie really, who could also forget Cersei’s glorious revenge against everyone who ever screwed her over when she blew up the Sept of Baelor and finally the season ended with Dany making her way to the seven kingdoms, season six for me was absolute quality and I think we were all pretty hyped for what was to come in season seven.

But then, all of a sudden, something was different. Season seven was when things began to truly go downhill; the show had veered off from the books fully now and it was up to the show’s creators to keep the quality up, season seven for me was poor for a number of reasons, the biggest flaw for me was how they had completely thrown away game of thrones’ realism, not in terms of fantasy, the white walkers and dragons are fine, but how it became a show where things happened for plot convenience and really badly at that, people were using teleportation all over the map by this point like the show was an MMO or something, beyond the wall was the perfect example of this, we see Jon, Tormund, the hound and the rest of the gang travelling north to capture a Wight, its cool to finally see so many beloved characters in one place but at the same time the whole thing feels messy, it looks like a hard and long trek and they send Gendry back to the wall when they’re in trouble because he’s ‘the fastest’, Gendry makes it back to the wall in record time and sends a raven off to Dany, the raven reaches her and she’s off to the north to fight the white walkers, meanwhile Jon and the gang are surrounded by hundreds of the dead, things felt so sped up by this point, there was no pacing, everything was going on at once. Another issue with season seven was to do with the death of intrigue and compelling writing, Kings Landing, where pretty much every scene from the show was riddled with genius dialogue and political stakes was now completely forgettable, not once in season seven or eight did you actually see a crowd of nobles watching the queen decide the fate of the realm, it was simply Cersei and her closest allies treating with Euron and not much else, I was really disappointed with how little interest seemed to be going on in Kings Landing, as for Winterfell, my god, I was furious with the treatment of one certain character, Arya, she was easily one of my favourite characters in the show until this point. The entire debacle for me was over how her relationship was handled with Sansa, they seemed to force some kind of split between the sisters for the sake of it and it just felt completely uncalled for, I get that sisters are like to argue but Arya was pointing out such strange things about Sansa, she was genuinely trying to do what was best for the people of Winterfell but Arya began accusing her of all sorts, of being power hungry, narcissistic and self-serving, I really just didn’t buy it, if they gave it more time and some more development of such an idea like Sansa really trying to uproot what Jon was doing as King in the north then I would have understood, but it really just seemed like the show creators were forcing a divide between the sisters so they could have an excuse to build tension, then have them reunite to kill Littlefinger, which to me was also a bit of disappointment, I think a lot of us didn’t expect Littlefinger to go out so easily, he seemed like he could have a plan for almost anything, if it did come to the point where he was put on trial for being more or less a giant snake wouldn’t he have something up his sleeve? like how maybe the Lords of the vale are under his rule, bound by law to serve their lord, when Robb Stark executed Lord Karstark the north lost all Karstark men, when Sansa executes Littlefinger the Vale just shrugs it off, meh, is basically their reaction, this is the vale which loyally served a lunatic of a women, everyone could see how much Lysa Arryn had lost her mind, but the laws are laws, people must follow their Lords and ladies, such is the nature of Westeros and its culture, or so we’d think, the men of the Vale allow their Lord Littlefinger to perish, Littlefinger being a supposed genius, wouldn’t he think something like, I don’t know, ‘I should probably make sure all the vale is loyal to me so they love me and protect me’ the man is always tactical and conniving, finally he is the Lord of an entire people and he doesn’t really use this to his advantage at all. The dynamic between Dany and Jon Snow was fairly interesting; Jon refuses to have the North bend the knee to the iron throne once more regardless of who is sitting on it, but he also needs Dany for the obsidian down in the Dragonstone mines, it’s a pretty interesting plot, yet still I found the dialogue wasn’t as conveying as the previous seasons where the words which came out of characters mouths were like music to my ears. It was in season seven I began to worry that the lack of episode count in the season really pushed the writers to hurry up and get this thing moving, therefore sacrificing a lot of the shows quality.

