#cato and crackle

[hoodie-prince-kid-archived]

Thoughts on colors?

I think i like the first one more, but the stripes look good in blue too :0

[epicfirestormer]

How are we feeling Final Space fans

[ms--lobotomy]

I started this when I couldn't sleep last night. Even more self-indulgent than normal. You can thank @moodymisty and @kit-williams for getting me into the funny blueberry. The fleas. The fleas. THE FLEAS-

Summary: Cato Sicarius hate fuckin'

Content Warnings: SMUT and rough smut at that, Heavy degradation kink (to the reader), Semi-public, could be seen as dubcon but it's consensual in my head, Armor kink, Unhealthy relationship (sorry to all my healthy relationship stans), blood, the use of the word "whore" to degrade, body worship (take a wild guess whose body), crying,

Image Credit: @squishyowl (I don't know whether to apologize or say you're welcome)

“Cato, where are we going?”

His response was as cold as his gauntlet on your skin. “It’s Captain Sicarius to you.”

His hand gripped your wrist, threatening to leave a nasty bruise, and you had to jog to keep up with him. Most of the Ultramarines and serfs around you seemed to mind their own business, but a few cast quick glances towards the two of you. After a while, one of the sons of Guilliman spoke up.

“Captain,” he began. “Is everything alright?”

“It is,” he replied. “Hurry along. You have better things to do.”

You watched ever so briefly as the marine absconded in the opposite direction. You had to crane your neck upwards to look at the man on your wrist. You opened your mouth to say something, but decided against it right before he stopped by a closet, one just big enough to fit a fully armored space marine.

“Is this…?”

“In,” he hissed.

He turned the doorknob and it made a click before he swung the door open, ushering you in with a hand on your back. He followed suit and swung the door shut before you could have a look around the room. Absentmindedly, he pushed a spare broom to the side.

“What—“

“Undress.”

“Did you just say—?”

“Undress.”

You sheepishly pulled your shirt over your head as you heard the hiss of him removing his helmet, the clang of it falling to the floor before the clang of another piece of armor dropping to the floor. Oh. As you pulled down your pants, a question arose.

“Captain? How am I going to find my clothes?”

You felt arms loop around you and a hand at your back unhooking your bra. Your heart skipped a beat. “We will deal with that when we deal with that.” His breath was warm against the top of your head.

Not a moment after your underwear hit the floor did you feel that familiar feeling of being pushed against the wall. You let out a slight “mmh” at the motion, your feet dangling above the ground. There was a little ledge under you, barely big enough for you to fit on with a little help. You could assume that you were at eye level with him, it was far too dark to tell. You grabbed for his armor and you could feel him recoil before he made his way back to you.

“Dirty cunt,” he spat before he pressed his lips on yours. You hadn’t time to gasp for air, air that left your lungs quickly when he grazed his teeth along your bottom lip. Your hands grasped for whatever they could find, eventually resting between his shoulders and neck.

When he finally pulled away you gasped for air, limp under him. “By the Throne, you’re pathetic,” he huffed, coming in for another kiss. Your legs squeezed together, trying to hide the mess already present between them. He pulled away soon enough, sliding a finger between your legs. Blood rushed to your face at the almost crackling sound that it made against his cold armor.

"Wet already?"

You pressed a hand to your chest, leaning forwards slightly. “Nngh… Cato…”

“Captain. Sicarius,” he commanded. “Spread your legs for me, you little whore.”

You spread them, as wide as you could. He stuck an armored finger into you and you gasped, grabbing onto his armor again. Your hands slipped on his armor, and you leaned into him.

“Quiet,” he hissed before he jammed his lips on yours again. You moaned into his mouth as his armored finger trailed along you, making you quiver underneath him. You felt your naked body press against his armor, rough against your skin. He bit down on your lower lip, drawing a little bit of blood. You felt your eyes start to wet. You tried to pull away but he grabbed you and kept you on him as you started to taste metal.

Finally, he pulled away. "You're going to leave such a mess," he grumbled as you wiped your lip. Faster than you could think, he pinned your wrists to your side and kissed your collarbone just like he'd kissed your lips--roughly and jaggedly. You felt his teeth hastily graze your skin, threatening to sink in before he sucked hard.

You pressed your lips together before you couldn't hold it in any longer. "A-ah..." you cried, his outline barely visible.

Sicarius pulled away. "Quiet down, or they'll all know how much of a whore you really are." He pressed himself lower, dangerously close to your nub. His hands moved away from your wrists towards your waist, and you ran your hands through his short, dark hair. You felt that same sucking and you cried out again before he stuffed two of his fingers in your mouth. You tasted ceramite, and the lids of your eyes lowered as you moaned into his fingers.

With his remaining hand, he took your nub between his fingers, squeezing it. "Are you going to be quiet for me?" he asked, slightly pulling on it.

You moaned into his ceramite again before he removed it with a wet pop. His hand grazed the side of your face before it trailed down to your shoulder, holding you down as you writhed underneath him. You could hear his armor shift briefly before he bit down on your nub, hard.

"C-Captain!" you exclaimed, your hands sinking into his hair. Before he could draw blood, he moved onto your other side. You pressed him into you, wrapping your legs around him.

He rose up, his form back to towering above you. "Took you long enough," he huffed before taking you off of the ledge. You took a few seconds to steady yourself, rubbing one of the spots that he bit.

"Now kneel."

"Captain...?"

"I told you to kneel."

You found yourself on your knees and you felt an armored hand on your head. Something brushed up against your face, something warm and hard. You had to turn up a little bit to reach mouth level with him.

"I want you to pleasure me."

"Okay..." you said quietly, taking him in your hand. You touched him gently, peppering kisses along him and fondling his balls. It wasn't long before you took the tip in your mouth. He grabbed the sides of your head as his hips began to gyrate, pressing himself deeper into you. Despite everything, you let out a high-pitched squeal, desperately gasping for air.

With a deep grunt, he shoved himself in deeper. You felt a tear streak down your cheek, and you wanted desperately to wipe it away but there were more pressing matters at hand. "I told you that I wanted you to pleasure me," he grunted, thrusting a few more times before he popped himself out of your mouth. You leaned over the ground, gasping for air.

"Captain..." you said between sharp breaths.

"Back on the ledge," he barked, kneeling in front of you. You felt a hand on the side of your face, his thumb barely entering your mouth.

You tried to speak, regardless. "Captain, I can barely see in here," you said, your breath evening out.

"You're too soft to be on this ship," he huffed, picking you up by your underarms and placing you back on that ledge. "It's a wonder your puny ass is still alive."

"Alright..." you said before he shifted you down a little bit. You felt him press at your entrance, holding you on him like you were nothing but a toy. You felt his breath hot on your skin, his armor cold against your legs.

"I still haven't came yet," he remarked. "I won't enter unless you beg for it."

You gulped and your wet, messy eyes widened. "...Beg?" you asked softly, your hands tracing the indents on his armor.

"You heard me."

"O-okay..." you said shakily. "I'm so desperate, Captain... I need you in me." Your hands reached out for the outline of his face, but you could barely reach him. "I need to be used. I need to be disrespected. I..." you paused, your face warm and wet. "I'm sorry, Captain. I'm just a little whore."

He chuckled. "You do realize people might hear you?" he asked as he finally pushed himself in. He didn't spend any time acclimating you to him, but that didn't stop you from going over the edge. Tears streamed down your face as you cried out, your hands balling up into fists.

"Captain!" you cried out, your eyes barely open. You cried out with every thrust, and before long, he was burying himself to the hilt before exiting again. You felt a sharp pain where he was, and you tried to speak again.

"It hurts..." you let out between moans.

"Good," he snarled, his hands enveloping your waist and slamming you onto him again and again. Your hands trailed towards his arms, the armor still cold against your skin. You came again on him, crying out as your eyes rolled back into your skull.

"Again?" he asked, keeping pace. "You're so pathetic. I can't believe I'm in a supply closet with such a... such a whore."

"I am," you said meekly. Almost as if on cue, he buried himself in you one last time and pumped you full of his seed. As he throbbed inside you, you felt his head between your shoulder and neck. The position must be at least a little uncomfortable, but you weren't going to say anything. A mix of blood and seed dripped down your leg, forming a small puddle on the floor of the closet.

"I can clean it--"

"No. I will," he huffed, setting you down. He ran a hand along your thigh, cleaning it off. You shivered under his touch again, leaning against his armor.

"Thank you," you said as he ran a hand through your hair.

"Stay here," he said. "You're going to get water."

[raekensluver]

uhhh Peeta mellark x reader where reader is comforting Peeta during the 74th hunger games by cuddling and cooking him food(Just pretend that reader is some master level chef 😭😭)

I love Peeta sm, he deserves more

you're so true baby, peeta does deserve more (peeta come home, the kids and i miss you !!)

"i'm sorry," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. peeta looked at you with a tired smile, his eyes full of understanding. "it's not your fault," he said, his voice a hoarse rasp. "you're doing everything you can." you felt the weight of his words, and the guilt that had been gnawing at you since the moment you'd found him almost disappeared. you had just finished rewrapping the deep slash on his upper thigh that cato had inflicted with his sword. the cut was intended to kill. luckily, you had found peeta before any infection had spread and you brought him back to a hidden cave where you had been hiding out for a few days.

you had been worried about food and water since bringing him here. hunting was risky with the the other tributes nearby. but today, your patience paid off. you had snuck down to the lake early in the morning, the air still cool and misty, and managed to catch a large fish. it had been a struggle, but the sight of it flopping on the ground was worth the effort. you had scaled and gutted it quickly, and brought it back to the cave, feeling like a triumphant hunter.

now, with the fish roasting over a small fire, the mouthwatering smell filled the cave. peeta's stomach rumbled, and his eyes lit up at the sight of it. "it smells amazing," he said, his voice a mix of wonder and relief.

you blushed, feeling a bit self-conscious. "i've never had to cook much before the games," you admitted, turning the makeshift spit with a stick. "my mom always took care of that at home."

peeta's eyes remained on the fish, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "well, you could have fooled me," he said. "that looks like it could be served at the capitol."

you couldn't help but laugh at his attempt to lighten the mood. "yeah, right," you said, rolling your eyes. "next you'll be telling me i could win an award for it."

his smile grew a bit wider, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. despite the dire situation, peeta's ability to find humor in the smallest things had always been a comfort to you. "maybe not a capitol award," he conceded, "but definitely the 'survivalist chef of the year' award in district twelve."

his playful banter made you laugh, the sound echoing softly around the small, damp space of the cave. it was a strange juxtaposition - the two of you joking about food awards while you were in the middle of the deadly hunger games, fighting for your lives. but somehow, it was exactly what you needed to ease the tension that had been coiled tightly around you like a python.

you handed peeta a piece of the freshly cooked fish, the meat flaky and tender. he took it gratefully, wincing slightly as he sat up to take a bite. you couldn't help but watch him, making sure he didn't exert himself too much. his skin was still pale, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead, evidence of the pain he was trying to hide. you knew he was pushing through it, trying to recover as quickly as possible.

between bites, peeta spoke through clenched teeth. "thanks," he managed to say. "it's really good." you nodded, feeling a sense of pride that you had managed to provide him with some semblance of comfort in this hellish arena. the food and water had been scarce since you had brought him here, but the fish was a significant find. it would give him the strength he needed to heal.

the fire crackled, casting flickering shadows on the cave walls. the sound was soothing, a stark contrast to the usual tension that hung in the air. outside the cave, you knew the games continued - tributes plotting, hunting, and killing one another. but in here, it was just the two of you, sharing a moment of relative peace.

