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generalfoolish · 4 years ago

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Mayhem Times Infinity

Part Two: Multiverse Mayhem

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader (enemies reluctant co-workers to lovers)

Rating: 18+

Warnings: cw mentions of death, gore, trauma; the snap, violence, comic mischief, language

Word Count: 4k

Summary: The duo finds out what odds they're up against, but Loki has other plans.

A/N: Hey babes! I couldn't help but put in the work ASAP on this one. Gotta chase that hyper-fixation high. I'm ready to move into the "will they" part of this story! Sorry, for that slow burn, guys. Also, this doesn't necessarily join up at all with the series, but I threw a little nod in there, a little Professor Loki at the end. Enjoy 💕

Masterlist | Part One | Part Three

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged :)

“So, to summarize,” Loki drawled. “This is Earth-616, and it’s in danger.” Doctor Strange groaned, but nodded. Four hours. You had been listening to Doctor Strange for four hours. He had detailed the Multiverses, interdimensional travel, sling rings, all-powerful creatures more heinous than Thanos, and the ultimate demise of Earth-616--your Earth, your universe--and all Loki could do was joke.

You were reeling. Sure, you had considered the idea of other dimensions. You gulped as you tried to wrap your head around the gravity of the situation. There was a Multiverse jumper, Strange had given you all the information he could about the existence of multiverses and the area the villain was from, but couldn’t be more specific.

“Sure, in short. Now, listen, we don’t know who exactly is doing this. It would seem they’re working for Kang or Gah Lak Tus, but we aren’t certain of anything. We’re sending you for reconnaissance. Find out anything you can.”

“Yes, but why us? Why not the Guardians with Thor?” You asked. The tea in your hands too cold to enjoy, but you took a small sip anyway. You pulled a small face, and lowered the small cup again.

“They’re busy.” Strange told you without preamble.

“Well, so are we. He was just resurrected, and I’m technically homeless right now.” You argued, lifting the cup again, and taking another sip. The now pleasantly warm liquid tasted much better than it had even when you poured it. You raised an eyebrow at Loki, wondering if it was his magic, but he was looking at Strange, a small smirk on his lips.

“Then it should be less of a discussion. You’ll need to travel light, and neither of you are otherwise entangled. Now, do you recall our conversation of sling rings?” You nodded, and yelped when a thick bar ring appeared on your hand.

“I just focus?”

“Yes, visualize, focus and see the destination. Look beyond what you see. You know how to do that. This is the only way you’ll be able to travel through the multiverse, and I only have the one. You’ll have to travel together.”

“Okay. What about the Negative Zone?” You asked, your hand weighed down by the new accessory. The physical weight was negligible, but the mental weight left you straining.

“Start there. Remember Earth-616 is yours. Though it is unlikely anyone will refer to them as their numerical filing. What’s your job?” Strange asked, and you huffed, annoyed.

“Gather intel. We can handle it.” You snapped, and he lifted his hand.

Suddenly, a golden ring appeared before you, and on the other side an empty field.

“Go on, then.” Strange challenged, and you shot him a look, but walked through the portal.

You felt the portal close behind you, the energy rippling shut.

“That was strange.” Loki murmured, smoothing his leather jacket down. Without thinking, without pause, you replied.

“Doctor Strange.”

“That is not a good joke, darling.” Your eyebrows shot up.

“First, it definitely is. Second, ‘darling,’?” You asked.

“I told you, I refuse to call you ‘Stone,’ and you haven’t supplied anything else.” Loki argued, and began walking through the field. The grass, untouched, reached far up his long legs engulfing his waist, and you tried to pull your attention away from how he looked surrounded by the golden strands.

Celestial. God-like, you thought as you failed.

“Well, perhaps we should focus on the mission instead.” You cleared your throat as you walked to him. You tried to ignore how you had to incline your head to see him, failing again as you took in the height difference.

“Yes. I was thinking, we should perhaps change our clothes to fit in.” Loki mused, and you nodded.

“Good idea. Where are we?” You asked. It looked...vaguely Earth-like.

“How should I know? Aren’t you the one blessed with infinite knowledge?” He grumbled. You rubbed your palm down your face, and tried to perceive your location.

“I got nothing, Mayhem.” You mused, and began walking again.

“Casual linens, then?” Loki inquired, a ghost of a smile on his lips. You shrugged, and before you had relaxed your shoulders back down, you were draped in a dark green gown. You rolled your eyes at Loki’s shit-eating grin.

“Subtle.” You told him, gesturing down. He held his hands out in a shrug, and you laughed. He had matched his own ‘casual’ clothes in the same deep shade of green. You expected another jab, but instead he started walking away from you, and didn't break pace to see if you were coming. You jogged to catch him.

"Where are you going?" You asked, slightly out of breath. You were only just realizing how much taller he was than you. His long legs had carried him swiftly away from you in no time.

"Anywhere I please." He told you, barely looking down, but you could see his lips lifted in a smirk all the same.

"What do you mean?" You asked, looking around, wondering what destination he meant.

"Norns, woman, are you daft? I'm leaving. I'm free, finally. A better question for you would be: where are you going? Hmm? All that time on Midgard, now you're in space, darling. Where are you going to go?" He had broken stride to sneer down at you. You tried to hide your obvious shock at the sudden turn of emotion.

"To find the threat against our Galaxy. Why wouldn't you want to do the same?" You asked, malice lacing your tone. Here he was, wearing his true colors finally. The treacherous Loki, the one you'd been told about, the one you should've heeded the warnings about.

His nose crinkled in disgust, and you felt the vision coming before it hit. You'd seen this one a few times already, but nothing prepared you for it. You gasped for air as you felt Loki's throat being constricted, and winced when you felt the crunch of his neck.

His smug look told you he'd made that happen.

"I have a few reasons." He told you, his voice quiet and dangerous.

"We were chosen for a reason, Loki." You tried, grasping for any shred of logic that might convince him to stay. Treacherous or not, he had much more experience in space than you.

"Yes, we were. Isn't it obvious to you, yet? We were sent here to die." He held his arms out and gestured around at the field.

"What do you mean? It's just recon." You replied, noting his wingspan, the subtle way his lithe muscles pulled taut the fabric of his shirt.

"Oh yes, truly the omnipotent Dr. Strange would send a known liar and the newest avenger to stop a doom to the universe." He rolled his eyes and began walking away from you. You watched his hands trail lightly over the blades of grass, and knew he was right. You hated him for it, but he was. You had been pushing those feelings down since you had first found yourself in space looking at Loki. If this truly had the gravity Dr. Strange said it had, why wasn't he here? Or anyone of the other space faring avengers, or the guardians? Why were you sent here with Loki of all people?

You followed behind him, the grass reaching much higher on you, and contemplated your choices. You had the sling rings, so the options were endless. Yet, you kept coming back to the same one: do the job. Every fiber of your being told you Loki was right, but a small voice in the back of your mind told you he could be wrong. And it was enough.

You glanced up at your companion, his black hair curling at the edges of his collar, his back straight and proud, his shoulders broad and capable. He could handle himself in a fight, this much you knew. He'd be an asset. How would you convince him to stay? Trick him? Trick the God of Mischief? Surely you weren't dumb enough to try.