Let’s move on to the final season, game of thrones had a much needed years break it seemed to me, I was glad about this, I mean look how long it’s taking Georgie to write the next book Winds of Winter so by all means go ahead HBO and give the show some time to work on what it needs to, so the first episode aired and well, I was excited you know, they had a year off so things seemed to look up, but erm, well I wasn’t exactly super impressed by the opening scenes, one in particular, we’ve got Tyrion and Varys in a carriage, famed for their trading of incredible wit and knowledge, clearly the years have not been kind to Tyrion as all he can muster up in this scene is, “I have balls and you don’t” I know it’s not much but for me it really just set the tone of how dialogue would be handled this season. The next episode picked things up a little for me, there was more character development, Samwell is traumatized by the news of his father and tells Jon of his true heritage and Sansa is also none too happy about Dany and the power she now has over the North, it seemed like things were moving in the direction of some in-fighting, Sansa would maybe raise the north up against Dany, Jon would be highly conflicted on the matter and friends would have to turn on friends, classic game of thrones, I was thinking maybe they would end up destroying each other, and as the white walkers come they are decimated, too busy fighting politics the white walkers end up causing serious damage the living, thus the lesson is humanity could not hope to survive divided. Anyhow the white walkers invade in episode three, now this episode for the most part I found really enjoyable, the action was crazy, it was intense and the visuals were something else, scenes like the Dothraki swords being lit on fire got me all chuffed about how far the show had come and Arya being trapped in the library with a bunch of Wights was gut wrenching, however then comes the end of the episode, in a twist pretty much nobody was expecting, Arya kills the Night King, well damn, there it was, the apocalypse was over, it was very strange to say the least, no one expected it to happen, I was one of the people who was a little optimistic about the season still, I got it, so the Night King is beat and the final battle is for the iron throne, ok I guess it is all about the Iron throne at heart but still it did leave a strange taste in my mouth as the shows greatest enemy was defeated before the final episodes, it felt like whatever could happen now was just a little underwhelming compared to the fight against the dead, all this we heard about no wars mattering but the great war as Jon would say, but now it was over. In the next episode Dany declares optimistically that ‘the we have won the great war, now we will win the last war’ ok cool I get it, I’m thinking let’s see what the show has to offer from here, the party scene shows that everyone loves Jon Snow and that Dany is becoming very insecure about her ability to rule as everyone loves Jon and that he is also the rightful heir to the throne, this all seemed well and good to me, things were getting interesting, sure the dialogue still was off par compared to earlier seasons but I was still behind the program here, despite my fears, by this point a lot of people seemed to have lost faith in game of thrones, I understand this, the decline here was evident but I was kind of hopeful that despite the bad writing and entire rushed feel of the final season the ending would be satisfactory, therefore not taking away from the shows overall glory. As episode four continued some more questionable things began to happen, Rhaegon is straight up shot out of the sky with four straight bolts placed perfectly, it all happened in an instant, so fast I couldn’t really process it, Dany then goes into a rage and heads straight to Euron’s ships to toast them all, as at least a dozen more bolts are shot this time and Drogon is arguably in better range they all seem to miss? The plot armor is pretty strong here, never the less Dany retreats and Euron’s fleet destroys Dany’s. Oh and I almost forgot to mention, let’s take a pause from the episode and have a look at one certain character, Euron Greyjoy, if you haven’t read the books then I’ll explain things for you, Euron from the books is a straight up psychopath, his presence is felt in every page he’s in, the way he is portrayed in the books is brilliant, he’s extremely selfish, power hungry, savage yet also comes across intelligent in a horrifically manipulative way, he’s also very mysterious, the man came back from travelling all over the world, he’s seen things no one else in Westeros has but in the show, he’s pretty dull to be honest, he’s mad but in just a silly lunatic fashion more than anything else, I just don’t think anyone is that bothered about Euron in the show, he’s not a great character, I’m ok with things being different from the books, its fine, but Euron isn’t different to the book in an interesting way, he’s just a really bad version of the real Euron, this is illustrating my point further that the writers don’t seem to be handling things well if it’s not taken from the book, which is sad because in earlier seasons there’s scenes that aren’t in the books that are exclusively part of the show that are brilliant pieces of dialogue, every exchange between Littlefinger and Varys in the show is purely the show writers creation, ‘the chaos is a ladder’ scene isn’t in the books, and it is one of the shows definite high lights. Back to the main story, Dany makes it to Kings Landing and Cersei declares she will not be making peace any time soon, thus beheading a captured Missandei, ok so we all know what is coming, one final battle for Kings Landing. Episode five, some scenes in this episode are actually great, Tyrion setting Jaimie free and them having a brotherly bond hit me hard, visually everything was excellent and you truly felt right in the middle of the onslaught. Drogon absolutely rips through Euron’s fleet like butter, which was weird to me because the season set up how dangerous the scorpions (the giant dragon killing crossbow machines) were to dragons but apparently not, there’s plenty on the city walls and on Euron’s ships but Drogon evades all and destroys every one of them, finally he flies back to the front of the city and destroys the golden company who are meant to be pretty formidable but they completely disappoint, they just act as more cannon fodder really, also I was well salty that no elephants appeared, why even set that up just to tear down our expectations? Then the moment that shocked us all, the men of Kings Landing surrender despite Cersei’s commands, yet Dany decidedly burns the whole city anyway and murders plenty of innocents as part of her rage. So this is where pretty much 90% of the shows audience turns on the show, that’s not an exact statistic but it seems like a whole lot of people got furious here, I want to go in deep on Dany’s turn to full madness, some of it can be explained, she was insecure that the thing she has worked for so hard is now out of reach because she is not in fact the true heir despite believing that for most of her life, she’s lost two of her dragons and one of her closest advisers betrayed her via her lover revealing he is in fact the true heir, it’s tough we can definitely say that, but does it merit what the creators did with Dany, overall no I don’t think so, certain signs were indeed there, she nailed nobles of Mereen to crosses independent of their part in the slave trade and burned one of them to root out the sons of the harpies, from her slow decline you could see how Dany becomes less of savior to more of a lawful bad in serve of the greater good, she wants the best but she’ll be absolute in judgement to achieve it, however the slaughter we see in Kings Landing is chaotic evil, not lawful, it’s just utter madness, killing soldiers in an army is lawful and cannot be avoided, their all farmers and villagers when you think about it, enlisted into the ranks but in war killing them is virtually unavoidable, however I don’t think Dany could see murdering innocent children as unavoidable, the greater good always seemed in her best interest, serving the oppressed in society, here she murders everyone she claimed to once motivate her, her turn to madness is just, well, mad. Her character is completely butchered and not just her, Cersei’s ending I found to be pretty underwhelming, I felt the shows undoubtedly greatest villain should have gone out in a blaze of glory and madness, Cersei was truly mad, yet she gives up completely while Dany takes the spotlight of lunatic, it just doesn’t seem right, it feels completely rushed. Moving onto the final episode, I was hoping despite all that had happened this episode could make the ending still satisfying to a degree, everyone would have to fight Dany and restore order to the kingdom, again the visuals are stunning, the scene where Drogons wings fly over Dany and it looks like she’s half human half dragon was crazy good, I also loved how the throne room looked exactly the same as it did in season two when she had her vision of the red keep, but the action is over before it starts, with Jon killing Dany while she kisses him, it was certainly an anti-climax, what happens from here is by far the worst.