you took a seat next to peeta, offering him some berries you had picked earlier. they were a bit tart, but provided a necessary burst of flavor. his hand trembled slightly as he took a handful, his body weak from blood loss and exhaustion.

you couldn't help but worry. peeta was your ally, but he was also your competition. the games were cruel that way - making you care for someone you might have to kill in the end. but as you watched him eat, you pushed those thoughts aside. for now, you were a team, and keeping him alive was your priority.

you studied his face as he ate, looking for any signs of pain or infection. his thigh was tightly bandaged, but the color of his skin was improving, and the wound seemed to be healing well. the medicine you had found in the sponsor gift had been a lifesaver. the thought of losing him made your stomach clench, but you had to keep your emotions in check. you had to stay focused on the task at hand.

once the fish was gone and the fire had burned down to a gentle glow, you both decided it was time to rest. peeta leaned against the cool stone of the cave, his eyes drooping with fatigue. "i think i can manage a couple of hours," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

you nodded and scooted closer to him, nestling into the crook of his arm. the warmth of his body was comforting, and you felt your own eyes start to close. you had been running on adrenaline and fear for so long, it was almost strange to feel safe. almost.

as the minutes ticked by, the cave grew quieter. the only sounds were the occasional drip of water and the faint crackle of the dying fire. you listened to peeta's even breathing, feeling his heartbeat beneath your cheek. the rhythm was steady, a testament to his strength and will to survive.

you shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable without disturbing him. his arm tightened around you, and you felt his hand come to rest gently on your shoulder. you didn't know if it was intentional or if he was just sleeping deeply, but the touch was reassuring. you took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours.

despite the danger lurking outside, you allowed yourself to relax into the moment. you had been on high alert for so long, the simple act of lying still and sharing a meal felt like a luxury. your eyes grew heavier with each passing second, and soon you found yourself drifting off to sleep.

[cloverskentwells]

hey, i call this: i was bored and horny and thinking about men with big arms. there is no plot i just decided to be self indulgent (but what else is new with me)

---

Cato's chuckle is a deep, gravelly sound, rich and warm and ridiculously amused, setting a crackling feeling dangerously low in her stomach. One that is not terribly dissimilar from the literal campfire that now burns in front of them which sends untamed sparks flying into the night air - an apt and unfortunately on the nose metaphor for the agonizing feelings she currently experiences.

She's too conscious of the way he's seated next to her, so damn close on the log that served as their refuge. A large shoulder pressing into hers, heat diffusing between their bodies with this proximity, forcing her to fight the relentless temptation of shuffling closer, thus eliminating any space between them. The excuse of huddling together to share body heat and battle the oppressive cold might not cut it this time, and she refuses to allow her suspicious behavior and something stupid like want (as horrifying as it is to admit) to get the better of her.

"Guess I'm lucky for the rule change, or we'd be at each other's throats right now," he teases her with a friendly, kind tone that should be alien to the brutal boy's tongue. How he could be so gentle, so amiable with her, gracing her elbow and shoulder with the softest casual touches even as it is those same hands that snapped the other Tributes' necks like they were kindling, Clove does not know, and will probably never understand. Even worse, her district partner then commits the blasphemous crime of nudging her shoulder playfully, completely oblivious to how the contact makes her dizzy with a desire to experience it again.

Seething and uncomfortable and basically twitching with the impulse to do something that she knows would be incredibly, utterly stupid, Clove hastens to regain control. "And how do you imagine you would you kill me?" It is much more difficult than she is used to, to slip into the mask of apathetic sadist, which she was once able to do without the laborious effort that strains her voice and gives it a high pitch that is sure to reveal her. "I certainly have a good ending in mind for you, rule change or no." Threats were always Clove's safe place, a shield to her innermost thoughts, safeguarding her from any vulnerabilities. And right now, he could very well be her biggest one yet.

She turns her famously sugar-sweet smile on him, baring teeth in a way that suggests sin, the gleam in her eyes promising imminent violence. It is no surprise when he stares back at her, completely unfazed, his stunningly blue eyes crinkling at the corners - if she didn't know better, almost suggesting fondness. For her. Clove rips her gaze away from him, unable to stand it for much longer.

"Well," he begins, almost as if humoring her, but despite all that has changed between them, she saw for a brief moment how his enormous hands spasmed at his sides with an impulse that was deeply ingrained into him from Training, and Clove would bet her future Victor status that there is still that darkening of his eyes, the preamble to his bloodlust that rivals her own sometimes. Pulse quickening as Clove distantly recognizes the fact that he has given quite a bit of thought to her death, she wonders why the fluttery sensation in her abdomen feels nothing at all like fear.

"You might be a little faster," he muses contemplatively, not aware of her shifting next to him with clenched fists, oblivious as fucking always, which she is grateful for in this moment, "but I could have you pinned down in a few seconds. Maybe disarm you, put you at a disadvantage without your pretty little knives, then hold down you down by the wrists. That way you couldn't scratch my eyes out," he finishes pleasantly, as if in the middle of telling an endearing story.

His casual, joking tone is at odds with the violent shiver that ripples through Clove at these words, the imagery they conjure. Unfortunately, she has a vividly detailed mental scenario in her mind, and can play out the scene without even having to look at him for reference. As it turns out, she had been paying far more attention to his figure than was entirely necessary or reasonable.

She could too easily foresee Cato's maniacal grin as he hovered above her, the bulk of his weight pressing down on her writhing form unforgivingly, how his larger arms would swell and bulge and strain with the effort of keeping her captive, muscles taut and engaged. Maybe - most likely, if she's being honest - he would do it with only one hand too, strong enough to only need that while the other hand grasped at her yielding, exposed throat.

She would be powerless to stop him. Maybe that wouldn't be such a terrible state to be in.

Of course, Clove would truly rather die in this stupid Arena with its basic, overdone forestry theme than allow him to perceive this. She frantically grasps at anything that will allow her to get it together and recover her senses. Clove allows herself a brief moment to lick at her irritatingly chapped lips, swallowing a little to ease her terribly dry mouth, and prepares to retaliate verbally. Physically too, with light, imperceptible scratches of her nails along the warm, bruised and scarred skin of his arms, somehow still comfortingly warm even when caked in blood and dirt and grime. His gaze fixes intently at the point of contact, and maybe it's the effects of the poor lighting the campfire offers or her own wishful thinking, but she could swear his throat bobs nervously, that he releases a barely audible sigh.

Damn it, she's getting off track again. As inconspicuously as she can, Clove snatches her hand away, vowing to keep them to herself for all of eternity if she has to. Still, business called, and she would not leave Cato's challenge unanswered, out of mere pride.

"Or," she offers a better alternative ending to that little hypothetical story, all too aware that there was a rather excellent chance that it could have played out the way he described, that the prospect basically has her thighs insistently clamping together to relieve the built up pressure, the ache that nags at her, "I'd get to you first. Be just a little quicker than you - no surprises there," she adds with mischievous laughter, blushing lightly when he grunts his annoyance, slapping her knee lightly in warning, "and then have my dagger to your throat before you could even lift a finger." Mockery, goading, cruelty is where she excels, and it's too easy to pretend she'd take delight in his suffering, in his leaving her to a Victor's life on her own.

She shouldn't have to pretend, but that can hardly be helped now. The most unfortunate thing about attachments was that they couldn't easily be severed - hence why Clove avoided them with a vengeance. Yet they technically weren't dangerous now, with the new rule in place acting as protection.

Deciding to end the conversation while she was still ahead, not waiting to see what else he could say that would end up making her breath obviously quicken and give away the secrets that she herself couldn't decipher, Clove squeezes his shoulder companionably and bids him good night. The sponsor-provided sleeping bag pales in comparison to being held by her district partner for the strategic purposes of staying warm, but rather than risk having to ask him to sleep in the same bag as her (obviously not an option), she decides she could simply indulge herself on dreams of his heavy arm pressing against her throat. Somehow, in her obviously delirious state of mind, that would be equally as soothing.

[ariadnes-red-thread]

Congrats on 150 followers, Aria! ✨💖💕✨ you deserve all of them and more!

My request is for a Fem!Reader or GN!Reader with Wolffe. The prompt is “I thought I lost you.”

Hiiii Vee! I'm so so sorry this took so long. I never forgot about it and I wrote most of it a long time ago but the ending just didn't feel right and I couldn't bring myself to rush it. I hope it was worth the wait. Thanks for all of your love and support, darling!

Pairing: Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warning: NSFT *MINORS DNI*, Explicit sexual content, established relationship, Fingering, PiV sex

It had been almost two years since Order 66. Two years since you lost everything. The order, your master, your troops, and him. First, Master Plo fell on Cato Neimoidia. You’d only survived by sheer luck. Your own ship had malfunctioned that morning, and you’d been directing the 442nd and the 104th on the ground. After the battle ended, you ventured into the forests alone for a moment of peace. Instead, the order came down. Plo’s last call was to tell you to run and not look back. The staticky warning, followed by a vengeful rain of blaster fire from men you loved as brothers and more while you fled, still haunted your dreams.  After the battle, the 104th was torn apart and scattered among the Empire’s troops. You looked for a while after, even though you feared what you might find, but there was nothing left. No pieces to find or recover, no trail to follow. They were all gone. Even him. You told yourself that you’d long since given up hope. The focus was on the fight now, but deep within the well of your heart, you knew that wasn’t true. Hope still lurked in those murky shadows, and despite your best efforts to brick it in and let it suffocate in the rot deep within you, it crept out sometimes.

You felt its tendrils now, wrapping around your neck and squeezing. You steadied your breath, taking slow inhales and exhales as you tried to focus on the basics of the mission at hand. You counted the exits for the ninth time. There were five - six if you included the window, but that was a several-story fall that you preferred not to chance. You silently let your gaze fall to your blaster, aimed at the ready. You tilted it slightly so you could see the energy cell, the barrel never moving from its aim on the large doorway one level below. The cell was still full, just as it had been the last time you checked and the time before that.

“You good?” The comforting voice crackled over the comm and echoed in your ear, a welcome intrusion to your own thoughts even if you didn't appreciate the implication.

You let your eyes wander up the skeleton of the old building. Several levels above, you could just barely make out the captain’s outline. Rex was watching you from the shadows of the upper level of the abandoned maintenance center. Your contact chose the location, the abandoned GAR shipyard. You and Rex chose the building. It was a good location for a risky meeting. The middle of the building was hollow and large enough to house a transport ship, leaving plenty of space for hiding and good viewpoints. It helped that both you and Rex knew it well too. In another lifetime, you had walked it many times together and separately. Even now, as you looked up to where he was waiting in the shadows, you could almost see the ghosts of his brothers crawling, working, and laughing all around the rusted-out structure.

“Yeah, just tired of waiting.” You snapped back, your voice barely a whisper. “You sure this information is good?”

“Eh,” There was a muffled crackling in your ear as Rex shifted. “You heard the call. But how good is any of our information these days?”

You sighed. Rex didn’t have to put up with your testy attitude but he always did.

“Sorry, Rex.” 

“Nah, you’re alright.” The mic rustled as he shifted again. “I’m on edge too. It’s just…”

“I know.”

You both fell silent. You and Rex had been on edge since you got the call. It was an extraction request. It had been a long time science you’d gotten one of those. There weren't many clones left to rescue these days. Between the effectiveness of early missions, the elimination of the clone trooper from the Empire’s army, and the assassin program, it had been three months since Rex had heard anything about a clone trooper looking to be rescued.