You threw your head back and looked at the sky. You knew you were. You knew you had to. You needed his help, but more than that, you actually wanted it. He was charming, after all.

"So, where exactly are you going, then?" You asked, breaking the steady silence. You watched his stride falter for a second as he turned to look at you.

"To the town." He told you, confidently.

"So, you do know where we are?"

"No."

"Then how would you know?" You challenged him.

"There'll be a town, eventually." He told you, clearly agitated at your questions.

"Sorry, just working out a few things." You told him, keeping your gaze averted. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

You kept your face passive as the wave of wariness washed over you. You had thrown your plan together in about three seconds, but already it was going perfectly.

Step one: make Loki suspicious. It was easy to do. He had no real reason to trust you. Plus, he had to be expecting it anyway.

It led to the rest of your plan. He’d “uncover” your deceit, and you’d go along acting caught in a lie. Then, you’d gain his trust for real. Finally, you trick him into actually helping you do some reconnaissance for Strange.

Easy peasy.

Now, just to find this town.

I’ll be damned.” You muttered when you first saw it. A light cascading in the sky, not the stars that littered it currently, but a new one. A man made, or alien made, one.

“Aha!” Loki called, looking at you expectantly.

“You did it!” You laughed, peering through the trees that stood between you and the source. Failing that, you reached out with your mind. No one was lingering about, so you focused on Loki. It was a mixture of joy and trepidation. It was all bitter endings.

He was planning a betrayal of his own, of course. What you couldn’t piece together is why he was feeling hesitant to do it. Clearly, he had worked out a way to get off-world.

“Perhaps we should make camp here.” He suggested, turning his steady gaze to you. You looked around, considering it. More open than the forest, but that could be helpful in a fight. Unlikely anyone would be able to sneak up on either of you. Especially if you took turns sleeping. But, didn’t you just feel his looming betrayal? Should you risk it so soon? You needed sleep. Would he leave you alone, asleep, in a field on an alien planet? Surely not. But could you trust it? Did you trust him?

“Okay, Mayhem. I’ll grab some firewood.” You told him, starting to head to the edge of the woods. He chuckled, and you heard the whoosh of a flame. You turned and your mouth fell open. He had conjured an entire campsite. The fire was contained within a stone structure, there was a clearing to sit, he’d even managed a few blankets.

"Surely this will suffice." He teased, a grin ghosting on his lips. You nodded, lamely, and grabbed a blanket.

"Can you be troubled with dinner?" You joked, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

"What do you want?" He asked, settling down onto the ground, long legs stretched before him.

"Oh I don't know, what's your favorite thing?" You mused, snuggling under the thick material. It was softer than cotton or wool, warm but not hot, heavy enough to provide weight without being unbearable. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling against your skin, and nearly dozed. He startled you when he began speaking.

"The perfect night-meal is a sampling of delicacies. But the most exquisite taste is fresh champagne from the springs on Alfheim. Poured lazily by the Pleasure Elves, of course." You laughed.

"Pleasure Elves and champagne springs, what the hell are we still doing here?" He chuckled and adjusted the blanket around his shoulders, before looking at you seriously.

"I will show you Alfheim, if you wish." You resisted shuddering under his intense gaze. You could barely meet his eyes, a deep, dark green that rivaled the evening forest.

"I'd like that, someday. For now, dinner. Can you do...pizza?" You asked, smiling broadly. He frowned, clearly disgusted.

"I could, but I would not. Is that truly what you crave? Greasy, unimaginative mortal food?" You shrugged. "Very well." With a flick of his wrist, he brought forth two wrapped sandwiches. Curious, you pulled the wrapper off and smiled happily.

"A cheeseburger! How is that better than pizza?" You asked, laughing and taking a bite. You watched him peel the wrapper with grace, only touching the burger with his fingertips.

"I'm not sure. Thor described them much better than they appear." He seemed vaguely disgusted.

"We could have had alien food." You told him, laughing at his discomfort. He rolled his eyes at you.

"Technically, darling, you're the alien here." His matter-of-fact tone wrecked your mood. The way he said "darling" was more like an insult. How could he conjure burgers and then ruin the moment so seamlessly.

You didn't respond, just silently tucked into your sandwich. You still needed to work out how you were going to break his trust anyway. It couldn't be too clever, you thought. Just clever enough that it seemed like it would work, but not clever enough that he would suspect another attempt.

You were so lost in thought that you didn't see the way he studied you, mapping your face, reveling in how the starlight splayed shadows on you. He had put you in green as a joke, but lounging fireside under the thick blanket, you looked at home in the deep shade of mid-summer forest green.

You finished the burger and tossed the wrapper remains into the fire. You turned to find Loki already looking at you, he lifted a corner of his mouth but remained silent.

"I'll take first watch." You told him, hiding a yawn behind your hand. He waved you off with a flick of his wrist.

"Sleep. I'll watch over you." He watched you as he spoke, and you felt his dark eyes on you as you snuggled your way into the blanket nest. The fatigue from the battle with Thanos, and the rush of adrenaline from finding Loki and talking with Dr. Strange, and the long walk through the field came crashing into you all at once. Your eyes closed of their own Accord, and your limbs followed soon after tingling with sleep.

"G'night, Mayhem." You mumbled, your mouth and brain mostly asleep. You were drifting off, even as you said it, but you heard his response.

"Good night, darling." You smiled as you fell further asleep, his tone softer than it had been.

As sleep began to take you under, quieter than before, you heard Loki mumble to himself.

"Damn. She's adorable." When you awoke, you wouldn't remember, as it were, you barely heard it at all. Proof, you thought dreamily. It was proof, that Loki wasn't all bad.

You blinked hard against the morning light and groaned as you rolled over. You remembered where you were quickly, the hard ground your first clue. The event of the previous day hit you at once, and you sat up quickly, scanning for Loki. You started to panic, he had slipped off during the night, and now you were alone on an unfamiliar world.

“Shit.” You cursed, rising to your feet.

“What?” You whirled on the voice and sighed deeply when you saw the God of Mischief staring back at you.

“I...thought you left.” You admitted, stretching your back out. His smile faltered a bit.

“I did not. I found breakfast.” He told you, tossing you something that looked like an apple. You smiled sheepishly.

“You didn’t wake me.” You said, and he merely shrugged. “You haven’t slept.” You continued, unsatisfied with his nonchalance.

“I was dead yesterday, darling. I think I can manage without one night’s rest.” You winced at his nickname for you. It dripped with venom and mistrust.

“Don’t act offended, Mayhem. Betrayal is literally your middle name.”

“What do you know of betrayal? Hmm?”

“Plenty. You may have cornered the market, but you didn’t trademark it.”

“I would not simply slink away in the dead of night. I am Loki, prince of Asgard, the rightful king of Jotunheim, and the God of Mischief, and I do not lurk in the shadows. My betrayal would be right in front of you, rest assured.” You scoffed, as you watched him pontificate.