This is where I just wanted the show to end already, there are so many strange things going on in the finale, Grey worm decides to not kill Jon Snow despite already being shown as blood crazed and exclusively loyal to Dany, Grey worm has been in Westeros for maybe a year or less I’m not sure and at no point does he show any care for the other lords of the kingdom, only his queens law, as you’d expect, he’s from the other side of the world and it was Dany who saved him from slavery, he only came to Westeros to serve Dany, but for some reason he keeps both Tyrion and Jon alive and awaits the judgement of some nobles he barely knows or cares about, and what great judgement they all have. This was the biggest crime of all for me, Tyrion spouts some absolute garbage about stories uniting people, to one point I get it, everyone loves a good story about their ruler but really it just wasn’t a very convincing reason overall for me, and to choose Bran as the King of Westeros, what… the … f### ok so the reasoning for Bran to be king is that he, well, knows everything, but this isn’t even a good reason, a king must have heart, he must sympathise with his people and make a choice for the realm he believes is right, having an overpowered omniscient wizard as king is a terrible choice, Bran is so un-relatable, he can’t even connect to his siblings, telling Sansa how she looked beautiful during one of the most traumatising moments of her life and completely freaking her out for example in season seven, Bran also has zero experience ruling anything, he is literally the least suitable choice for king out of everyone sat there, just elect the Dornish geezer because he has a cool beard, that makes for a good story, Brans sister who has survived the Lannisters, Littlefinger and Ramsey Bolton and has also got experience ruling the north is just passed up for the magical tree wizard, I was happy Sansa ended up ruling the north but really did Tyrion not consider her for the throne? She even shows her commanding presence when she completely shuts down her uncle who tries to state why he should be king. Now what about the other characters, Jon gets sent back to the wall, what an unsatisfying character arc for the man rising above his constant mistreatment through childhood as the bastard, as the soldier on the wall, to lord commander, to king in the north, the ultimate underdog, oh then back to the wall, it’s just ridiculous and he doesn’t even seem bothered, neither do his siblings, then he goes off with the wildlings to I assume become king of the free folk which isn’t really explained but we just take it as it is, poor effort I think. The complete decline of smart decisions is shown off with the new small council, why is Bronn on the small council! This is completely baffling, I liked Bronn’s whole point of all Lords and houses beginning out as cut throats, Littlefinger started out from nothing but he’s a devious genius who worked his way up to the small council, Bronn is just there, chilling as the new master of coin literally nothing but a bloodthirsty mercenary, I mean who needs someone with actual knowledge of Westeros’ economy anyway? It was simply so we could see a familiar character we once liked be there for maybe an attempt of fan service or something, it’s strange the final season on one hand feels like a bad attempt of fan service but then also a bad attempt of completely subverting fan expectations.  