Then, Senator Organa called late last night. He said he had it on good authority that an insider contact needed to be pulled out and fast. He couldn’t give any more information, only that they would be in the GAR shipyard at 0300, and their code word would be Khorm.

As soon as Bail said the word, you could feel Rex’s eyes on you, gazing over the blue haze of the holo. He waited until Bail hung up.

“It could be anyone.” The words fell halted from his lips as if he was arguing with himself. “Thousands of us fought on Khorm.”

“I know that, Rex.” You replied coolly. “Do you?”

That was the last either of you spoke of it. 

Now, Rex stayed silent on the comms, and despite wracking your brain for something to say, some way to make up for your coarse tone early, you couldn’t think of anything worth saying. It was probably better if you didn’t say anything anyways. You were never good with words. If you had been, you might have told… well that didn’t matter anymore.

Something moved in the shadows. Not a movement, you realized as you scanned the upper levels. A disturbance. You felt something in the force. Familiar but so far away. You searched the dark crevices, looking for anything that might have alerted your senses. Then you realized Rex was too quiet.

You swiftly scaled the scaffolding, moving with a speed and stealth that, if you thought too hard about it, would have reminded you of who you are… who you were. On silent feet and with your cloak wrapped close around you, you skirted around hanging equipment. You couldn't see Rex anymore, but you knew his last location.

You crouched in the darkness, staying low to the ground and keeping your back against the wall as you crept towards the corner where Rex had been. You kept your blaster trained out in front of you as you reached out through the Force, chasing that fleeting feeling from before.

You could sense Rex. He was still there and he was troubled. There was something else, a clouded presence, the same one you felt moments ago. It was near and that made you cautious. The darkness parted as you closed in on them. Endless shadows formed into shapes. You could see Rex again, but he was no longer alone.

Rex was kneeling, his hands resting on the back of his cloaked head and his elbows up in the air. Behind him stood a looming figure. Someone was waiting for you. Haar’chak, you silently cursed in Mando, a habit you picked up from the clones years ago. Dressed in black commando armor, a shrouded man stood with Rex’s blaster in one hand, pointing out into the darkness. He moved it every second or so as he scanned the shadows so he must not have spotted you yet. It was the second blaster that troubled you more. It was pointed directly at the back of Rex’s head.

You sized up the stranger. He was a clone trooper, or at least his armor belonged to one. Was this a set-up? You glanced at the carefully-mapped exits. No one else emerged. You couldn’t feel any other presence. It didn’t feel like a set-up. Not yet anyway. Before you could figure out your next move, the man moved first. His second weapon was suddenly trained on you.

“I see you.”

“Then you see my blaster.” You said, not moving from your crouch but tilting your head to ensure your hood shadowed your face. “Lower your weapon.”

“You’re no clone.” His modulated voice bit at you. So it was a clone beneath the armor, the accented mechanical voice was unmistakable. But something else rumbled deep in your chest. “This is an Empire trap. You lower your weapon, or your partner dies.”

Rex. Your heart stopped. You couldn’t see the Captain’s face under his hood, but you could guess at his expression. Stubborn and defiant. You couldn’t risk his life. You would do anything not to risk his life. You released the trigger on your blaster and held it up in the air.

“No trap.” You had to convince this man you were friendly, whether that was true or not. “Fulcrum.”

He tilted his helmet at the safe word. He waited for a moment, shifting just slightly as he decided whether or not he trusted you.

“Khorm.”

You tried not to flinch at the safe word as you holstered your weapon in a show of good faith. It almost sounded dangerously familiar as it left the shadowed man’s lips.

“Bail sent us.” You nodded to Rex, who was still held at gunpoint. “We’re here to get you out.”

Not quite satisfied, the fugitive clone trooper reached for Rex and slipped the cloak off of his head. His blonde hair shown in the light of the moons and his face was just as stubborn as you’d imagined it would be. Still, the fugitive extended an arm, and Rex accepted it.

“Should have guessed it would be you, Rex’ika.” The clone chuckled. “I always could get the drop on you.”

Your heart seized. There was no denying it now. And even if you had wanted to, the clone stripped his own helmet from his head. Two eyes, one a deep pooling brown, and the other pale and cybertronic met yours.

Your hand flashed to your blaster. It couldn’t be him. This was a trap. Your cloak fell away with the sudden motion. The world threatened to tilt, spinning around you. Only the cool durasteel felt solid and steady as you clasped the gun.

“Cyare.” Wolffe whispered, his voice instantly choked.

Your weapon slipped from grip, its clatter echoing against the empty walls.

…

Rex had long since gone to bed, sleep overtaking him as soon as you were safe on the ship. You and Wolffe sat in the hull of the ship with only a bottle of whiskey and a table between the two of you, but even as you talked into the late hours of the morning, the space felt impossible to breach. He danced around his own story all evening with an evasiveness that you hadn't felt from him since the early days of the war. The way Wolffe pressed you for stories of the rebellion reminded you of your first conversations when he would ask you a thousand and one questions about the temple and being a Jedi, all to avoid talking about himself. You didn’t mind. You just wanted to talk to him back then. Now, you could see through him.

“Wolffe,” You raised an eyebrow at him as you topped off both of your glasses. “You’re going to hear all about the rebels and then some. Where have you been? What happened? What changed?”

He sighed, looking away from you for the first time in hours. It was just for a second before he turned back to you, but you ached in that brief eclipse of a moment. His eyes locked back on yours, and he watched you as he raised the glass and tilted the warm liquor down his throat. He emptied the glass, his tongue darting out to run along his full lower lip. You waited, never flinching under his stare. Finally, he gave you a small smile and a shrug.

“It took a while, but my mind… it slowly cleared. It was too late to do anything. The Jedi were dead, the Wolfpack was gone. I almost couldn’t bear it.” His head hung as his voice became graveled. “Cody tried to get me out at first.” Cody’s alive?, You started at the revelation but Wolffe didn’t notice. “Wanted me to leave with him after we realized what was happening. But I thought, if you were gone, I had nothing else. Nothing besides getting out as many brothers as I could, and pulling the Empire apart from the inside out.”

“I worked with Bail for a long time, passing information to rebels, sabotaging missions.” He raised his head to look at you again. His eyes were narrowed and his words were hushed, as if he was afraid the Empire was still in the room with you. “You know how Bail is - plays his cards close to his chest, that one - but he let something slip one day. That there were Jedi still alive, still in the fight, and I tried not to hope, but I couldn’t help it. It started to eat away at me. Bail never let anything slip about Jedi again, but I knew I had to get out and find out for certain.”

“What made you think it was me?” A shiver went down your spine. He knew and he looked for you.

“I just knew…” His inscrutable face tilted and something twisted deep in your gut. “I knew if there was any chance you were alive, you would still be fighting.”

He looked for you, the truth hit you like a Venator. And you had given up on him a long time ago. Shame burned your cheeks even as the awe of what Wolffe had fought through brought tears to your eyes.

“If there was even a chance you were alive, I had to look. I didn't ask Bail. I knew he couldn’t tell me, so I just asked for an extraction. Said I was done. I never, not in my wildest moments of hope, dreamed you’d be the one to save me.” Wolffe cleared his throat. “I don’t deserve it. Not after… not after I tried to kill you. Not after Plo.”

His eyes fell and his hand trembled around the empty glass. It was the first time he’d said your master’s name. You reached for his hand. He jerked at your touch, pulling away from you, but you chased him, tugging his hand back into your grasp and finally crossing the chasm between you.

“That wasn’t you, Wolffe.” Your voice was quiet. You didn’t want to startle him, not while you finally were holding his hand in yours again. The warmth of his skin sent a shiver to your core as you ran your thumb over his rough palm. 

“It might as well have been.” The scorn in his voice was cutting. “If I’d been in the air or if he’d been on the ground, I would’ve taken that shot. I can’t hide from that.”

“It was Palpatine. All of it was.” You moved to clasp his broad hand in both of yours, “I know you, Wolffe.”

He returned your grasp as his achingly familiar fingers dug into your skin.

“I missed you, cyare.” Wolffe finally met your eyes again. His brow was soft in the dimly lit ship and the gentleness in his look was a sharp contrast to the hungry way his hands gripped yours. “I thought you were dead and that I would never be able to tell you…”

Your heart fluttered. He raised his free hand to your face, tracing along your hairline and down your jaw until his palm came to rest on your cheek. You tilted your head to rest into his palm, your breath light and rushed at his sudden closeness.

“I love you.” Wolffe finally said. “I always have. Even when I thought you were gone and there was nothing I could ever do to see you again. That love stayed with me, the thought of you was like a spark. It spurred me to find Bail, to get my brothers out. I just knew I had to be the man that you always saw in me.”

Tears slipped out from behind your eyes. It was far too late. You should have said all this and more years ago but all you feel was grateful that you could say it now. 

“I love you too, Wolffe.” You tried not to choke on the words.  “I always have. I should have looked harder. I should have torn the Empire apart for you.”

“We’ll tear them apart together now, cyare.” With a large thumb, he brushed the tears from your cheek.

You stood. Without another word or releasing the hand you still held, you pulled him towards your cabin. He followed like a shadow, just skirting your look but never more than a step behind you. 

When the blast door shut behind you, you spun to face him. For a moment, time stood still. You were closer now than you had been in a long time. He looked the same but the few years apart were still evident on both of your faces. Small lines and scars had etched themselves along his skin, and you could see his eyes tracing maps of the slight newness in you. But, despite the differences, the look in his umber orbs hadn’t changed at all. Cool and calm and, yet, still endless hungry. 

You stepped towards him, closing the distance between you. Wolfe lifted a hand to your waist and then stilled, as if he was afraid any other movement would startle you away. Your breath became slow as gravity tugged you towards his lips. You raised a palm to his stubbled cheek and pressed yourself to him. Your lips found his softly at first. Gentle, chaste kisses passed between you as you relearned the taste of him. His lips molded perfectly to yours still, as if he had kissed you every day for the last year. Then, as your mouth slid open and his tongue found yours, it all came rushing back; the way his heart beat against your chest, the heat of his heavy breath mixing with yours, stealing the very air from your lungs. Your teeth clashed as the kiss became anything but gentle. Both of his hands found your waist and fingertips dug into your flesh. You were used to Wolffe leaving marks. His grip had always been strong, and you liked the reminders when you were on separate missions, it was like he still held your body. Now, his hold was different. It was desperate. He clung to you as though he might lose you. And you held onto him the same way as your arms snaked around his neck.

Somehow in the tangle of limbs, you managed to guide him backwards to your bed. Gently pulling him down, his weight landed on you in a way that you had ached for on long and lonely nights. Wolffe broke your kiss for a moment. He stood at the edge of the bed, leveraging his position to find the hem of your shirt and strip it from your body. He turned his furious attention to your pants, tugging them off and tossing them aside. Wolffe bit his lip as his eyes skirted over your naked form. You reached up for him, tugging at his own shirt, silently begging him to join you. 

“I missed you,” Wolffe murmured, desperation edging into his voice as he pulled his shirt over his head.

His pants went next and your breath caught in your throat. His body was every inch as perfect as you remember. Study shoulders, the left one tattooed, his broad chest, strong legs, and his hard member already swollen and throbbing, all for you. 