“What do your titles get you here?” You asked and smiled in triumph when his face fell. You turned the fruit over in your hand, and looked back at him. “I’m sorry I thought you left, thanks for the fruit.” You mumbled, guilt already eating away at you. Why did his crestfallen face split you in two so quickly? You bit into the apple, and winced right away. It definitely wasn’t an apple. The texture was similar to a kiwi, but the flavor was unlike anything you’d ever had.

“It’s a local fruit, not one I’m familiar with.” He explained, his voice tight. “It isn’t dangerous.” You furrowed your brow to object, but he held his hands up. “I had one already to test it.”

“Thank you, Mayhem.” You told him, genuinely thankful. He waved the campsite away, and the two of you began your trek through the dense forest. The dark green clothes helped camouflage you as you picked your way through the vegetation, and while you knew he had done it to get a rise out of you, you were thankful to be out of the clingy spandex uniform you normally wore.

You had been training with Nat when the first power surge flowed through your fingertips, and the blast produced was golden. Nat must have alerted Tony, because within the hour you had a brand new, golden suit. You looked like an asshole, flying around in a shimmery gold suit, but no one would change it. Friday had told you to “Fuck off,” and that was the end of it. You’d become the Golden Avenger in the news, but everyone called you stone. It was a horrible joke, born out of horrible circumstances. You looked like a walking gauntlet, and you were treated that way too.

You focused harder on the ground, stepping around massive root systems, and avoiding areas where the ground had sunk into itself. Loki was right. You hated that you were thinking about it now. No one had truly accepted you as an avenger, except Nat. It was hard for them, you understood. The thing that gave you power was the same event that had destroyed them. But, it isn’t like you wanted it. You hadn’t asked Thanos to do this, you didn’t have control over the events that led to your origin. Yet, the first chance they got, they sent you away. You were the outlier, you were the uncertainty, and you were safer kept at arm's distance. Why else send you on an obvious goose chase with a wanted intergalactic villain?

You glanced at your traveling companion, and found him deep in thought as well. His brow was creased, and his mouth was set. He looked handsome, bathed in the filtered sunlight and the flecks of gold illuminated his dark features. He flicked his eyes at you, and relaxed his mouth into a small smile.

“Shouldn’t be long now.” He told you quietly, and you found yourself wondering what he was thinking about. His double-cross to you? You needed to hammer your own plan together, but it could wait, you thought. You didn’t want to think too hard about it.

“Good, it’ll be nice to get a real seat,” You laughed and he smirked at you. “Is Alfheim your favorite place?” You asked, thinking about the pleasure elves, you could see the appeal. He cocked his head to the side, a ghost of a real smile playing on his lips.

“No, Asgard was my favorite place.” He murmured, and you wanted to disappear. Of course, his world was just destroyed, what a dumb question.

“Sorry Mayhem, I didn’t think…” Your apology died on your tongue, as he began chuckling.

“Don’t fret, darling. I’m not that fragile.” He teased. Your heart was firmly lodged in your throat, stuck from embarrassment, but remaining still as you realized he had softened your nickname. No longer did your skin crawl, instead, a warmth spread through your chest. His soft tone had rendered you speechless, dumbfounded, but you hoped he wouldn’t notice. What could you say? I was embarrassed at having brought up a potentially sensitive subject, and then you called me a flirty name and now my tongue is heavy. Why would it even matter? You were going to betray him, and then he would betray you. It was what your master plan was hinged on. Who cared if he was soft and pretty?

“Truly, it is not an issue.” He continued, confused, searching your face.

“Tell me about it?” You managed to squeak out, and you caught the look he gave you, the look of skepticism.

“It was a Golden City, built up in the mountains, and the rainbow bridge connected it to the bifrost. It was devastatingly beautiful. That was only the Palace, though. The forests around the city were as cruel as they were beautiful. It truly was a world fit for gods.” He looked wistful, and you pretended not to see the tears welling up. “Where is your favorite place?” He asked abruptly, and you smiled happily.

“You remember that place I took you yesterday, when I plucked you from the debris in space?” You asked, waiting for an answer. When he nodded, you continued. “It was my attempt at freedom. I had just broken up with a man who controlled me, and well, it was a little crappy, but it was mine, y’know? I had just gotten back in touch with my family who I had been cut off from, and it was so right. I was only there for a few months before Thanos’ attack.” You told him, fiddling with your sleeve, swallowing hard. “It was the first taste of happiness I had, and then it was taken from me just as suddenly as I had gotten it.” You wiped your eyes and cleared your throat.

“I know a great deal about that, darling.” He reassured you, and you were surprised to feel the pressure of his hand on your back. You gave him a tight small, and felt the smallest tendrils of affection reaching out to you. You widened your smile and turned to the forest before you.

“What’s your favorite power, then?” You asked, falling in step beside him. He laughed.

“Power?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Yes, your powers?” You wiggled your fingers, knowing he’d never done anything like that.

“It’s magic, darling.” He rolled his eyes at you, but you could tell it was playful.

“Whatever, your magic. What’s your favorite spell?” He chuckled at you.

“Duplication-casting, then.” You raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that? Conjuring?”

“They’re two completely different powers.” He explained with a long, suffering sigh.

“So, they are “powers” now?” You asked, laughing.

“Norns, you are so aggravating.” He huffed.

“Well, why duplication-casting? Why not the poison one?” You asked. He raised an eyebrow.

“What poison one?” He asked, looking confused.

“You can have poison without it hurting you.” You told him plainly.

“No, I cannot.” He was genuinely confused at this point, and you held your hands up.

“But you tested the fruit for me.” You told him, confused. He blinked slowly at you, and your face fell in realization. He had been protecting you. And immediately you treated him like a monster.

“Mayhem, I’m…” He fixed his lips into a small line. You were trying to form an apology, clearly you were the one deserving the monster treatment. You had actively plotted against him since you had landed, and he had done nothing but try to make you comfortable. He raised a finger to his lips, his face hard. You heard it then, the crunching of leaves and splintering of sticks underfoot. You were no longer alone with the God of Mischief.

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pretchatta · 4 years ago

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a little bit more of the university au I started here, inspired by @bythevay‘s amazing sweater vest kanan and date night hera. I still haven’t made it to the actual date yet... but it does exist in draft form! I’ll be putting the whole lot on AO3 as soon as I have a title (suggestions are welcome!) but until then it’ll be small sections on tumblr as and when I feel they’re finished.

edit: it’s on AO3!

rating: general; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 1.3k words

---

The soft, burbling sounds of the café reached his ears as Kanan pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the library. The foyer was grand, if a little tired, with wood-panelled walls and a polished marble floor that contrasted sharply with the modern security barriers cutting through the middle. Sweeping up one side was the long reception desk that served both sides, though only those with a university ID card could pass through the turnstiles to the café and, more importantly, the university’s precious trove of knowledge beyond.

Kanan made his way to the desk, not needing to enter the library proper today, absently greeting the old librarian who sat on the other side.

“Morning, Okadiah.”

The human raised a white-haired eyebrow as Kanan reached over the desk to a currently unused library staff computer. “It’s past one.”