So, game of thrones, this is how I feel overall, it was my favourite tv show hands down, it was genius, the first four seasons are near perfect to me, I’d say the decline of this show is down to two main things, the deviation from the books, unfortunately the writers of the show don’t live up to George R.R Martins masterful way with words, the rushed nature, they only had two seasons to finish everything up, with less episodes too, we cannot fully blame the writers, I think in earlier seasons they demonstrated an ability to make great original content for the show, but with the added pressure of finishing the show in just two seasons and thirteen episodes this just put things in disarray, the mistreating of characters, bad dialogue, flimsy plot choices  and an unsatisfactory ending. However despite this I’d say we can still enjoy the good parts of this show, like any form of art, its subject to interpretation, nothing can be perfect and this is ok, I hope the writers of game of thrones take all criticism constructively and don’t get disheartened by the some of the monumental hate they’re getting, this is how art improves, through feedback, I don’t think game of thrones should be rewritten or anything like some are proposing, take it for what it is and enjoy the show for what it once was, a masterpiece and it’s not like there were not some enjoyable parts in the last season, the battle for Winterfell in episode three of season eight was genuinely incredible to me, and who’s to say if you loved the last two seasons you’re wrong, this is simply my opinion so by all means if you loved game of thrones all the way through, more power to you, don’t let others ruin your opinion, I think it’s important for us all to have our own opinion on shows and other forms of entertainment, this is mine, let me know yours! Thanks for reading, peace dudes : )

[chaostheoryy]

The Virus [Han X Reader]

Prompt: @greatdinosaursalad requested a Han X Reader where, despite Han’s bewilderment, the reader provides him some much needed assistance. So, I decided to write a little Solo canon-inspired piece that takes place during his stint as an Imperial infantryman...

Word Count: 3,066

Rating: General

A/N: Yup. I’m back with yet another war story. It’s been a while since my last reader insert but hopefully you all will enjoy this one just as much as I did writing it!

Right from the start you knew he didn’t belong. With those bright eyes still so full of optimism and determination, Han Solo stood out like a sore thumb amongst the infantry. Despite his reputation as a spunky outsider, he kept to himself more often than not, signaling to the rest of the troops that he knew better than to get himself into even more trouble with Imperial leadership. After all, he’d already managed to get himself kicked out of the Flight Academy for insubordination…

You and Solo didn’t speak much during training outside of the occasional “watch your back” or “don’t you blow this for me, kid”. There was a sense of competitiveness between the two of you and, though you never told him, you greatly admired his attitude. It was pretty clear that the kid from Corellia was afraid of his life as a soldier but that didn’t stop him from cracking jokes. It seemed every time you would look over at him there would be one of those crooked grins on his face. How he managed to keep himself from breaking down after all the shit talk and physical exhaustion, you would never fully understand.

It wasn’t long after Solo’s introduction into your battalion that you were shipped off to Mimban. With dozens of infantrymen stacked on top of each other in single file lines within the tiny transport, the jump through hyperspace was miserable. It was hard to tell where one trooper’s limbs ended and the next began. It wasn’t, however, nearly as miserable as the planet itself.

The second you marched out of the transport into the forward camp, your boots sunk several inches deep into thick mud. The air was humid beyond belief and the swampy rainforests emerging from the dense fog on all sides of the camp served as daunting reminders of the camouflaged enemy waiting in the wilderness to strike at any moment.

You and Solo were assigned to the same barracks and, out of habit, took a pair of beds beside one another in the back corner of the hut. As much as everyone in the camp wanted to strip down to their underwear to fight the humidity, the risk of stealthy night attacks from the Mimbanese was too high for comfort. Troopers needed to be ready to go at a moment’s notice which meant crashing in everything but your boots and tactical vests.

Collapsing onto your bed with every intent of knocking right out, you looked over to find Solo sitting on the edge of his bed with his hands clasped between his knees and head dipped low. There was a look of complete dread on his face as he stared down at his toes in silence. No doubt he was thinking about the impending battles that lay ahead.

“Y’know, if you really wanna get out of this thing alive, you’re better off trying to get some sleep.”

Solo looked up at the sound of your voice, surprised anyone was paying any sort of attention to him. He forced a smile. “Yeah, well, I guess I find it a little hard to doze when I’m worried about a detonator blowing this grungy camp sky-high,” he said quietly, “But if Dreamland is calling your name, then by all means. Don’t let me keep you from counting Bantha tonight.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow so you could address him more directly. “Look, if you think you’re the only one without a death wish, check again. Half of the battalion hates the Empire but they feel like they’ve got no other choice than to fight for it. We’ve all got people and places to go home to. None of us wanna call this hellhole our final resting place,” you explained truthfully, “But if we wanna make it off of this forsaken mud ball, we gotta do what we can to survive. And if that means catching forty winks a night just to eat dirt for breakfast, then so be it.”

Solo took a moment before asking, “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You in this for the Empire’s benefit or your own?”

You nearly scoffed. “I hope every Imperial official rots in hell. The only reason I’m here is so I can help make sure that happens.”

Solo furrowed his brow, clearly confused by your response.

“If a virus wants to take over its host, it’s gotta move cell by cell,” you said, “There’s no such thing as one and done. It takes time and a buttload of patience for that virus to kill.”

Solo blinked. “You’re an infiltrator.”