Wolffe was back on you before you could reply. Any words, any thoughts at all became a low, pathetic mewl that left your parted lips as he found your neck. His mouth traced over your bare skin, pressing smoldering kisses to your flesh. His weathered and battle-worn hands weaved their way through your fingers and pinned your arms above your head as he found your chest. Wolffe nipped and licked at the soft flesh, raising your skin and bringing your nipples to sensitive points. His lips wrapped around one bud as he released your hands so he could tease the other with slow, gentle circles. 

“Wolffe.” You moaned as you writhed beneath him already. 

His hand dropped lower, tracing its way down your skin and leaving a trail of pearled flesh. Wolffe followed the crease of your hip until he brushed up against your lower lips. He softly teased your entrance for a moment before a singular thick finger sunk into your molten core. You bucked into his hand at the touch, another lewd moan escaping you.

Your vision clouded as Wolffe added a second finger and began to slowly fuck you with his hand. His eyes never left your face, his pupils dark and blown as he watched you come apart beneath him. His thumb found your sensitive mound and you cried out.

“I need you. Please.” You begged, desperate to feel all of him.

“Gods, I missed the way you taste.” Wolffe grinned as he slipped his hand from inside you and brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean. Then he captured your lips again with a promise. “Later.”

You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss as Wolffe flashed a shadow of his playful side. There was so much you missed about him. So much time to make up for. Quickly though, your mind went blank with need again as Wolffe slotted the tip of his member at your soaking entrance. 

“Slowly,” you whispered to him as he began to press in. “It’s been a long time.”

Wolffe nodded, and you noticed a small breath of relief.  

“I won’t last.” He warned through gritted teeth.

“Me either.” You ran a hand along his brow, fingers dancing across bronzed skin, grazing top of the long silver scar and trailing down his cheek.

Wolffe pressed his lips against yours again. Your tongues intertwined as he inched forward slowly, entering you. He moved in sync with your body, letting you adjust to every advance before he pushed again. Finally, he sheathed himself fully within you with a throaty groan. You clenched, an involuntary reaction to how full he made you. His fingertips dug into your hips at the small movement and a whimper left Wolffe’s lips.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He muttered. 

“Okay, okay,” Any pain had passed and you were quickly becoming desperate again. “Please move. Please fuck me”

All of Wolffe’s restraint snapped at your plea. His thick cock dragged across your center as he thrusted into you. You canted your hips up to meet him, any pain now replaced by a heavenly stretch that made you pulse around him. His head fell to your neck and his lips latched onto the hollow along your collarbone. You reached for him, gripping a hand into his curls as you began to tremble beneath him. His thumb found your clit, drawing rough circles and sending wave after wave of pleasure through your core.

Finally and still all too quickly, the chord in your belly snapped and you came around him, shaking and crying out. Wolffe followed you, emptying himself inside you with one last thrust.

Hours later, when the sun was surely high in the sky, but you never raised the blinds and Rex had the good decency not to knock, you traced the tattooed star map of the Abregado system. It started on his chest, over his heart, and trailed down his left shoulder to his bicep. He’d had the tattoo as long as you’d known him, and you found that every line was still etched into your memory. His eyes fluttered as you traced the ink. For a moment, this could have been any night. Master Plo could still be alive. His brothers could be in their own bunks outside the door, waiting to tease you both as they helped you sneak back to your quarters. But it wasn’t. You’d lost all that. Somehow though, you’d found each other.

“I can’t believe this.” Wolffe finally spoke as if he could hear the inner workings of your mind. He murmured into the top of your head, his hand trailing down the bare skin of your waist. “I thought I lost you.”

“Never.” You whispered as you clung to him. “You always have me.”

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2023 - Free Day 3 - 17. Coven Characters: The Coven, Nyx Blackmoon Rating: Teen Summary: The Nyx Project Science Team is not best pleased with their new moniker Notes: Takes place at least a decade before the calamity maybe more. Questionable canonicity; I reserve the right to heavily rework it later.

The converted cargo space in the Garlean gunship was cramped, loaded with as much equipment as the Nyx Project science team could get into the space. The only clear spot was around the twin doors that led to the outside of the underbelly of the craft, where unit 12 'Nyx' now stood, her arms held out stiffly from her while two of the scientists worked around her.

"That'll do it," said Papanan, stepping back. He looked over to where Cata was standing, watching their progress, and he gave the Garlean a sharp salute. "Explosive harness secured, mal Praetatus."

Cato just nodded, distantly. Liana continued to fuss over Nyx for a few moments. She had to be loud to be heard over the gunship's engines, but tried not to be so loud that the entire bay would hear. "You should still have good freedom of movement, and none of the functions of your armor have been hampered in any way... So long as you don't become enthralled, nothing will come of this, okay? This is just a safety precaution." She crouched to look into Nyx's staring eyes, and despite herself, held their gaze. "I'm sorry," she said, too quiet to be heard, but she knew Nyx would see it.

"I find the situation understandable, given the full extent of my capabilities," said Nyx. An ancient directive, deep in their core logic, made itself felt. "Indeed, were our situations reversed, I would have destroyed me rather than risk the potential harm I represent."

"Well, if we had done that," said Liana, looking over at Papanan, "then we wouldn't have had the opportunity to learn and find new experiences, now would we?"

Nyx's stare did not waver, her eyes tracking Liana's movements. "And now that I am operational the risk I present is obvious. I still would have destroyed me."

Papanan nodded, as overhead, the internal announcement system crackled to life. "Twenty klicks out. We will approach from two klicks over head, then begin drop sequence. Mission set to be on the clock at time now, two minutes."

"Well, I'd rather hoped we'd be able to get it to come to those conclusions on its own," he grumbled to Liana as she moved out of the way to make space for him. He came to stand squarely in front of Nyx, hands on his hips as he looked up at her. "Unit twelve. Do you remember the Ul'dahn dilemma?"

"That simulation game about adversarial cooperation. Yes."

"And what was the goal?"

"Maximize score."

"Very good! And how did you do that?"

"Analyzing the point values of various stances during each phase, and attempting to predict the stance of the opposing player."

"Alright. And what if there is no other player, hmn?"

"Then there is no game."

"Correct. No game, no points, right? What's that tell us?"

"One minute." crackled on the overhead speaker, and Papanan made a rude gesture at it.

"I am uncertain," said Nyx.

"Well, can you win without points?"

"No."

"What do you need?"

"A person to play with."

"Just so, my overwrought construct! You need the player. No player, no points!"

"Then there would be no point to the game."

"Ah, but that's part of the catch. You're going to get the game anyway. You can opt out, sure, once. But otherwise, in order to get anything, you have to sit down at the table. You may not always get to choose the players, but to get anything, you always need them, and you always have to choose to play the game. And we, my dear, we play the game."

"And you have chosen me as a player."

"Just so! And the only way to learn?"

"Is to play the game. I believe I understand."

Papanan nodded as the speaker came on again. "Thirty seconds!"

"Getting clear!" yelled Papanan as he scampered off the bay doors. "Good luck. I believe in you," said Liana as she too quickly moved away, leaving Nyx in the middle of the cargo hold.

There was a countdown from ten seconds, and then the bay doors fell open underneath Nyx. The various scientists hovered around their equipment and hung on as wind whipped by underneath the craft. Nyx, for their part, just held in midair, aloft through some trick of their internal Allagan construction.

Nyx looked down, their eyes searching the ground, their ears rotating independently of each other, sweeping back and forth.

"Eikon located. Aetheric limit identified. Initial classification 'Eta', singular primary elemental aspect of erde. Ready to engage."

Liana checked with the pilot, and nodded. "We are go, we are go, we are go. Commence mission. Nyx unit 12, fix release."

Nyx let go of gravity, dropping out of the bottom of the gunship. Liana watched as they dropped away, falling down to where the dread Eikon lay.

Cascading peered over his radio instruments, watching telemetry, while Miki got on the radio. "Nyx, Miki, radio check." Liana picked up a headset to listen, and caught the end of "-eck sat."

"The Eikon is the enemy," said Miki.

"And the enemy exists only to be destroyed," intoned Nyx back.

Liana grimaced. So it began.

~*~

The soldiers and support staff of the Castrum found themselves ducking to the side of hallways and making themself scarce in the space in front of Cato as he marched down to section nine, where the Nyx Project was currently housed out of. He held a crumpled up news sheet tightly in a fist, the scowl on his face making clear his fury to any who looked in his way. Nobody saw fit to get between him and his destination, until at last, he stood in front of the several tonze door that led to section nine.

The machinery to open it whirred to activity, and it began to open, achingly slowly as always. Comically slowly, in fact, Cato came to find. While he had managed to remain in motion, he had been able to maintain his temper. Faced with an implacable foe who cared not for him, however, he found that as he watched it move, ilm by ilm, his anger broke. By the time it had swung open far enough to admit him, his anger had bled down to something more like annoyance, or perhaps just irritation.

He walked into the labs to find the other scientists at work. Nyx was in a sitting position in her cradle, her left arm partially disassembled. Myomar and fibers spilled out of the socket there and had been carefully pulled to lay out flat, while the off gold endoskeletal frame had its joint disassembled, and some of the armature braces had been fully separated. Papanan was doing some kind of work that required the multitools and a magnifying lens on his forehead, while Cascading seemed to be helping him. Miki was taking measurements or notes on a tomestone. Liana seemed to be reading something to Nyx. Nyx, for its part, turned and watched Cato's movements silently.

He'd long grown used to the staring.

"Have any of you heard the latest? Maybe over the radio?" asked Cato.

Liana just shook her head while Cascading responded. "You know radio signal doesn't reach all the way down here, mal Praetatus. We can only get what comes down the fiber," he said, as he gestured at the large communication signal tube that connected to the terminals and ran up into the ceiling.

Cato handed the news sheet off to Liana, and then stood back, crossing his arms. Everyone else save Papanan crowded around her to read over her shoulder.

"What is it now, governor decided to piss away another quarterly budget on palatial gardens?" said Papanan.

"No," said Liana. "...today, we are the news."

Papanan stopped his work. "...shite."

Cascading's voice rumbled. "No good deed, I suppose."

Liana read part of the report out loud. "A coven of witches choosing to embrace the ways of the Empire have learned to turn their magicks into a boon. They drew forth one of the kami, and using Garlean magitek, it was captured. Through technological prowess, it was encased in a suit of magitek armor, which allowed Imperial forces to control its will. Empowering the suit, and using this magitek marvel, Garlean forces struck a decisive blow against the enemies of the empire today, by turning the kami on one of the dread Eikons, bringing it low and saving Imperial citizens from the threat of enthrallment... what is this?"

"The Frumentarium should have suppressed any news of our action," said Miki earnestly. "We're still under a 'most secret' writ! Not even the provincial government is supposed to know the details of what we do."

"I suspect the Frumentarium is who told the journalist about our action. I mean - look. Witches? That's nonsense to the locals, but mention of a kami? Remember the rumors around Unit 12 when we had it doing surveillance for them? A creepy spirit that listened in on otherwise secret conversation? I'm not sure what game Aemilia is playing at, but I'm sure this is his work, and I don't want to be part of it," said Cato.

Papanan made a thoughtful noise. "Hmn. Well, consider though, the provincial government still doesn't know what we do. Just the hogwash version of it. Clever."

"Or stupid. I wish she would have checked with me first at least. Give us a chance to make our own cover story! We are supposed to lay low. And I'm supposed to convince these people to give us better funding. I could've told them we'd made strides in Garlean magitek armor and bolstered a common conscript, not... not this utter bullshit about magic and witches and what else."

"It does make for a good misdirect though, you have to agree," said Papanan.