“Oh. Good afternoon, then.” He twisted the monitor around to face him and tapped a request on the keyboard in a practised way.

“Someone’s a little distracted,” Okadiah commented. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were thinking about a woman, but since you’re never off campus and the gender ratio of your department is abysmal, that’s about as likely as you reading my sign.”

The sign in question read ‘DO NOT LEAN ON THE DESK’, and Kanan had been ignoring it since graduation. That had been when he’d started working at the library to support himself through his PhD and learnt that Okadiah was far less formidable than he’d first appeared. Since accepting a permanent position in the School of Chemistry faculty he’d not stopped acting like a member of library staff, and he was pretty sure Okadiah only allowed it because Kanan was still one of the few people who could actually work the library’s archaic cataloguing software.

“Well, maybe next time I’m here for a book I’ll ask you to call it for me, because this woman… I don’t even know how to describe her.”

“Oh boy.”

“She was incredible. She’d dropped a lab coat, and she had these eyes… I’m telling you, I’ve never seen eyes like hers before.”

"Eyes, huh -- is this her, coming in now? Lab coat, check. Eyes, check..."

Okadiah had no idea what Hera looked like, but Kanan's head whipped around to see if it was her nonetheless. He tried not to look too obviously disappointed at the diminutive sullustan woman in white who’d just come through the doors. Her huge eyes roamed around the room before landing on the desk, which she then made a beeline towards.

"Excuse me," she said, peering up at the librarian. The lanyard around her neck proclaimed her to be a guest speaker from one of the university’s affiliate companies by the name of Zaluna Myder. "I'm meeting someone inside, a member of university staff."

"You'll have to wait here until they arrive," Okadiah replied kindly. “When they do I can sign you in.”

The woman nodded. “Very well. I’ll just take a seat here then.” She slid down to sit on the floor at the base of the desk.

Kanan frowned in confusion, but was distracted by a besalisk with an armful of books arriving at the other side of the desk.

“You requested this one, Oke?” the woman grunted, passing the topmost one over to him.

“Thanks, Lal, it’s for Professor Jarrus here.” Okadiah took the slim textbook and the library assistant departed again. He glanced at the cover before sliding it over to Kanan. “Hey, this has got to be the fourth Physics book you’ve ordered this term. Is it for that kid again? I don’t know why you don’t just give him Young and Freedman and be done with it.”

Kanan rolled his eyes. “He’s fifteen. I’m trying to encourage his passion for the sciences, not break his spine.”

“If you’re hoping he makes it to higher education,” came a new voice from behind, “a little strength training maybe wouldn’t go amiss.”

Kanan almost couldn't believe his ears, but there was no mistaking that voice. He turned, and sure enough, there she was. She was wearing different overalls today, but those eyes were the same as he remembered, if not even more beautiful.

Play it cool, Kanan.

"Hey, Hera," he said casually.

“Kanan, right?” She was smiling at him again, and it made his heart flutter in his chest. “I thought you said you teach Chemistry? Do you often teach extra subjects?”

“Yes -- I mean, no --” He was flustered, and forced himself to start again. “I’m tutoring this kid, and sometimes he gets curious about non-Chemistry topics. Sometimes I worry I’m losing him to Physics, but then I give him a sheet of algebra and he’s back to asking about rates of reactions.”

He felt like he was rambling and stopped himself from saying anything further, but she was nodding.

“I’d be interested to hear more about your teaching.”

“I -- well, you’re always welcome to come by during my office hours.”

He heard what sounded like a disappointed sigh from Okadiah.

“Dr Syndulla?” came a voice from below; the sullustan woman had stood back up.

“Zaluna!” Hera said brightly, apparently recognising her. “I’ve booked one of the private study rooms for our meeting - unfortunately we can’t use my office today, I share it and my colleague has a tutorial in there right now.”

“If you show me your staff ID, your guest can sign in here and I can grant a temporary day pass to the library,” Okadiah said, bringing out the visitor log book. Zaluna took the pen and started writing as Hera rummaged for her ID card.

Kanan started to feel a little awkward and wondered if he should leave - he had his book now, after all - but he didn’t want to. He wanted to talk to Hera some more, but he didn’t know how to start with Okadiah and Zaluna there.

“There’s a new restaurant that’s just opened up on Gorse Street, y’know,” Okadiah said, interrupting Kanan’s train of thought.

“Huh?” Kanan was momentarily confused, but caught the twinkle in the old librarian’s eyes.

“There,” Zaluna said, finishing signing her name.

“Great, let’s get going. It was nice to see you again, Kanan,” Hera directed the last part to him as she started walking towards the turnstiles with Zaluna.

“Wait!” he called, and she paused to look back. “Do -- would you like to get dinner? With me? There’s a new restaurant…” he finished lamely, gesturing at Okadiah, who covered his face with his hand.

But Hera didn’t seem put off. She smiled at him again, and he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing that smile. “That sounds nice. I’m free tomorrow evening -- meet me under the Illum Bridge at seven?”

Kanan couldn’t help the smile that split his face. “See you tomorrow at seven!”

He watched her walk away, feeling like he was floating. He was taking Hera on a date! Him! And her! For a whole evening, at--

“Wait, what restaurant did I just invite her to?”

Okadiah’s eyes sparkled with mirth over the tops of his glasses. “Luna Cynda has received nothing but rave reviews since it first opened last week, and is fully booked for the next month.”

“What?” Kanan’s heart rate spiked with anxiety. “Fully booked? Where am I supposed to take Hera tomorrow?”

The old man merely smiled at him. “I’ve been meaning to give it a go myself, but since I can’t stand the thought of you taking such a lovely woman on what would otherwise undoubtedly be a terrible date, I suppose you can have my table reservation.”

“Really?”

“Tomorrow at seven-thirty. I’m living vicariously. Treat her well, please.”

---

#kanera #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #star wars rebels #star wars: rebels #okadiah garson #zaluna myder #university au #fic #the laws of spectre dynamics #kanera university au #pretchwritta

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pyroweasel · 4 years ago

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@ambathy 👉👈 Did a silly thing. I hope you like it. Hope I got at least in the ballpark for characterization.

Trep was used to his partner Impostors being other, well, Impostors. Of his own ilk. There had been exactly once in memory when his partner had been human - but it'd been a partnership more in theory than application. The human had just been there, full of anger and their own drive for vengeance - and they'd lasted exactly until they'd made their first kill. They'd never even known that they and Trep had been, technically, on a singular side.

This Impostor though. This one was different.

Trep wasn't even entirely sure if Impostor was the proper terminology - they weren't of his species and, unless he'd missed something, weren't even of his planet. They were there, though, on a ship full of humans, and they weren't meant to be and so - they were an impostor, anyway.

They were also…strange. Different. Trep had attempted to track them down in order to learn more about them, their mission, and how they might benefit his - and he'd found it impossible. He wasn't sure if they were fast, simply stealthy, or had some sort of camouflage - but he could never find them when he tried.

They always found him, though.

He'd catch their gaze on him at odd times - while the crew was sitting around at meals, or during tasks, or sometimes just around the corner at the end of a hallway. Trep didn't appreciate it - it felt too familiar. Made him feel like he was just another one of the humans being watched by something much more predatory than him. So when next he felt that gaze, he turned where he was and stared right back.