You nodded. “And I’m not the only one. All across the galaxy there are millions of people like me who wanna see the Empire burn. One day, when more and more people have gathered up the courage and know-how to do something about it, a massive rebellion will form and become the beacon of hope the galaxy has been looking for. One day, the Empire will fall and I’m gonna be one of the ones who buries it.”

You were surprised to see a small smirk tug at Solo’s lips. You side-eyed him.

“What’s that look for?”

“I always knew there was something different about you,” he mused, “You’re way too tough to be a stormtrooper.”

A proud grin found its way to your face in response to his comment. “Imperial standards are far too low for my taste.”

The two of you exchanged looks just before the troop commander called out to the group, ordering everyone to hit the hay for the night. Everyone in the hut prepared to settle in.

“Goodnight, Solo,” you hummed as you laid back down.

He grinned and followed your lead without hesitation. “Don’t let the kleex bite, (Y/L/N).”

With a low hum, the lanterns scattered around the hut faded out.

Things went south almost immediately the following morning. Using guerrilla tactics to flank and ambush the infantry, the Mimbanese quickly had Imperial forces pinned down around northern fields with little hope of pushing outward. It had been clear from the get-go that, even with superior weaponry, the infantry would have a hard time taking down Mimbanese forces. Home field advantage, it seemed, was all they needed to prevent Imperial advancement.

Despite watching each other’s back in every trench and sprint, it was by pure luck that neither you nor Solo had been blown to bits by a detonator. Explosives seemed to go off every five seconds, taking down nearly half a dozen infantrymen around every time. One detonator blew both of you off your feet and, if it weren’t for your determination to keep trudging through the pain, Solo may have surrendered to the embrace of the muddy ground for good.

With the battalion’s commanding officer shot down, rank fell to an older officer with greying hair and a thick drawl. Never before had you seen the man nor did you even know his name yet everyone in your battalion followed him without question. Even Solo seemed keen on sticking close to the newfound commander. You, however, couldn’t quite jump on board. Something was off and it would only be a matter of time before somebody found out why.

A cease-fire was called late that afternoon, allowing you and the rest of the battalion to return to Camp Forward to gather supplies and get some much needed rest. It was clear on the march back to camp that Solo was worn out but he still managed to keep that youthful spirit of his alive, flashing smiles and cracking jokes at other infantry members the entire journey back. You couldn’t help but grin to yourself in response.

Safely back in the barracks, you were in the middle of restocking your ammo pouches and munching on the day’s rations when Solo suddenly stood and dismissed himself from your company.

“Aren’t you gonna finish that?” You asked when you noticed he was leaving half a protein bar behind.

He waved it off. “I’m watching my weight,” he joked, “’Sides, I’ll be right back.”

You watched with a furrowed brow as he hurried off into the camp. What he was up to, you weren’t quite sure. But something told you it wasn’t going to end well for anyone.

No more than two hours after Solo had dipped out, all hell broke loose in the camp. You could hear hurried footfall in the mud and officers barking orders like rabid dogs. You poked your head out of the barracks after gunfire broke out in the distance and were surprised to see dozens of infantrymen scurrying about in confusion.

You grabbed one of the troopers by the arm as he hurried by. “What the hell’s going on?”

“The beast’s escaped!”

Your stomach flipped as you released the trooper from your grasp. Oh, great. Not only was the battalion getting its ass handed to it by the Mimbanese but now the infantry’s most dangerous captive was loose in the camp.

You tightened your grip on your blaster and began weaving your way through the camp toward the pit where the beast had been kept. You had little hope of the infantry regaining control over the creature, especially after the brutal treatment it had received during its transport to Mimban. But, if you were lucky, maybe you could get to it first and prevent the remaining troops from killing the innocent captive.

You rounded a corner only to come crashing hard into another figure. The impact knocked you straight into the mud but your counterpart seemed less than fazed by the collision. Looking up, it immediately became clear as to why. There, standing directly over you was the beast.

Your eyes bulged as the beast let out a guttural roar. You quickly reached for your blaster and pointed it directly at the creature’s furry head. Before you could do anything more than aim the barrel, a familiar voice spoke out from behind the beast.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don’t shoot!”

You blinked, completely baffled to find Solo stepping out from behind the beast.

“Solo?” You looked him over from head to toe, taking in the sight of his mud-soaked, messy figure. It was then that you noticed he was chained to the beast. “What the hell did you get yourself into?”

“It’s a long story,” he said hurriedly as he pulled you to your feet, “But me and fuzzball here-“

The beast made a quiet growling sound.

“Me and Chewbacca,” Solo corrected, throwing his furry companion a look before readdressing you, “Need to get over to the transport pad ASAP. We’ve got one ticket outta this mud pit and something tells me that it ain’t gonna end well for either of us if we miss our ride.”

You took a second to process everything. So, somehow, Solo had managed to not only understand the creature’s dialect but establish some kind of alliance with it. And now the two oddballs wanted to stow away aboard an Imperial transport to desert the battalion?