Miki looked unhappy. "It... does play on the superstitions of my people well. They are like to wholly believe this story, instead of suspecting that we have uncovered and repurposed Allagan technology. You might be able to use that with the governor."

"The governor isn't going to be interested in more occult superstitious nonsense. Especially not after the whole incident with the reapers. We're supposed to be becoming a new more civilized nation, not regressing into barbarism," groused Cato.

Nyx's gaze turned to Papanan. "I believe that these are political machinations, correct?"

Papanan nodded. "Just so."

"How would you apply the principles of the Ul'dahn Dilemma to the situation?"

"I wouldn't, not what I've taught you of it so far, these sorts of things are too complex for it, we'd have to talk more about... ah, but you may be on to something!"

"She is?" "It is?" asked Cascading and Cato at the same time.

Pananan grinned and waved a finger in the air. "Of course! You think the Frumentarium is behind this, correct? That really means only one person around here, like you said. Our dear friend and benefactor, Aemilia."

"...of course," said Cato. "I still do not see the applicability of your little game."

"Well, you're playing it and you know the player. She doesn't do things for no reason, now does she? So the question is - cooperate or betray? You could try to undermine her story with your own, or even the truth!, if you like. Or... you could play along, and see where it goes. Either way, it seems you're overdue for your seat at the table."

Cato crossed his arms, and frowned. "...well, unlike your game, at least I can speak with her and see what the play even is."

"That's a good plan," said Liana. "The Frumentarium does have a vested interest in the Nyx project, being as they have paid for a significant part of it. You should see what she has to say."

Papanan winked at Nyx. "And now you get to learn about multiple players - as well as the extended iterative game."

"The winning strategy in an extended iterative game is to not cooperate on the last stage," said Nyx. "What stage is Praetatus on?"

"Ah, well, that's the thing about multiple players in the iterative game," said Papanan. "You never know when the last stage is."

~*~

Cato did not get the chance to speak to Aemilia as soon as he would have liked.

Almost immediately upon leaving section 9, a courier conscript was quick to find him, handing him an invitation to a meeting at the palace within scant few bells. An attempt to find Aemilia before then was made, but he failed to find her before he had to get ready to leave.

Ultimately, he found her. At the same meeting.

The governor was present, as was Aemilia, the legatus, and several other members of rank in both the Imperial and local government. While the province was under Garlemald's control, at least a semblance of lip service was played to the idea that it was still under its own governship. A sham, anyone with any real influence knew, but one that still required all the players to play their parts.

So while the legatus was the real authority in the region in actuality, at least on paper, it was the governor who everyone answered to in the province.

And it was the governor who had apparently decided it was time for an impromptu check of the state of his province.

Cato found his seat at the table opposite Aemilia. She glanced over him, scanning him from head to toe in that way that always made him feel somehow as though he had been caught naked and then promptly dropped out of existence as she looked away, but other than that, her attention seemed to be fully on the meeting and the other members present as each spoke in turn. Cato for his part only paid the slightest bit of attention, worrying about the others, and his position in this weird hierarchy.

After all, the Nyx Project was still something of a failure.

At last, the governor turned his attention to him.

"And ah, esteemed mal Praetatus... I am given to understand that your project is the one behind the Eikon's defeat the other day? Care to explain that?"

Cato glanced across at Aemilia. The attention which she had shared with other speakers that day was now his and his alone, but her expression was unreadable.

He cleared his throat.

"Ah, well. Surely the lordship has heard the rumors and been made aware of the news themself," he said, carefully. "We have indeed figure out how to harness the power of a kami in the defense of imperial citizens."

The legatus looked over at him, with the kind of small smile on his face that came with being in on a shared joke, as the governor nodded jovially. "Well, yes, yes, and what a spectacular showing it was. If I might ask, next time, if either sciences division or the military divisions might keep me informed of the going ons in my own province? I mean, yes, splendid work, but perhaps a little trust could go a long way, yes yes? I do hope to speak more with you about this later, mal Praetatus."

"Of course, your lordship."

The meeting moved on, and so did Aemilia's attention. Cato collapsed in his seat.

He was going to have to ask Papanan about that stupid game later, he just knew it.

Once the meeting broke later, he did not spare any time for pleasantries, instead choosing to head back to the castrum. As he strode down back city ways, he became aware of having a shadow, and he slowed his pace.

If she didn't want him to know she was there, he wouldn't. Since she did, he assumed she wanted to say something.

"Mark me surprised, mal Praetatus. I did not expect you to go for our little cover story. I was prepared to let it go."

"I knew it was you," he said. "The kami bit was too on-the-nose from the field reports. But witches? Seriously?"

She sighed dramatically as she fell in step next to him. "Yes, I blame the cultural translation team. It is so hard to find good help these days. But a good ally, on the other hand, well."

Cato did not break stride. "I work on behalf of the Empire. I assumed you had your reasons."

"Indeed. The kami remarks were not entirely my handiwork. Your little Unit 12 did exemplary work, but I suppose large scale combat with an Eikon requires far less finesse and more brute force foregoing subterfuge than reconnaissance. Too many people saw it at work. We could have suppressed it... but at such grand cost. Far easier to tell half a lie instead."

"I wish we could have been informed."

"I had to work quickly. As you can tell. If we had more time, we could have avoided that little witch snafu. As it is, the locals get to learn a bit about traditions far away from home, and we get our coverup. As well as a little bit of a boon to sell to that idiot governor... for now."

"I understand."

"I can tell. Clever man. I appreciate clever. Clever might be rewarded."

"All I ask is to continue to have a say in my project. Other than that, I continue to serve the Empire."

"So dutiful. So noted. Very well. I'll be in touch."

And then, like a whisper on the wind, she was just simply gone, and Cato stopped to look at where she had been walking along side him, feeling faintly startled. Once it was obvious she was indeed gone and not coming back, however, he continued on to the lab.

~*~

The Nyx Project science team had assembled in the main central laboratory, one of the places large enough for all of them. Ayane oen Ka, the combat trainer for Unit 12, had been recalled back, and the Au Ra was now leaning against Nyx heavily, one arm draped over her shoulder. For her part, Nyx was standing stock still at attention. Both were in military dress uniforms. The rest of the team were also dressed in formal wear, though each of them wore a lab coat over that. Only Cato was not present.

Nobody was certain what the meeting was about. Miki had forwarded the idea that the recent change in governship may have had something to do with it, but that had only resulted in Papanan making a joke about how perhaps Garlemald had grown tired of paying for ridiculous gardens. The group had fallen to idle small talk when Cato walked in, Aemilia with him.

"Mal Praetatus," said Datum, standing to attention to execute a smart salute. "The entire science team is assembled."

"Thank you, lux Lorimus. You all know of Aemilia sas Valentina, of course, our contact with the Frumentarium. She wished to speak with the team."

Cato walked over to stand with the team, while Aemilia paced back and forth in front of them, looking each of them up and down in turn.

She paused, briefly, in front of Ayane. "Welcome back. You are being formally reassigned to continue combat training duties for the singular Nyx unit."

Ayane almost purred as she responded. "Understood. It will be a delight."

"I'm sure," said Aemilia. She turned to the rest of the team.

"Your efforts on behalf of the Empire have not gone unnoticed," she said. "And the Empire rewards its loyal subjects so. Funding for continued development of the Nyx project has been... approved. The original goals of the Frumentarium in funding this little experiment of yours are of course dashed. The idea of that thing being any kind of reasonable deep cover agent are deeply misguided. However, as a stealth combatant, it is perhaps among our best, maybe even being able to serve as a replacement for those traitorous reapers. And when it comes to the Imperial mandate against Eikons, well. Excellence nonpareil.

"To that end, this is the official end of the Nyx Project. You are now all part of the Anti-Eikon Infantry Unit. You may of course continue your work without disruption. If we could only bring even one more of those tremendously useful units online, that would be a great boon to the Empire. Failing that, we shall make do with the one."

Aemilia walked to stand in front of Nyx, and crouched a little to carefully examine their face.

"As for it, in keeping with the cover story which you are all oh-so-familiar with, your new designation is Nyx Blackmoon. Acknowledge."

"Change designation from Unit 12 to Nyx Blackmoon. Confirm," said Nyx in that flat monotone of theirs.

"Confirmed."

"Designation Nyx Blackmoon, confirmed. Change accepted."

Aemilia smiled thinly at them, and stood up. "As for the rest of you, externally, you are now the witches of Coven 9. Cato mal Praetatus?"

"Yes?"

"You are now head of science sector for this Castrum. Pray utilize the resources well. Ah! Speaking of which, before I go... here. A gift."

Aemilia produced a delivery tube, which she held out to Cato. He frowned as he took it, opening one end of it, and pulling out a large blueprint, which he unfurled.

It was the designs for a new model of Garlean gunship. Larger than the one the team currently had access to, the markings on the blueprint indicated it was still one early planning stages, with plenty of options for modification or enhancement. It was sleek and long, with a large primary gun located just under the forward bridge, and several fine aero fins for steering.

"The standard model for that type should roll out slowly over the next few summers. I've earmarked one in particular specifically for you to modify for the purposes of deploying your little war machine."

She smiled at Cato. "Loyalty, of course, comes with appropriate rewards, mal Praetatus. Don't disappoint."

With that, she turned and left the science team, who each found themselves stunned by their seeming sudden change in fortune.

Nyx looked at Cato.

"You cooperated."

Cato looked at the door Aemilia had left through.

"Yeah," he said. "Guess I did."

[stridingwriter]

Leo + Julius

Featuring: 3375.

A small glimpse into how they celebrate the coming year even through loss and keeping traditions.

Leonardo enjoys February even if he's not one for the cold. Rather, he's not one for winter at all but beggars can't be choosers. This year, for the first time in years, Julius invites him over for dinner. It's a home cooked meal by yours truly that makes Leo wonder what they could have been.

(Cato would have liked this meal, he thinks instead.)

"So you finally learned your mother's fish recipe," he prompts instead as he pulls out the chair.

Julius snorts. "It was only a matter of time. And she misses you. I've been calling her and she keeps on asking what happened to you."

"I'm a doctor." It's not much of an answer, rather, it explains nothing but he still says it regardless.

"Surely you have some time to take off."

"That's what I'm doing now." Rather, he's doing it for Julius because it's been five years since they lost Cato, thus, five years since they've done this.

It's difficult to ignore the empty chair at the circular table. But Cato’s not here, rather, he won’t ever join them for a meal ever again. 

Then:

"The food's getting cold. Sit, we have time today."

-

Technically, Leo isn’t supposed to sneak in food to the Faculty. But in reality, he’s beyond giving two shits about what they want. They may call it a lab to see how things act but at the same time, he’s never seen any of their subjects treated like a person. 3375 included. 

It’s why he brings some leftovers for them. It’s the most he can do for them in these trying times. 

Blight doesn’t even question why he has a box with him. He supposes that she’s tired of whatever he says at this point. 

Then when he opens the door to 3375’s quarters, Leo watches as their eyes brighten up and how they leap to their feet. 

“It’s been a long time, doctor,” they state even though it’s only been a week. “I thought you forgot about me.” 

“We see each other every seven days.” 

That’s when they see the box in his hands, the leftovers from his meal with Julius. He hopes it makes them feel less lonely these days. No one should have to spend this time of the year alone. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to bring me anything,” 3375 then says with a wave of their hand. It’s at times like this that makes them seem like a young boy, one that’s far too ashamed to ask for anything. Really, it makes Leo smile, just a bit. 