The strange impostor only tilted their head, gaze steady, and never looked away.

So Trep wrote them off, instead. He had work to do, and it was no skin off his hide if his 'partner' didn't pull their fair weight. He focused on his task at hand, began to make plans and contingencies - even managed a clean kill when Orange spent just a little too long alone in Electrical. After a few days, Trep stopped thinking about the other impostor altogether - he so rarely saw them, anyway.

Then, Lime turned up dead, and Trep had nothing to do with it. Burdened by the knowledge that, yes, the other was there to kill humans as well - or, at least, wasn't opposed to the idea - Trep tried once more to track them down.

This time, he actually found them.

Although he didn't fool himself into thinking it was skill or luck - the impostor was waiting for him, standing in the security office in clear and full view. As Trep slipped his hand against the biometric lock, triggering the room's door to close, the other turned in place and peered at him.

"Nice work with Lime," Trep said after a long second, and once again the other's response was a curious tilt of their head. "If you and I are both going to be killing off humans, though, don't you think we ought to consider working in tandem?"

"In tandem?" The other asked, and Trep took a slight breath to hide the scowl that'd wanted to curl his lip.

"Yes - if nothing else, knowing each other's movements will assure we don't get into each other's way. I would hate to incidentally interfere with your alibi. Or have you in the way of mine."

"In the way of mine," The other said, and at that Trep frowned.

"Are you…just repeating what I said?"

"Just repeating what I said?"

Trep tapped at his helmet as he studied the impostor in front of him. They were watching him, still, as if just waiting for him to continue speaking. He hadn't seen the other around the humans all that much, but could have sworn he'd seen them having conversations. Maybe, though, they'd always just been repeating the humans - to get this far, maybe they were just exceptionally good at disguising the mimicry as conversation.

"Are you some sort of mimic species, then?" Trep asked.

"Yes, I suppose I am something of a mimic," the other replied, and Trep felt a quick thrill of fresh annoyance.

They were mocking him.

"Are you copying me? That's incredibly juvenile of you," Trep retorted, but it didn't faze the other at all. Instead, their beak-like mouth split jaggedly along its edge as they grinned.

"Does it bother you?" They asked.

"It's aggravating, yes," Trep answered - and their response was to cackle, their mouth clacking every time their jaws met.

"Aggravating," they mimicked, but this time their voice was a near perfect copy of Trep's. "It's aggravating." Their voice shifted back as they continued. "You seem very easy to aggravate."

"And you seem to think you're funny."

"Seem to think you're funny, think you're funny," they mocked, and Trep's temper flared a little higher.

"That's enough," He demanded as he took a step in the other's direction. They lifted their head, and Trep growled softly when he noted the sudden spark in their eyes.

"Don't," Trep hissed.

"Don't," The other quipped.

Trep was well used to standing aside and allowing his fellows to die - both for the greater good and for his own wellbeing. He'd even helped heft one into the airlock, once or twice before. He had never, however, attacked any of his partners - that was just not how things were done.

This one, though. This one was a special case.

With a snarl, Trep lunged at the other, fully intent on grabbing them in his hands and causing them some sort of bodily harm. All he found, though, was air and then metal as he smacked his hands against an empty wall.

The room all but exploded with clacking cackling.

Enraged, Trep looked around him - only thinking to look up when his first glance revealed nothing. The other Impostor was clinging to the ceiling, their head twisted awkwardly to allow them to peer down at Trep.

"This was fun," they quipped, "We'll have to do it again sometime. Do mind your alibis!"

Before Trep could get enough cognizance to respond, the other impostor skittered along the ceiling, down the wall, and vanished smoothly into the vent in the corner of the room.

Trep stared after them. As his heart rate began to slowly return to something approaching normal, he decided that, actually, he was more than content to go back to ignoring the existence of this strange other.

Maybe, if he were lucky, the humans would just take care of Them for him.

#Pyro writes #Friend's oc #Crim #Trep #The idea was so random but it demanded to be written

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celeste-fitzgerald · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I know you might already have a lot of requests, and I'm sorry to add one up to the list. But I just admire your work on ao3, and i thought i might ask for a lil smth? You see, I'm going back to school in a city far away from my family, and I could really use a lil thing to cheer me up. I don't have a precise idea, but maybe poly Beatles trying to cheer up a down/tired Paul? Each trying smth to bring a smile to his face? Funny or comforting, whatever you prefer you're the writer. Thank you

I know I'll never know exactly what you're going through, anon, but I live far away from my family too. Especially with the current state of the world, some days are really hard. If you're ever having a hard time, you can always send me a message, or request another fic if fics help you. (That goes for everyone, not just this anon.) Life sucks, but we can navigate through the suckiness together and hopefully have some fun along the way <3

AO3 Link (Rating: G)

---

“He’s still in bed?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

Paul hugged the blankets tighter as he tried to tune out his boyfriends’ concerned whispers from the hallway. It wasn’t like they were saying anything he didn’t already know. He knew he should be out of bed by now. He just couldn’t do it.

Knock knock. “Paul? Are you awake, love?”

Of course, it had to be Ringo who spoke. If it were John or George, Paul could have easily pretended to be asleep, but Ringo was too precious, too sweet to ignore. “Yeah,” Paul mumbled into his pillow so quietly he wasn’t sure Ringo would be able to hear.

The door cracked open, and a pair of sad, blue eyes peered inside. “Can I join you?”

Paul couldn’t find the strength to talk, but he lifted the edge of the blankets for Ringo to slip under.

Ringo climbed in and scooted right behind him, gently resting a hand on Paul’s side. He stayed quiet, but Paul knew it wouldn’t last long. The inevitable “What’s wrong?” was on the way.

Sure enough, Ringo cleared his throat and Paul braced himself. “Beds are comfortable, aren’t they?”

That was unexpected. But Paul couldn’t disagree, so he nodded.

“Why is it they’re so much better during the day than at night?” Ringo asked, lightly grabbing Paul’s hand and gliding his fingertip up and down each of Paul’s fingers one by one. “The pillows are so much softer, and the blankets are so much warmer. It’s lovely.”

It was lovely—usually. Today, Paul just felt…wrong. And he didn’t know how to explain it to Ringo. He felt like he needed to say something, though, so he muttered a quiet, “It’s too bright.” Technically, he wasn’t lying. As he stared blankly at the window, the sun seemed to be mocking him, screaming a silent you’re not supposed to be here—

Paul gasped as Ringo lifted the blankets higher until the tops of their heads were buried underneath. “Is that better?” Ringo asked.

“It’s, um…well, it’s darker.”

“Yep. Cozier, too.” Ringo scooted closer and wrapped the covers tighter until warmth pressed in on Paul from every side. Their noses accidently bumped together, and Ringo apologized.

Paul couldn’t help the tiny giggle that burst from his mouth. Their bodies were so close that his laugh shook Ringo as well, and it was only a few seconds before they were laughing in each other’s arms.