You clenched your jaw and nodded with newfound determination. “Then we better get you over to the landing platform.”

Solo seemed completely taken back by your declaration. “Wait a second, I didn’t-“

Solo’s words were cut off by a choked gasp when Chewbacca lurched forward to follow as you began making your way toward the transport area of the camp. Sticking to the outer perimeter, you were hopeful that encounters with infantry members would be kept to an absolute minimum. Last thing you wanted to do was blow your infiltration by killing your troop mates.

You spotted a pair of officers ahead and responded quickly, ducking behind a pile of armor crates. Chewbacca and Solo immediately copied your movements and took their place directly behind you. You peeked around the corner.

“Alright, I’ve got an idea,” you said as you turned toward your companions, “I’m gonna loop around the right side and distract them. Once I have their attention, Solo, you and your pal swoop in and take them from behind. With them out of the way, it’s a straight shot to the transport. You got this?”

“I mean, it sounds simple enough…” 

“Great.”

You made a move to get up and execute the plan but a hand grasped your forearm and pulled you back down. You looked back in confusion only to find Solo was the one holding you back.

“Hold on,” he said under his breath, an expression of bewilderment on his face, “Why are you doing this?”

You shook your head, not entirely understanding the question. “Doing what?”

“Helping me.”

You blinked. How were you supposed to respond to that? Sure, you put up a tough front but it’s not like you were actually coldhearted enough to let an innocent man suffer at the hands of the Empire. Especially not someone as young and hopeful as Solo. If anyone deserved a second chance at life beyond Imperial servitude, it was him.

Before you could even formulate a response, Chewbacca let out a series of soft grumbles that you understood as his natural dialect. Solo, fully understanding the creature’s speech, seemed blown away by his companion’s words. His bright eyes were wide, his expression soft. Hell, if it weren’t for the fact that you were feeling completely left out of the dialogue, you would have spent the moment adoring the look on his face.

“What?” Your eyes flicked between the two. “What did he just say?”

Solo glanced over at you then back to Chewbacca. The creature grumbled again and nodded his head toward you, almost encouraging Solo to answer.

“He said that you care about me,” Solo replied quietly, “That’s why you’re risking your cover for us.”

You felt as if you had been completely exposed. Chewbacca was right. You cared for Solo. Deeply, in fact. But it was something you’d never bothered to address yourself given the circumstances. You were an infiltrator with one unchanging goal. You couldn’t let your feelings toward Solo distract you from that goal. At least that’s how you’d felt upon until your arrival at Mimban...

You squeezed the handle of your blaster a little bit tighter and swallowed. “Yeah, well, don’t get too emotional over it,” you said stoically, “We’ve still got to get you on that transport.”

Before Solo or his furry friend could say anything, you hurried from your hiding spot and headed toward the opposite side of the adjacent hut. You circled around the small structure and poked your head out from behind the corner to insure the officers were still in position. Then, when your target was confirmed, you straightened up and put on a show.

“Sir!”

Both officers looked up to find you rushing toward them with a look of complete panic. They exchanged a quick glance as you approached before the older officer addressed you directly.

“What is it, trooper?”

You came to a halt in front of them, panting as though you’d sprinted for miles to reach them. “The beast, sir,” you gasped, “It’s worse than we thought!”

The officer furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“It’s multiplying!”

“It’s what?” The younger officer cut in.

“The beast has started multiplying, sir! Not just one or two, but there’s at least half a dozen of them running around the camp!”

The two exchanged horrified expressions, not doubt buying into your display.

“What are we supposed to do?” You asked as you noticed Chewbacca’s massive figure approaching from behind them, “The whole battalion is in danger! It could only be a matter of minutes before every last one of us is wiped out!”

“Keep it together, trooper. Panicking is only going to make things more difficult for every-“

The officer’s final word was cut short when a pair of large, furry paws grabbed him by the head and forced him to coming crashing into his partner. Knocked cold by the impact, the two officers collapsed onto the ground with a harmonious thud. You smiled up at Chewbacca.

“Nice handiwork,” you said to your newfound ally.

He growled softly and tilted his head in what appeared to be appreciation. Maybe you were actually getting the hang of communicating with him.

“Alright, let’s get you two on that ship.”

You headed for the transport with Solo and Chewbacca hot on your heels, managing to make it just as the engines were firing up. The three of you shouted up at the ship and, after a moment of unease, a ladder finally lowered down. Whoever was hijacking this thing knew Solo and was inviting him onboard for their escape.

Chewbacca grabbed onto the ladder and started the climb but Solo hesitated at the foot of it.

“Go on,” you encouraged him with a gentle push, “It’s now or never, Solo.”

To your surprise, he grabbed your arm once again, his grip tight. “Come with us.”