“It’s certainly better than the food they serve here, I’ll tell you that.” He sets the box on the table, then the chopsticks on top of it before he pulls out the chair from the usual spot. “A friend made it and I wanted to bring some to you.” 

A beat. 

When 3375 looks at him, it’s one that’s skeptical as if they can’t believe he’s doing this because he wants to. “Why?” 

Leo shrugs. “It’s the Lunar New Year and I thought you could do with something nice.” 

3375 then laughs, one that makes the air around him crackle with electricity. It’s glee, sheer glee and giddiness that they can have this for themselves. “I’m honored, doctor.” 

“Call me Leo, 3375.”

[beepbeepbeepjeep]

previous / next

[cw: brief description of accident, death, and injuries; experiences that can be likened to dissociation and hallucination]

/— 5: Erasing the Edges —/

As gruesome as it is, Savannah is pulled toward the overturned jeep. They walk to it with bated breath. A few feet away from the crash, officers attempt to get rid of the crowd. She steps right past them and ducks under the caution tape.

The back of the jeep is open, putting them all on display. She could still see hints of the mess under the shrouds.

Reality steadily begins to seep in, like blood staining pure white cloth. Metal cuts through their bodies, still shining. Still sharp. 

They shut their eyes and take the rest of it in. The clamor, the heat, the sharp scents of blood and gas. It’s all familiar, but not like the low crackle of a fireplace. It’s more like the ear-piercing booms of fireworks still ringing after they’ve long dissipated. It’s haunting, like war, like tragedy, like death.

Something unlocks in her. She slips back into a dream.

They're falling, faster and faster. There's a chorus of screams, but no faces to connect it to. It's too bright to see anything. Are they staring straight into the sun?

She can't turn to see where they're landing. No—she can't move at all. They've gone limp like a rag doll, limbs fluttering hopelessly above them.

Then it all stops. Her vision cuts to jarring darkness. She hears frantic voices bouncing around, discussing… something. They're unsure what, but they just know they're a part of it. It's as if she's sitting backstage, waiting for her cue.

They want to stay and finally figure out the meaning of all this, but they feel their grip on the vision fading. They wait and wait, and it’s almost time for their entrance, but…

She finds herself back in the jeepney—the magic one, where everyone’s in one piece. Her head hurts, and she still feels a little lost.

Cato’s the first one she notices again. “Is everything alright? You seemed dissociated. You wouldn’t leave the scene of the accident. We had to guide you back here.”

“Yes, I’m alright.” She pauses. “What about you? It must have been horrifying seeing how exactly you…”

His brows furrow. “I’m fine.”

And they fall into silence. Savannah sighs. Cato clearly isn’t alright. Who would be after seeing their own corpse pulled out of a car crash? 

Then again, she wasn’t very honest herself. Maybe she can encourage a little more communication.

“Actually, I’m quite shaken up,” they blurt. Cato only slightly turns toward them, but they take this as enough of a sign to continue.

“I’ve been seeing—hearing? No—sensing things.”

Now this has his full attention. “Things only you can sense? Like hallucinations?”

“I wouldn’t call them hallucinations.” She purses her lips. “They’re more like… flashbacks? Like I’ve felt them all before.” 

He stays quiet, so she elaborates. “I’ve been having these visions—well, they’re more than just visions, but you know what I mean—I think they’re related to the accident. I get these feelings of falling, and I hear these voices that I know I’ve heard before, but I can’t put names to them.”

Cato’s face is tight with concentration. “Do these come with any other symptoms? Anything you think is related?”

Symptoms? Strange way to put it, but sure. She gives it a good think. “I get headaches. The visions make me dizzy. And I have trouble sleeping.”

“How long has this been going on for?”

“I’m not sure… I’ve had these visions for as long as I remember.”

“Have you had similar experiences in life? Traumatic events?”

“No…”

“You don’t need to get into the specifics.”

“There are no specifics.” They shrug. “I’ve never been in any accidents this severe and… Well. I guess I won’t be in any other ones now.”

He looks away, deep in thought. “Flashbacks, but not connected to any actual events…”

“Well, they feel real. Like I’m connected to them somehow.”

“Are you taking anything?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean medication. Drugs. Of any kind.”

“No?” She doesn’t like where this is going.

“I won’t judge.”

“I really don’t take any medication.”

"Well, what about—”

“You know you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Hide.” She bites on the inside of her cheek. “I came here looking for a conversation. Not a doctor’s appointment.”

“Oh.” He’s silent for a bit. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay!”

Cato looks at her weirdly. “There’s something wrong with me. How is that okay?”

“Well, I think there’s something a little wrong inside all of us.” Savannah’s eyes drift around the jeep.

Cato does not stop looking at her weirdly. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

“No, it isn’t, but you know what is?”

“What?”

“It means you’re not alone.” They lean over a little to bump shoulders with him. “There are people you can talk to. They’ll understand. Or listen at the very least.”

He breaks eye contact to contemplate this.

“You don’t have to share right now if that’s uncomfy. We all just saw a lot of it, anyway,” she adds. “My point is that we have all the time in the world.”

This is great. Savannah is going to get a good grade in friendship: something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve. Cato will be so befriended by the end of this.

Finally, he turns back to them. “Fine.”

A smile breaks out on her face. This is going so great.

“But for the record, if you need anyone to talk to about your episodes—”

“Visions.”

He sighs. “Visions… I’m here to listen.” Savannah’s shoes happily tap away on the metal floor. “Thank you.”

previous / next

[echoes-of-the-land]

Chapter 5: Crossroads of Conflict

As the Lakes and their party approached the land that would become Freehold Township and Manalapan, the air was crisp with the chill of fall, right before dusk. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the dense woodlands and rolling hills. The earthy scent of damp soil mingled with fallen leaves, while the distant calls of hawks soared overhead. Late summer crickets chirped in the background, their rhythmic serenade blending with the rustle of leaves and the soft hoots of owls preparing for the night.

Good a place as any other in this strange and unfamiliar land, the group had decided to camp for the night, building a crackling fire to ward off the chill, though daylight still lingered. The women worked busily, heating water for the tea they had brought from England, the steam rising softly into the cool air. Gathered around the flames, weary faces animated as the settlers exchanged stories and dreams for their future. Eliza, strong-willed and determined, looked at her husband Sam, whose nervous energy contrasted her steadiness.

“We’ll build a community here,” Eliza declared, her voice filled with hope. “Together, we can create something great.”

Sam, slightly unsure, replied, “But I’ve never built anything more than a chicken coop. What do we know about farming or homes?” The comment drew a few chuckles from the other settlers, but the reality of the statement was clear. Some settlers lacked the experience and skills to set up homesteads in this vast wilderness.

“What we know is enough to start,” Eliza reassured him, sensing his hesitation. “We’ll learn as we go. That’s how we’ll make it work.”

Among the settlers was Edward, a slave owner who had brought along Cato, Anthony, and three young women—two of whom were barely in their teens. Their clothing reflected the hardships of their journey: rough, threadbare dresses and shirts, the fabric stained from travel. The young women moved quietly, aware of their place within the group, often exchanging fearful glances. Cato, broad-shouldered and resilient, carried a quiet strength, while Anthony, younger and more fragile, wore a look of subdued resignation.

As the settlers discussed their plans, Edward glanced at Anthony. “You’ll help us build and farm. Your work is important,” he said, the lack of empathy in his tone evident.

Meanwhile, just a few miles away, Chief Tamak sat at the edge of his camp, reflecting on the recent festival. The sounds of the forest surrounded him—the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of songbirds, and the gentle croaking of frogs near the lake. Although the crops thrived, the tribe lacked sufficient meat to sustain them through the winter. He called upon three braves, including Kimo, to venture north of Lake Topanemus in search of game.

“Kimo,” Tamak said, his voice firm, “you must show loyalty to our tribe. I have not yet given my blessing for your union with Nia. Prove yourself on this hunt.” He offered only partial explanations for his hesitation, keeping hidden the full extent of his concerns. It was enough for now—just enough to buy himself time to consider Kimo’s request.

As Kimo and the other braves ventured into the woods, their attire reflected both their cultural heritage and practical needs. They wore leggings made from soft, tanned animal hides, allowing for ease of movement through the underbrush, adorned with simple beadwork that showcased their tribal identity. Their upper bodies were mostly bare, save for light shirts made of woven fibers or another piece of hide, keeping them cool while allowing freedom of motion. Necklaces crafted from shells and animal bones hung around their necks, each piece telling a story or signifying a personal connection to their past.

On their heads, they wore simple headbands made from leather or cloth, sometimes decorated with feathers from birds they had hunted, symbolizing strength and connection to nature. Kimo and his companions carried bows crafted from sturdy wood, strung with sinew, and quivers filled with arrows tipped with sharpened stone or bone. They moved with silent grace, their feet clad in soft moccasins that barely made a sound against the forest floor, allowing them to approach their prey without startling it. Their skin was often adorned with symbols painted in natural dyes, representing their tribe and personal achievements, adding to their aura of strength and unity as they embarked on the hunt.

Suddenly, a large buck appeared, grazing peacefully in a clearing. The majestic creature stood still, its ears twitching, oblivious to the men nearby. Justik, one of the braves, drew back his bowstring, but in a moment of uncharacteristic clumsiness, his aim faltered. The arrow flew wide and struck Anthony, the young male slave, who had wandered too close to the edge of the woods, sending a startled scream echoing through the trees.

The arrow pierced Anthony’s arm, and he let out cries of pain, disbelief etched across his face. Kimo’s heart raced; guilt flooded his mind. He had to confront this unknown danger. Three slave women immediately rushed forward, attempting to tend to Anthony, but their hands shook with fear and uncertainty. They knew little about treating wounds, and their confusion only deepened Anthony's distress. Kimo observed them struggling, realizing they lacked the knowledge needed to help him effectively.

As the first sips of hot tea were shared, a moment of hesitation lingered among the Indians. They awkwardly lifted the delicate English china cups, their fingers unsure on the fragile handles. Yet as the warm liquid touched their lips, they seemed to find pleasure in the unexpected taste.

A peaceful silence enveloped the group, filled only with the soft sounds of the evening—rustling leaves, distant calls of birds settling down for the night, and the occasional crackle of the fire. But amid this tentative camaraderie, Kimo’s mind raced with worry. He glanced back at Anthony, who remained in pain, the arrow still embedded in his arm.

A desperate clarity washed over him: he needed Nia, known to his tribe as a great healer, skilled in the art of tending wounds and mending broken spirits. The settlers and even Edward didn’t seem to care if Anthony lived or died at this point; their indifference was evident as they stood back, eyes wide with confusion and uncertainty. Only Kimo and Nia could help save him.

Kimo focused intently on the urgency of the situation, formulating a plan. He had to get to Nia—she would know how to tend to Anthony properly. Ignoring the settlers' wary glances, he took a deep breath. If only he could bridge the divide between them, perhaps they could find a way to work together to save Anthony’s life.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in Kimo’s mind. He turned to Justik, who stood nearby, still shaken from the chaos. “Justik,” Kimo said, his voice firm yet urgent, “you must go to the village. Find Nia. Tell her that Anthony needs her. We can’t wait.”

Justik nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. Without another word, he turned and darted into the trees, his figure quickly swallowed by the darkness. Kimo watched him go, a flicker of hope igniting within him. He prayed that Nia would come in time to save Anthony, bridging their two worlds with her healing hands.

As the fire crackled softly behind him, Kimo returned his gaze to the settlers and the struggling women. He knew the path ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but he held onto the hope that, together, they could find a way forward—one that honored both their lives and the life of the man who lay wounded before them.