“He’s laughing now—I’m goin’ in,” John announced from across the room. Still blinded by the blankets, the only warning Paul had was a rush of footsteps before John jumped on top of them. “I missed you, Paulie,” John said, running his hands over the Paul-shaped lump. “I would have been here sooner, but someone thought I’d screw it up.”

“Yes, because you would have,” George said as he sat on the bed and kept his distance.

John blew a raspberry.

Under the covers, Ringo made eye contact with Paul. “Would you like to return to the sun?”

Paul sighed. “Sure, why not?”

After a quick peck on the lips, Paul and Ringo popped their heads out. “There’s our boy,” George said, poking Paul’s nose and smiling softly. “We all missed you.”

The knot in Paul’s stomach tightened back up. “I know,” he whispered. “I’ll get up soon.”

“You don’t have to,” George said as he played with Paul’s hair. “There’s nothing wrong with taking a bed day if you need it. We just didn’t want you having a miserable bed day.”

“And we don’t want you to be lonely,” Ringo added.

Paul smiled at them, but he still felt bad about ruining their day. “You don’t have to stay here with me.”

“Do you want us to leave?” John asked.

Of course not, Paul wanted to yell. But he held his tongue.

“Mind if we put our pyjamas back on and hang out here for a while?” Ringo asked.

“…That sounds nice.”

The other three eagerly changed into more comfortable outfits and hopped under the covers. John kissed and tickled Paul’s neck while George squeezed his hand and listed off the dumbest jokes he could think of.

Ringo, on the other hand, quietly lay on the other side of the bed watching his boyfriends enjoy themselves. Paul glanced his way, and Ringo gave him the softest, fondest gaze he’d ever seen. Maybe spending the day in bed wasn’t so bad after all.

#poly!beatles

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hedwigstalons · 4 years ago

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High Expectations - Ch18

Short fic? Really? How the hell have we reached chapter 18 already?

@willow-salix has been a huge support all the way through. She wields the red pen mightily

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Eighteen

John closed the apartment door and basked in the silence. The last few weeks had been awful but the last few days had been hellish. If you had asked him two days ago what had been the hardest part of this summer he would have answered without hesitation his thesis defence interview, not because he had any difficulty with his project but because, even after 4 years at Harvard some of the faculty still struggled with his presence.

He had bounced onto the quad aged sixteen, looking more like twelve, and instantly made a name for himself by criticising the work of one of the more well respected professors on campus. It probably hadn’t helped that he had been right. Since then he had been dogged by whispers of ‘Daddy’s money’ or heckled as an android freak as he eschewed the company of the peers that would never truly be peers due to the gaps in both age and intellect. University had been a bittersweet mix of unbridled access to learning mixed with a social web to navigate that made high school look like an insignificant warm up. The culmination of it all had been his thesis defence in front of a panel who didn’t know whether to be intimidated by him or offer him a cookie for being a good boy. Still, he was walking away from it all, with dual honours and a postgraduate distinction, at an age not dissimilar from those just starting their higher education journey.

The troubles and torments of university, however, had nothing on the hell on Earth that was Boston airport for an extended period of time. He could now categorically say that this had been the worst part of the summer. The route between east and west coast seemed to be plagued by delays but this, his final time of making the journey, had topped the lot. Being held up for an unspecified period of time in an airport lounge had brought out the worst in humanity and after a delay that had pushed past 36 hours in the end he would be quite happy to never see another human ever again. With the apartment door firmly shut on the outside world he fully intended to recharge and bask in the solitude before Alan got home from school.

He padded up the hallway to deposit the travel bag containing a few meagre essentials in his room but never made it that far.

The apartment might have been silent but it wasn’t empty. His room was next to Alan’s and through the open door he could see that self same teenager sat cross legged on the bed, head set on, controller in hand and eyes glued to the screen that flashed with neon laser cannons and moved at a dizzying pace. Part of him wanted to tiptoe on past, pretend he hadn’t spotted his younger brother, and collapse onto his own bed. John could have sworn that he hadn’t done anything that could penetrate the teenager’s electronic cocoon but before he had crossed the doorway Alan’s head whipped round and fixed him with an intense blue stare.

Alan paused the game, dropped the controller next to him and slid off the headset. He continued to stare in a way that he could see was making his older brother uncomfortable, holding the eye contact that always made John squirm a little, but at this point he didn’t care.

The weeks before Gordon’s departure had been busy. With a fixed deadline firmly etched on the calendar Jeff had ramped up the pressure on Gordon to gain his pilot’s licence and all the myriad of special endorsements he would need beyond the basics in order to complete a cross-continental journey solo. Alan wasn’t quite sure why such a high rated licence was necessary but he had appreciated all the extra time at the airfield it necessitated. Almost every weekend had been spent there so that Gordon could get in the required practice and he had always tagged along, partly to spend more time with Gordon and partly in the hope of getting a lesson himself; it turned out flying was something he had a flair for and he relished those precious moments in the cockpit. But then Gordon had gained his licence and the lessons had dried up. Time in the sky went from being a priority to something his father was too busy to provide. It rankled that he wasn’t worth the effort.

And then the dreaded day had come. The day he lost the brother he was closest to to the military might of WASP. He’d probably come across as petulant and moody, his goodbyes stilted and brief, but the sullen exterior had been his armour protecting him from breaking as something inside him died. He hadn’t even been able to go with Gordon on the trip up the coast as had been the original plan. A last minute change had seen their father disappear off on some mysterious overseas errand, leaving Virgil to play taxi service to the WASP to be. He had begged to go too but unfortunately for him the start date for Gordon had coincided with Scott having some leave and Virgil was staying up north to indulge in some oldest brother bonding time. So he had been left behind, alone in the apartment, with the promise that John would have arrived by morning.

Morning had dawned but the promised sibling hadn’t appeared. The logical side of him knew there would be a perfectly rational explanation for John’s delay but the emotional side of him just added it to the heap of rejection he was feeling. No one gave a damn about him. Noone cared what he was doing. He’d turned right around and headed back into his room to kill zombies. When the second morning dawned and he was still alone the only difference it made was that the zombies were replaced by asteroids.

John was pinned uncomfortably by the stare. Everything about Alan screamed out that he was issuing a challenge, daring John to pass comment. If he had ignored John’s presence he probably would have been left alone but John was a Tracy too and as with all Tracys he never could resist a challenge.

“No school today?” he queried, one eyebrow raised in preemptive skepticism.

“Does it look like it?”

“What it looks like is you playing video games on a Tuesday in term time. The news didn’t mention any schools being flattened by freak hurricanes so why are you here?”

Alan just shrugged and went to pick up his controller again.

“Alan!”

“What?! It’s not like there’s any point me being there.”

“There is always a point to school.”

“Yeah? Well I’m not learning anything there, the stuff they set is just insulting.”

This was one point John could empathise with, boredom in the classroom was a familiar feeling to him. He felt lucky that he had met forward thinking teachers early on in his school career. Teachers that had put the effort in to find out his level rather than being happy to have a coasting child in the class that didn’t need their assistance. The result had seen him progressing through grade school at a pace that, while it still felt slow to him, at least meant he wasn’t inflicted with the full, tortuous twelve years. Alan on the other hand had been forced to stay firmly in his age grade.