You were completely taken back by his plea. He wanted you to join him, to leave the camp behind and follow him through the galaxy. Though he wasn’t explicitly stating it, you knew that his invitation meant he cared about you too. Your heart felt full knowing that fact and, as much as you wanted to abandon that miserable post, you knew you were in too deep to give up now.

“I wish I could,” you said with an apologetic grin, “But I’m a virus. I’ve either gotta see this thing through or die trying. Besides, something tells me you’ll be just fine without me.” You nudged him gently. “You’ve learned from the best.”

Solo forced a smile. “Yeah, I did.”

He turned slowly and started to make the climb up the ladder, only to pause mid-way when you called out for him once again.

“Hey, Solo.”

He looked down at you to find you smirking with pride and determination. “Keep your eye on the horizon and never stop rebelling,” you said, “Something tells me we’ll see each other again.”

A look of adoration found its way to Solo’s face. A brilliant grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’m counting on it.”

Then with a casual salute, he climbed his way onboard the transport, leaving you behind to finish the job you had started. The Empire was going to fall and you were sure as hell going to be one of the ones to bring it to its knees.

[the-ash0]

surviving paradise chapter 6

He was 7

The biggest practice room on Frieza's ship was packed! It divided in two, and the half meant for spectators had filled up and overflowed unto the fighting area. The excited buzz from them had heightened the moment Vegeta entered.

With a confident smirk, he walked to the middle of the empty side of the room, and crossed his arms as he waited. He had chosen a simple piece of armor sans cape or trappings for this, but he projected royal confidence nonetheless. Recklessly he basked in the crowd’s speculative  stares.

It had been a while since the prince had received this kind of attention, and it was not hard to admit there was some charm to it. Far better at least than sitting through tactical lessons or running the same basic drills with the other recruits.

Frieza himself was present, his interest in him returned instantly after it had dulled in these past boring months of schooling. Its round white throne hovered at the edge of the battle area marked with white marble tiles. The tyrant looked small and idle, reclining within the dome with that lazy smirk. It resembled a horned pink iguana chick that had pecked a hole out of its eggshell, but was quite content to stay half hatched.

At its right hand, as always, Zarbon stood with a scowl on his face. It seemed to be his constant expression as of late. Or… perhaps Vegeta just had that effect on the long-braided alien.

Vegeta also saw some Saiyans in the audience, which was a rare occurrence as it seemed they were purposely kept from him. His people did not appear happy to see him here though, but Vegeta supposed that made sense. Even his own kind had a way of underestimating him. His peers however, were ecstatic. Vegeta spotted the wolf-boy, the purple squid, and a few others. Boisterously they catcalled, with that half-mad glint in their eyes he recognized as staring death in the face from up a little too close.

All thought he was committing suicide. Vegeta disagreed.

Evening recruit fights were just about the only entertainment on board, yet usually the fights were of little consequence. The soldiers that came to watch got their jollies by riling up the winner into dragging things out, goading the victor into torturing the loser for their enjoyment, or playing with the unconscious body.

But Vegeta wanted something more than a weakling to torture for fun. He wanted recognition. Vegeta was going places; straight to the top. Or, at least out of the recruit class and into active service as fast as possible… and that meant taking some calculated risks.

So when Dodoria asked who Vegeta wanted to fight- actually asked Vegeta- he’d simply pointed at the creature in front of him. The pink alien had lowered its round face to his, confused at first. Then it had muttered something about crazy monkeys, and accepted.

Why had Vegeta chosen the ball-shaped powerhouse as his opponent ? Well, Dodoria was high enough up in the PTO hierarchy to earn Vegeta some much-needed repute. Yes, everyone on board might well agree Vegeta was a crazy monkey for doing this- perhaps the craziest monkey of all. But they had given him what he had wanted out of this: he had their undivided attention.

After today, no one would ask ‘Say are you Vegeta's son?’ Afterafter today, no one would ask ‘Wwhat is that kid doing here?’ and after today no one would ask ‘aren't you a little small for a Saiyan warrior?’. Because after today they would know of him; win or lose, he would be feared.

As for the risk, Dodoria was actually professional, all things considered. Sure, it poked fun at Vegeta with name calling, but it did that to everyone. Also, its temper was one of short explosions and not of drawn-out pain. And as Dodoria had little to prove by fighting him, Vegeta was pretty sure that if he did lose, he’d go to the med-tanks with his pride and most of his body still intact.

But Vegeta was not counting on losing; no, he was betting on winning this thing.

Dodoria finally entered and it walked straight up to tower over Vegeta like an elephant over a kitten. It held its wide girth over him like that for long seconds, casting a great shadow over the prince. But Vegeta held his position and smiled up casually.

The jeering shushed a little as Dodoria shook its pink head at the boy beneath him, obviously confused, and Vegeta took up a fighting stance. Perhaps it had thought to call the Crown Prince of Saiyan’s bluff by now. But of course, Vegeta never bluffed.

“Well let’s get this over with,” the elite rumbled and tightened its ham-hands to fists.