[beautycursed]

[ KILL ] : cato kills glimmer's attacker.

Meme Source X

"Make it two! You're slacking tonight." Glimmer's chapped and slightly bloodied lips curled into a rare sight within the arena—a smirk. The atmosphere crackled with the thrill of their night hunt, the challenge hanging in the air like an unspoken dare. Each rustle of leaves and snap of twigs became a potential target in their game to see who could claim the most small prey.

A silent and cunning figure had slipped through the inky foliage with a feline grace, tailing the duo. The boy from District 10. The boy Glimmer had stabbed and tried to kill so early on. A boy with a vengeance. The District 10 boy, fueled by a vendetta, almost got the jump on Glimmer while she was retrieving her arrow from a rabbit. The night held its breath as the sound of his weight snapping a single branch drew the attention of both the career's.

Cato, however, proved to be the unsung hero of the night. In a blur of movement, he surged forward, his instincts finely tuned to the subtle shifts in the night. As the attacker lifted his knife, with a commanding strength, Cato seized Glimmer by the shoulders and hurled her to the ground with a forceful urgency just as the District 10 boy's weapon slashed through the air, meeting nothing but empty space.

As Glimmer collided with the earth, breath caught in her throat. Cato's sword sliced through the air, visible only by the blade glistening in the phantom light of the moon.

Just as quickly as it had began, it was over. A sharp gasp followed by desperate, shallow breaths as the boy tried to take in as much air possible. To fill his already collapsing lungs.

In the ensuing stillness, Glimmer slowly rose from the ground, her eyes locking onto Cato's. The unspoken gratitude lingered in the air, a fragile thread weaving between them. She knew this alliance was more than just a momentary rescue—it was a delicate dance of reciprocity, unspoken debts. He had saved her and something deep within her mind told her it wasn't out of the kindness of his heart. It had to be a favor. Something to collect upon later. That must be it, surely; it would have been too easy for him to let her die and then wipe out the attacker.

"Guess we'll count that as three and say you win?"

[hoodie-prince-kid-archived]

funky lil (slightly edited) scenario abt Cato and Crackle n the Blu crew i thought up last night talking to my friend in dm's kdngkdfn

Crackle definitely has a big fluffy mane in her beast form and also is large and rideable so please picture Cato and most of the Blu crew members just. Napping in the fur of this giant monster. First it's just Cato and O'Chunks, and then Mimi joins them, and Dimi comes along and is like "hm. looks cozy." and tries and fails not to fall asleep next to Cato. Nastasia moves to wake everyone up but gets distracted petting Crackle and eventually falls asleep herself. Finally Blu himself comes by and looks at the mess, has a brief moment of silent communication with Crackle who's just laying there lazily, before she indicates he has permission to join them. Behold, an evil found family napping together on a giant fluffy monster.

[jhsgf82]

Sneak Peek at PiP Fic

See if you all can guess what this is! 

*** I know where to search for my uncle, and naturally, he’s in the first place I look–the Arena. 

Uncle Snow enjoys the Arena, which is a large coliseum where the gods, typically the ‘lesser’ gods challenge one another for sport and accolades, and of course, for the entertainment of the greater gods. It’s one of his favorite pastimes to watch the other gods fight and to place his bets. Sometimes ferocious beasts are conjured as well‒lions, tigers, or occasionally, specially modified creations. And then there are the chariot races, too. 

“Ah, Katniss,” my uncle greets me the moment I materialize in the seat next to him. “You look lovely in red, my dear.” 

My eyes flicker down to my new dress; I can hear the flames crackling against my skin. It is beautiful, I must admit, but a bit loud, literally. 

“Jo made me wear it,” I say.   

My uncle nods. “Well, it suits you. Although…,” he smirks, “you really shouldn’t let the Goddess of Love push you around, my dear.” 

“I don’t!” I protest. “...She just…sort of does what she wants.” 

“That she does,” my uncle agrees.

*** “Let’s make a pact, my dear, shall we?” he says. Hesitantly, I nod. “Let’s agree never to lie to each other.” 

This seems foolish‒What reason do my uncle or I have to lie to one another, anyway?‒but I agree. 

“We’ll do as the mortals do.” He looks at me expectantly, and I’m confused. “Shake on it,” he says, extending his hand. I stare down at it. 

“Now, you put your hand in mine,” he explains patiently, and I slide my palm against his and feel him squeeze my hand. 

“So, then, now that we have our pact, tell me,” Uncle Snow takes a sip from his cup, “what do you really think of Cato?” 

“I think he’s vile,” I answer without pause, and my uncle chuckles. “He brought up my scar.” 

“How rude of him,” my uncle remarks, then sighs. “However, it is your own fault your lovely skin was marred forever, niece. Not even Gloss was able to remove the mark.” 

“I know,” I grumble. “But…but he would have died.” 

“Such is mortality, Katniss,” he says without a shred of compassion. “Mortals are not long for this world. It isn’t their world, after all; it’s ours. We’re merely allowing them to live in it. Death will come for the boy eventually.” 

Not on my watch, I think. And I don’t know where that came from. Since when am I the boy’s protector? And besides, my uncle is right; eventually, old age will catch up with him, and it’s not like I can chase him into the Underworld… 

“I couldn’t let him die,” I come out with.

“So like your father,” he says, a tinge of shame, or perhaps disgust to his tone. “You have a taste for mortals, just like him.” 

Although I don’t look down on mortals the way many of the other immortals do, I know this isn’t a compliment. My uncle is one of the most mortal-hating gods there is. 

And what does he mean, a taste? We were children, and I was simply doing the right thing. 

All of a sudden, I’m wondering about the boy, how he’s fared and how he’s grown after 15 years. If my appearance has changed, surely his has, too. 

“I do not.” I scowl at Uncle Snow. 

“Oh, I imagine you can’t help it,” he mutters dismissively. “After all, you are only half-god.”  Another reminder of the impurity of my blood. Yes, I am a mutt‒not human, but not entirely god. 

[brofligate]

❛ this was a mistake. ❜ for the prompts?

Laelaps

Characters: Courier Six (Vannika), Cato Hostilius

Pairings: None

(fic is beneath the cut)

“This was a mistake,” the Courier muttered as she ran a cloth down the barrel of the ancient rifle in her hands.

Before her knelt Cato Hostilius, stoking the small fire keeping them warm in the harsh desert night.

Much as they had told her, he looked no different than any other wastelander the way he was dressed. Yet by sense alone she could recognize him starkly as a legionary. The stiff posture, the pattern of speech, the coldness in his eyes. She wondered if people could sense who she was, in the same way.

“Hm. You never would have struck me as the type to get cold feet about killing. Do doubts plague your mind, Courier? Because I can remind you of all the ways in which Kimball’s death will hasten the fall of the NCR.”

“I’m not talking about the assassination part, I’m talking about your little plan. Putting on a First Recon uniform, sniping a president in front of a crowd of a hundred people… I don’t see this working out like you’re hoping. Don’t you have plans a little more realistic?” The Courier aimed her rifle into the darkness, checking the alignment of the scope, briefly lining her sights up towards Cato’s head to check for his reaction. There was none.

“From what I’ve heard of you,” Cato brushed his hands off against his worn trousers, taking a seat on the blanket beside the Courier, “you have a knack for making the impossible possible, so to speak. Surviving a gunshot to the head, tracking your killer across the wastes, disposing of a man who has ruled the Strip for over 200 years… the list goes on and on, doesn’t it. And all this to avenge your fathe-”

The Courier snapped the gun down at those last words, shifting her gaze to stare into the crackling flames, pupils reflecting back red. “I didn’t know you legionaries were prone to idle gossip,” she hissed harshly.

“Word travels fast for frumentarii, it is our job, after all. To know things, see things, organize the fall of mighty kingdoms all from the shadows. In another life, perhaps you would have made for a skilled frumentarius, Courier.”

“I disagree. I have a taste for more direct methods, which I’m sure you’ve also heard.”

Benny, House, and all of the countless other men who had wronged her before them, she’d taken their lives directly, in close proximity. Close enough to watch the light dim from their eyes, and the quick of their pulse weaken beneath her fingertips. Personal grievances called for personal measures.

“Which is why you’re here today, on recommendations from Lord Caesar and Master Inculta themselves. In camp the men call you Laelaps, you know, the hound which never loses its prey. Kimball will be just another rabbit in your jaws, come morning.”

“If your plan works.”

“Which it will work.”

The low growl of thunder echoed far away in the distance. The rainy season, back again already to mark the cycle of one year since the day she clawed herself out of her own grave. How time passed like the steady stream of blood in a slaughterhouse.

Conversation ceased between them for a quiet moment, punctuated only by the sounds of the Mojave. Coyote howls, wind rustling through nopales, the scream of a prey animal.

So alive the desert was, even in the face of the end of the world. Some things, much like herself, simply refused to die. Or, perhaps, were refused death.

The Courier returned to maintaining her rifle, liking her hands to be busy in such idle moments.

“That’s quite the gun,” Cato finally spoke again, “pre-war, surely?”

Silently, the Courier handed the rifle over for him to inspect. “And you’d be right. It belonged to my father- no, not that man I called father, I mean my biological father, the one whose blood runs in my veins. And his father, and his father before him, and so on and so forth. Created to fight in something they called “The Sacred War” back in the Motherland.”

“And is this war sacred to you as well, to warrant such an ancestral weapon?”

The sun was beginning to rise now, far off in the distance. Burning crimson red with the foreboding of a day left better avoided.

“More than anything, yes. Пусть я́рость благоро́дная скипа́ет, как волна́. Let noble wrath boil over like a wave.” the Courier answered quietly as she picked up the First Recon helmet and placed it on her head. It was time.

“A fair hunt to you then, Laelaps,” Cato said, placing the rifle back into her hands.

The Courier accepted the rifle, slinging it over her shoulder in a swift motion.

“May there be another rabbit in my jaws come morning.”

[cherrytart-ffxiv]

knock ‘em down.

[[ part two to this post! ]]

Audrey lays back on the futon as the linkpearl rolls out of her hand. She can’t wipe the smirk from her face. She cannot resist the urge to laugh.

She was sure people had good reason to be afraid of Tsai Xiu, but she couldn’t find one just yet, if she could be so easily disarmed by words and requests said with puppy dog eyes. It’s almost better than a high. It feels familiar. It feels right. This was her, this was Audrey, no, Cherry - manipulating the people that couldn’t be manipulated, dismantling the people that couldn’t get shaken.

Finally, she does laugh, her head tilting back into the futon. 

It wasn’t a selfish request. It was for Cato. But hells. Fucking hells, it felt good. Better than any drug.

Being a miserable piece of existence tasted sweet. It felt sweet. If she had to be the bad guy for a good outcome, so be it. For the Benes family, she could always play the bad guy. She could risk it all. She would risk it all. If she went to this Jade Palace and was eaten alive for trying, that would be okay.

The urge to laugh fades. She stares at the ceiling, timing the sound of her breathing, listening to the water running in Caius’ shower. 

What had been the crackle? The explosion? The scream? 

Had the priestess been right about Hana? Was she just always... there? Cato had never said anything. He would, right, if he had been able to see her? Maybe her presence in the mortal plane wasn’t as strong as his, but--...

Wait. Wait just a damn minute.

Audrey pushes herself to her feet and grabs her jacket that she’d tossed onto the kotatsu, jamming her feet into the first pair of shoes she found.

“I’ll be right back!” she shouts to Caius. “I need to talk to Arashi!” 