“What about your friends, surely you’re bored here without them?”

That just earned him an eye roll.

“Can we just skip the questions and head straight to the part where you lecture me.”

“Would it make a difference? I’m not Dad but you do realise he is going to be majorly pissed when he finds out, don’t you?”

“He’ll only find out if you tell him.”

“You think he won’t find out from school?”

Alan just sighed.

“Seriously Johnny, Gordon and I got all comms from school diverted directly to us years ago. I’ve already responded to their email.”

“You and Gordon did that?” He was secretly a little impressed that his brothers had found a way to bypass the school systems although he was concerned that their father had seemingly never noticed.

“Well, okay, I did that. Gordon’s not so hot on the technical stuff but it was his idea. Dad’s never been that great at dealing with letters and permission slips so I just got in through a school admin account and updated the contact details. If it’s not a report card he isn’t interested.”

John decided not to pass comment on the low level hacking his baby brother had pulled off. Instead he picked his way across the minefield that was Alan’s floor to join his little brother on the bed. The mattress felt deliciously soft compared to the plastic seat upon which he had been forced to spend the night and he felt his bones sigh in relief. His own bed was still calling out to him but his big brother instincts were screaming at him to fix things, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what he needed to fix. The screaming won. He leaned across to grab a second controller off the cluttered bedside unit and synced it into the game.

“So, what’re we playing? I don’t recognise this one but then there wasn’t much time for gaming at Harvard.”

Alan looked bemused by the turn of events. Scott held an authority that demanded respect, Virgil would take a softer and more caring approach, Gordon provided a mix of straight talking and fun whereas their father subscribed to the school of parenting that was mostly indifferent until an indiscretion was unearthed. John was still a bit of an unknown entity, he’d never taken on the role of authority figure for Alan and he couldn’t work out his brother’s strategy.

“Uh, it’s something I made myself.” Alan disconnected his headset and the background music of the pause screen sounded out harshly in the otherwise quiet apartment eliciting an involuntary wince from John. He guiltily turned the volume down to a more comfortable level before resuming play.

They sat side by side in silence for a few minutes, blasting asteroids and navigating their way through a fast moving debris field. The game concept appeared simple and John wondered why Alan had done it; it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to stock up on the commercially available games.

“Games design is a new one for you, this a school project or something?”

John sensed the eye roll even without taking his own eyes off the screen.

“Hardly. School sucks.”

“So, why make the game?”

“It’s not about the game. I wanted to see if I could model a debris field. Thought if I could get it right it could be good training, you know, before astronaut school.”

“I think you’ll find Tracy College already has their own simulators. How do you even know this is accurate.” Alan had made no secret about his desire to head into space and it looked like that was still the life plan. Part of John hoped the game wasn’t accurate, the objects were flying in thick and fast and he was struggling to react in time to find a clear path for his craft and guide it through. Alan, on the other hand, was having no such difficulties; his movements were lightening fast and the game seemed to hold no challenge for him.

“Borrowed your books.” Alan set his own controller down as John’s ship took a direct hit and exploded in a mass of technicolour pixels that ended the game. He stretched out and plucked a weighty tome off the edge of his desk.

“Borrowed? I don’t remember you asking.” John recognised the volume as one of the few undergraduate text books he had investing in the hard copy of. Slips of coloured paper stuck out at intervals and the pages were rather more worn and well thumbed than he remembered.

Alan pointedly ignored the question and instead flipped through to the relevant pages.

“I’m not sure if I got this bit right though. I struggled to combine the effect of an explosion induced debris field interacting with a meteor shower.”

However John had been expecting his talk to go with Alan, it hadn’t been like this. He soon found himself drawn into an animated discussion of the core principles of astrophysics and how material behaved in a vacuum. Alan’s grasp of the subject, considering he was entirely self taught, surprised the elder Tracy. On his rare visits home Alan had always pestered him to go star gazing or asked him his thoughts on the latest developments in astronaut training but he’d had no idea that Alan’s interest had extended into him seemingly attempting to study most of the first year of his Harvard course from home. No wonder the kid was bored at school.

When Jeff returned later that night it was to find the two boys deeply engrossed in some project or other. Books and piles of scribbled notes lay scattered around them and John’s fingers danced through lines of holographic code as he pointed out some facet or other to the younger boy who seemed to hang on his every word. He assumed John was helping Alan with his homework and thought no more of it as he settled down to his own evening.

xoxoxox

“Mr Tracy, a Miss West is on the line for you.”

Jeff frowned at the unexpected intrusion from his personal assistant. “Miss West?” He couldn’t place the name.

“She says she is calling from the High School, Sir”

“Put her through then.” He paused a moment until the slight click indicating a change in caller reached his ears.

“Mr Tracy? I’m Sarah West, Alan’s home room teacher.” The woman on the other end of the call sounded slightly nervous and with good reason, the Tracy reputation was formidable and seeing Alan’s name on her class list when he had joined the school had led to rounds of commiserations in the faculty lounge.

“Miss West, what can I do for you?” He tried to keep the puzzlement out of his voice. The last time he had received a call from the school, or any kind of communication now he came to think about it, had been over Gordon’s suspension. He hoped he was not in for a repeat of that embarrassing incident.

“I just wanted to check on how Alan was doing. The class are all missing him and hope he is able to return to school soon.”

Jeff understood the words being spoken but the actual sentiments made no sense. As far as he was concerned Alan was at school at that very moment. He kept his voice carefully neutral.

“I thank you for your concern Miss West. I will certainly pass on your regards when I see Alan this evening.”

“Thank you Mr Tracy. Please accept my best wishes for you and all your family, it can be so hard when these things happen. Please keep me informed of his progress through the parent portal and once Alan is well enough to come back we will look at putting a catch up and transition programme in place for him. Alan is a bright boy and I have every confidence that he will be able to catch up with these missed weeks.”

“Thank you Miss West. I will of course keep you informed. Now if you will excuse me.”

“Of course Mr Tracy, goodbye.”

“Goodbye Miss West.”

Missed weeks. The words rang out in his head, causing him to rub his temples. Trouble at school had always been Gordon’s domain, he’d been gone for months but still his influence was being felt. Alan had always taken after John until now; good grades, generally studious and with a passion for space. Whatever was going on Jeff knew he needed to nip it in the bud. Pausing only to inform his PA that he would be heading out for lunch and might not return that day Jeff headed back to the apartment.

Jeff found Alan in his room, engrossed in some project or other. He rapped smartly on the doorframe, breaking the teen’s concentration and causing him to look round in surprise. The look Jeff was treated to wasn’t one of fear or remorse though and there was certainly no sign of guilt at being caught where he shouldn’t.

“Alan, my study. Now!” He strode off down the hallway without waiting for a response.

Alan sighed and followed, knowing that to ignore a direct command would be foolish. By the time he reached the study Jeff was already behind the desk in his customary position for dispensing judgement, a situation Alan had rarely been in but had certainly heard about often enough from Gordon. He was more than a little intimidated at the prospect of what was to come but he tried not to let it show as he stood there, ramrod straight, waiting for his father to make the opening move.