Vegeta grunted, stepped back. And then, he stepped back again as the hulking creature swung. Dodoria turned and twisted, only slightly annoyed while its small opponent kept his distance. It even grunted in understanding as Vegeta played it safe, swinging easily and full of confidence.

After several minutes of sparring in this manner, the giant warrior was not even winded. Content, perhaps even. But this was not the game the Saiyan prince meant to play. He had something a little wilder in mind. So Vegeta tried a different tactic. “You really are kind of slow.”

The comment didn't seem to anger Dodoria, but it did have the intended effect. “How about we step it up then?” the giant asked, its pockmarked features turning into a wicked grin as it jumped and threw an impressive number of punches. All within a few seconds.

A few blows grazed Vegeta, but when he dropped to all fours and unravelled his tail, no more came close. This way, Vegeta traded defense for maneuverability and danced out of the way of every strike. Blocking was useless here anyway, Vegeta realised as he watched another tile broken to bits by a missed punch; if he took one of these hits, it would down him.

Running backward out from a particular nasty hook, Vegeta kept backing up until his elbow hit the moving wall of spectators. He was sweating, mostly from the thrill. And so he smiled. “Is that all you can do? Shadow boxing?”

Dodoria’s skin darkened from its usual pink.  Without warning, it reached an arm out and shot ki at Vegeta. The crowd shrieked as both Vegeta and the spectators scrambled out of the way frantically. But Dodoria was not distracted, and its blasts followed Vegeta across the room and up the walls.  

Dust rained down, the blast rang in his ears as he flew higher, then ran across the ceiling on all fours.  At the next explosion, Vegeta dropped down, turned quick, and took his chance.

The slight Saiyan doubled back and closed in, hidden by the flying rocks and dust. He reached the giant’s foot and ran up, using his tail to cut sharp corners. Finally, he scaled Dodoria’s back until he reached the neck of the giant's armor. Once there, he grabbed on and flattened himself down behind the round alien’s armored shoulder blades.

After a few tense seconds, Vegeta realised that things had turned out better than he could have hoped. Thought he could see little of the pink creature’s face, the way Dodoria turned his head to the left and right as he searched the area made it obvious: Dodoria had no idea where the Saiyan had disappeared to.

As the crowd started to jeer, Vegeta could not help himself. He pulled himself up by the hem, placed a hand over his eyes, and pretended to look around as well. Then he gave a mocking shrug and blasted his best ki attack down the neck of Dodoria’s armor.

The giant screamed. The crowd whooped. He was nearly thrown as Dodoria turned, around and again, like some oversized rodeo horse. Vegeta took another shot as Dodoria’s thick arms flailed about uselessly. The monster was simply too fat to reach him.

Emboldened, the prince shot another blast, this time in the creature’s ear, and with another scream Dodoria dropped. For a moment, Vegeta nearly crowed in victory.

Then Dodoria rolled and Vegeta lost his perch on top of its back. He ran like a dog on a treadmill, taking a good kick at the monster’s face in passing as he evaded the grabbing fingers. On the next rotation he managed a pin-prick ki-blast, but soon he was too busy evading and running to attack further.

Then it happened; he lost traction and was raised up in the air as the round elite got back to his feet. Vegeta found himself dangling upside down with his tail in a vice-like grip. Yes, this was - of course-  the risk from the start.

“Ah, damn! You got me,” he told Dodoria as the elite’s dark-red face came into view. “No hard feelings, right?”

Yet the twitch of Dodoria’s puckered eyebrow phased Vegeta; “No hard feelings,” the giant echoed, somehow bringing home that there definitely were a lot of hard feelings. Hard, painful ones.

Well, if he was fucked anyway, he might as well make it count. Vegeta brought his arms together and released the biggest blast he could muster. It managed him a drop of at least a foot before the fist closed on his tail again.

Then the giant turned in a pitching motion, and Vegeta sailed in an arch, following through until he made impact with the ground. The bright pain had not even died down before he moved backwards, out from the rubble and started to fly once more. His last thought was he must look like a puppet getting smacked around by an angry toddler.

When he woke up, he was floating and not hurting anymore, drifting slowly and comfortably in healing fluids. Time went by unmeasured as he bobbed, slow current moving through his hair. Sometimes his mind brushed at questions like how he had gotten here, or how the fight had ended. But then his consciousness shied away, content to stay inside this quiet isolation.

Suddenly he was jerked awake by a muffled knock on the glass. With some effort Vegeta focused his eyes on the shape outside of the med-tank; it was Dodoria. Vegeta almost misjudged the look on Dodoria’s face as a grin.

“Congratulations. Frieza was much impressed. You’ve made it into active duty.” Then Dodoria punched the glass, a little too hard; hairline cracks appeared and the giant’s features twisted into an ugly sneer. “And all you had to do was make me look the fool. But mark my words. You will pay me back in full for this.”