There’s a cold drizzle as she stomps outside to their private courtyard. The shrine to Arashi here is smaller than it is at the main wing of the house, but it is, Audrey knows, where he’s more commonly found - because he can never stay out of her business, clearly.

“Arashi!” she yells, kneeling despite the enormous amount of disrespect she was feeling and carefully adjusting the incense from earlier. “You giant, smelly lizard, you better come out and talk to me now--”

With a quiet ‘pop!’, the smaller version of the lizard appears on the stone of the shrine, slowly blinking his yellow eyes up at the glaring girl. 

“What did I do?” he asks, his voice as deep and as big as if he was an actual man and not a tiny reptile.

“The priestess said Hana’s ghost is around me--”

“Ah,” Arashi noises, sagely and almost comically nodding. “You know, I’ve been meaning to mention that since you first were able to see me...”

Audrey’s eyes widen, and she thrusts her hands out in disbelief.

“What do you mean? What do you mean by that?”

“She’s not with you all the time,” he explains, like he was discussing the weather. “And she’s not solid at all. Not like our Cato. She’s much weaker, but... Sometimes. Sometimes she visits you. Most of her time is spent elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere,” Audrey echoes, narrowing her eyes now. “And where is that?”

“Mm... No spoilers. Not yet,” Arashi yawns, and Audrey lets out an indignant shout when he starts to disappear. Her hands reach out to throttle, only to fall on the wet stone, and she screams her frustration once more, slapping at the shrine in her outrage. 

“Fucking little worm-- doesn’t even come to me in his full size--” There are plenty of choice words and angry words that come out of Audrey’s mouth as she stomps up to her feet, but in truth, her head is swimming. 

Sometimes? Where else did Hana go? No spoilers? What did that mean? Why was everything so cryptic? Why was he like this? Always? Sure, she supposed she was supposed to live without a god telling her the answers to everything, but still--

“It is frustrating.” Arashi pops up by her shoulder, and Audrey actually stumbles back a little in shock at the sudden return of his voice. There’s a clap of thunder in the distance, a streak of lightning, as she glares, and the little lizard kami raises his eyes to Audrey and spreads his little lizard hands in apology.

“What? That you won’t answer my question?”

“No, not at all. That you will be granted such easy access to the Jade Palace, where its kami barred me from entry - very rudely and aggressively, might I add. He has positively no manners,” Arashi grumbles. “A pompous, vain, full of himself...”

“Wait-- the Jade Palace has a kami, too?” Audrey asks, faintly.

“Two. But their story is... complicated. I would advise much caution, Yuna. That place is dangerous - especially for pretty young women--...”

“Oh, I’d like to see them fucking try,” she growls, slamming the courtyard door shut as anothe clap of thunder rattles the sky and as the rain pours harder.

[cloverskentwells]

TITLE: untitled SUMMARY: Clove can't sleep, and so she makes the wise decision to break into her district partner's house.

--

Being a Games Victor, as it turns out, is mostly just facing a lifetime of sleepless nights alone.

She stares despondently up at the oscillating ceiling fan of her Victor's Village bedroom, from a bed that is the size of her old living room, and wonders why sleep remains so elusive to her. For maximized performance, the Academy had mandated that each Trainee achieved the eight hours a night required for optimal performance and alertness, so forcing herself to follow a strict sleep schedule - especially with the fear of what consequences her Trainers might inflict - had never been a problem for Clove, ever the obedient future Tribute.

But she can't help but think that this peaceful spacious room in a large mansion far removed from the lifestyle that the majority of Two's population experienced is too damn quiet. The oppressive silence looms over the big empty house like a living, present being, its breath on the back of her neck. The complete lack of sound should be a relief, but it only feels unnatural to her instead. Weeks in the Arena had taught her to fall asleep to the lullaby of insects chirping, fearful screams in the night, and the quiet growls of animals that seemed content to not attack them but still felt the need to make their presence known. Then there was the added effect of a crackling fire just a few feet away, warming her into a numb hibernation.

The fancy and expensive little noise machine she'd ordered from the Capitol (a lovely little perk of being a Victor, she now has disposable money to waste on completely useless technology) being set to Sounds of The Forest does little to help her - it's obvious that the nerds in District Three had never set foot outside of their homes let alone into any environment qualifying as nature.

Nor does dragging several blankets down the stairs and curling up on the floor next to her fireplace. Thankfully, living alone meant she never had to worry about how insane she looked, and no one is around to judge her for this odd little attempt at sleep. Regardless, this strategy is equally as ineffective.

Even the lovely ice cold metal of Clove's beloved knives resting against her bare skin does nothing to relax her. Unfortunately, she's beginning to identify the problem, although she is vehemently against acknowledging the fact that maybe her inability to force herself into unconsciousness is really caused by the absence of a person who had become, much to her dismay, an essential part of her sleep routine. Every single night in the Arena, without even meaning to, she'd settled into a sleeping bag positioned only inches from her district partner's and listened attentively to the evening out of his breathing, allowing it to soothe her into sleep.

Of course, she'd justified it to herself as a precautionary measure at the time - as if she couldn't hear whether or not he was truly asleep instead of preparing to attack her just as well from several feet away - but the alternative was to admit to herself that maybe she just found a source of comfort being near him, a safety that even the extensive arsenal of weaponry secured within the loops of her jacket couldn't give her.

And now, although the thought - the simple truth - is too absurd and sickening for her to stomach, apparently her body physically cannot sleep without Cato nearby.

Damn him.

She viciously grabs her pile of blankets in her arms with a frustrated huff and marches petulantly over to his house, which is conveniently right next door to hers. The lights are all off, meaning he must have been sensible enough to be long asleep by now. A little painful spasm twists in Clove's chest when she concludes that he must be doing just fine without her there, and her pride demands of her - begs her, really - to retreat back to her own home instead of letting it be obvious how much she needs him, how the distance that has lodged its way between them after the Games affected her. Which outcome would be worse - her never sleeping again, or allowing the boy who respected her more than anyone else, who expects far more from her, to see her as weak?

But the mere idea of spending the next several hours listlessly staring at her ceiling and contemplating how much easier it would be if she had simply never won the Games is too much for her to bear, so Clove chooses the path of least resistance - or, at least, the one where she won't be stuck in her home and trapped with her own thoughts - and creeps into Cato's home like a damn burglar. Except - he had given her a key for emergencies (making intense eye contact and inhaling deeply when he handed it to her, but Clove has no energy left to examine what any of that meant), so is she really a burglar? Perhaps an uninvited guest, maybe... without permission to enter his home...

Still, Clove is already halfway there. Might as well finish what she started.

She clutches her covers in one hand. gingerly taking great pains to avoid them hitting the floor, while closing the door and locking it behind her with the other. A wave of panic courses through her as she realizes that if he were to see her right now, Cato might assume she was here to steal from or assassinate him. Clove had heard of such incidents where some drunken idiot dared to break into a Victor's home and was found the next morning in the front yard with, at best, a severed tongue/broken limb or, at worst, his throat slit clean and wide open. Her district partner was very much the type to maim first, ask questions never, and while Clove never went anywhere without the protection of her knives, she was still much smaller than him and severely disadvantaged in the dark.

Besides, even if she could fend him off long enough to identify herself and avoid a chokehold, Clove knows it will be a very difficult task justifying her invasion of his home.

The self-doubt quickly creeps in, screaming at her that this is a horrible idea, but some part of her refuses to make the smart decision and walk away while she still can. Her feet pad quietly up the stairs, one hand grappling blindly at the railing for balance. Little wooden creaks resound with each step. Old homes are so damn loud, she thinks.

Maybe they were made so on purpose - every Two Victor comes home with a vicious paranoia but is too prideful to have a security system installed.

Sure enough, her gait was not as sly and inconspicuous as she would have liked. She manages to reach the entrance of what is presumably the master bedroom, and before she's even through the doorway, she hears her co-Victor, a shapeless blob obscured under his bedsheets, murmur an exhausted greeting: "Hey, Clove."

Clove freezes at the entrance, somehow surprised at having been identified. He only chuckles mirthfully at her silence, the sound deep and throaty and so him in a way that fills some little empty hole inside her she hadn't known existed.

Forcefully shoving aside such idiotic, sentimental thoughts, Clove states her business as neutrally as possible despite the electric current of nervousness running through her body and quickening the pace of her heartbeat. "I couldn't sleep," she states. It sounds almost accusatory, and maybe it is.

"Missed me too much?" He teases, his voice thick and groggy with sleep. Or... sleeplessness? Perhaps it was possible that he wasn't quite as adjusted to their new sleeping arrangements as she'd thought.

"Just move over, idiot," Clove orders, too tired to play their typical verbal games of cat and mouse (besides, she adamantly refuses to be the mouse). He complies with her demand rather agreeably, which would have surprised anyone else who knew he didn't take well to being bossed around. For their dynamic, him obeying her... it was almost second nature, and though Clove has no hope of understanding why, she knows from their experience in the Arena that the dangerous, brutal boy will for some reason do anything she says. The power of it was overwhelmingly seductive, and there were plenty of opportunities to take advantage of it in the Games, but she couldn't bring herself to.

She hadn't needed it when the rule change was reversed. Cato had been all too willing to end himself, and every instinct within her had fought against him daring to leave her, until she had been prepared to drag the blade across her own throat as well. That moment of clarity, weakness, defiance had led them here, with her crawling under the covers and him reflexively pulling her close. Her hands find his body to gain her bearings until she makes contact with bare skin-

"Fucking - Cato, tell me you're at least wearing pants," she gasps as her palms lay flat on the smooth, unfairly tempting plane of his torso. His deep, booming laughter resonates through her chest and she doesn't stop the full body shiver in time, the involuntary movement of her body something he can surely feel with this close proximity. Her breaths are embarrassingly shallow and Clove feels a little lightheaded at the prospect of spending the rest of the night with her body curled into his shirtless, well-maintained form, feeling the hard lines of his body against her...

"Yeah, Clove, I'm wearing pants. But I sleep without a shirt because it gets too hot," he explains, amusement making his voice high-pitched, and Clove just knows he has an insufferably smug grin on his face right now. "But if you're uncomfortable, I can change," he continues sincerely, a sweetly genuine offer. And that ridiculous fluttering of her heart absolutely loathes the very idea - before she can stop her traitorous mouth, Clove protests, too quickly to reign her voice back to a casual indifference, "don't."

What the fuck is wrong with you? Clove chides herself as she awaits Cato's response.

Thankfully, he seems to have had enough fun with her for one night because he wordlessly wraps one heavy arm around her waist, his hand resting gently on the small of her back. She tucks her head under his chin, resisting the urge to burrow her nose into his throat that is right there and breathe in his sensitive skin. Clove has no idea what's gotten into her, but already she feels her eyelids becoming heavy and her brain slowly drifting until her thoughts are a muddled soup.

Absentmindedly scratching her nails across the smooth expanse of his back, she's startled at his sudden groan of delight. "Yeah, that's nice. Keep doing that," he mutters placidly into her hair. Some oddly unselfish part of her wants to make him feel as good as he does for her, so Clove continues the pattern, lightly digging her nails into little soft spots of muscle and sometimes the hard ridges of his spine.

"This is a one time thing," she warns him sternly. Cato barks out a disbelieving laugh, and she stops scratching his back in retribution. He doesn't seem to mind terribly, instead picking up her slack by languidly tracing patterns along her shoulder blades.

It turns out, he was correct not to believe her, because Clove returns the next night, and then the night after, and then the night after, and then...