“So Alan, I had an interesting call from Miss West today. Explain yourself”

The words caused Alan’s stomach to drop, there was no way he could pass today off as an isolated incident now. He had been signing off on his absences via the parent portal but if his teacher had actually called up then it was likely his father knew everything. Not knowing what to do for the best he opted to say nothing. The silence stretched out uncomfortably as he felt himself being appraised by eyes as hard as flint.

“I see. Let’s keep this simple. How long have you been skipping school for?”

“Since the beginning of the semester.” There was no point lying about it now. After his few days of indiscretion when Gordon first headed off to WASP John had made sure he went off to school each day. At the end of the summer holidays though, with John and Virgil departed for Tracy College, there was no one to force the issue. September had arrived and with it the start of a new school year but among the faces arriving for a fresh round of learning Alan’s had been notably absent.

“Why? Your teacher seems to be under the impression you are unwell. Are you unwell?” The skeptical lilt to the voice and raised eyebrow would have made even John proud.

“No.”

“So why are you risking failing high school?”

“Failing it?” Alan snorted “School’s boring. I’d be able to get my diploma now if they’d just stick me in the right classes, then I could be done with the place.”

“And what makes you think you could complete your diploma now if you won’t attend class”

“John did.” Alan’s chin jutted out in defiance and Jeff was given a sudden and uncomfortable reminder of another son who had found school far too easy. The arguments may have had a different focus but Alan wouldn't be the first Tracy to have found the system too limiting, the difference being that John had been fast tracked before the boredom got too much. “I’m not learning anything at school. It’s not like I’m just flunking out though, John’s been sending me some stuff through that’s far more interesting.”

“That’s as maybe but did John tell you to just ditch classes? I seem to remember him maintaining an exemplary attendance record”

For the first time Alan felt a wave of guilt, the weight of it causing him to bow his head in shame. John may have agreed with him that the school work he was being set was far too easy and been coaching him on more challenging topics to feed his thirst for knowledge on all things astronomical, but his brother would never have condoned him skipping class. He was not going to let John take any of the blame for his choices.

“No, Sir.”

“I see.”

Alan wasn’t quite sure what it was his father saw as he stood there being appraised like some interesting specimen. There was another drawn out silence. He could almost hear his father’s thoughts as he considered his next move.

“Show me.” Alan’s head jerked up in confusion. “Persuade me. A key skill you would learn in school, if you were there, is how to present a well balanced and constructed argument. Prove your case. I’ll be here waiting.”

Alan had been expecting some sort of reprimand, either a bawling out or a quietly pronounced punishment. So far he had received neither and he was feeling a little on the back foot but then his father had a flair for the unexpected, it’s what made him a formidable adversary in the boardroom. He retreated to his room to think upon the challenge. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to prove, didn’t have a clue what his argument was or what he wanted to achieve but he knew he had better come up with a plan fast. It felt like he was being offered a lifeline of some sort but a lifeline that had the potential to cut you down if grasped in the wrong way.

He retreated into his room and sat down at the desk, the detritus of his latest project from John scattered in front of him where he had abandoned it at his father’s command. What did he want? He knew he didn’t want to go back into that hell-pit high school, each day of drudgery just sapped the life out of him, but how could he prove to his father that school was only holding him back? He gazed unseeingly as the scribbled formulae he had been working on, all the time conscious that his father wouldn’t wait forever.

Those same formulae presented him with his answer. His father had always been focussed on results, getting the most efficient return on his investment and abhorred anything he viewed as a waste of time. Alan knew that if he could prove beyond doubt that attending school was just wasting precious learning time then he might never have to go back. He started gathering together the work he had been doing for John as evidence that he really didn’t need to sit through another hour of basic trigonometry when he was already able to apply it to complex problems.

Jeff sat back and waited. He couldn’t predict Alan’s next move but then he realised he didn’t really know Alan at all. All the way through the young boy’s life his care had fallen to others. Others had formed him and moulded him and evidently turned Alan into someone capable of missing several weeks of school under his nose without him realising. Those influences had all been evident during their short exchange. He had witnessed Gordon’s defiance and determination, John’s intellect and Virgil’s sense of justice. Even traces of Scott were evident in the set of Alan’s jaw and the way he held his shoulders despite Scott only really being present for half of Alan’s short life. How telling that a brother absent some eight years held more influence than he did as father. If there was one thing common to all his sons though it was the ability to rise to a challenge; the afternoon had the potential to be surprising.

Jeff never made it back to the office. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a meaningful and in depth discussion with his youngest son. His conversations with Alan were normally limited to a few perfunctory exchanges in the evening and maybe a goodbye if Alan was up before he headed to the office. Over the course of the afternoon he got more insights into Alan than any mere report card could give. For a start those bland documents could only show that Alan had met the maximum expected standard for his class, behind the lists of grades his son’s true abilities had been hidden.

Alan might have been skipping school but he hadn’t been squandering his time. Jeff was treated to comparisons of the high school math curriculum compared to the problems John had been setting, ostensibly as a way of Alan bolstering a future college application as the middle Tracy had been unaware that the youngest had abandoned his traditional studies completely. Physics, coding and a raft of other topics handy for the modern astronaut similarly followed and it became clear that Alan was willing to put the effort in on the topics that interested him.

Once Alan had finished lambasting the Californian education system he turned hopeful eyes on his father.

“So, can I quit?”

If there was one thing that Jeff agreed on it was that the current curriculum being inflicted on Alan was uninspiring and certainly not challenging for the youngster. He was also conscious that his lawyers had not managed to secure the removal of their family tragedy from the text books in time for this academic year and therefore Alan would be subjected to the same ordeal as Gordon in just a few short months time if he stayed in the classroom. However, he also knew that without a high school diploma Alan would be unlikely to be able to access the higher education he needed to turn his dreams of space into a reality; he knew this from his own path to the stars.

“No.”

“But Dad…”

“No Alan, I will not have any son of mine walking away from education without a high school diploma. If you are at all serious about becoming an astronaut then you need to play by the rules, without a diploma you would be ineligible for any of the space programmes out there.”

Jeff watched the disappointment flood his son’s features and wondered if Alan had really been paying attention to his words and whether he would spot the loophole in his pronouncement. He waited as Alan put together his next move, he could almost see the thoughts as they played out. Alan always had been the son to wear his emotions closest to the surface.

“I just have to get my diploma, right?” There was a hesitancy as a glimmer of hope was seized on.

“That’s right.”

“But there are other ways of getting my diploma, not just in school. Right?”

“Potentially. So what do you want to do?”

“Can I...can I do homeschool? I’m sure we’ve got everything I need to join an online programme and then just get it done.”

Jeff paused as though contemplating the request. Really, having Alan homeschooled would be better for both of them; Alan could learn at his own pace and he would find it easier to have oversight of his son’s progress and commitment.

“You have until the end of the week to find a suitable programme otherwise I will march you straight back to the classroom myself on Monday morning. I know you don’t see the point of half the subjects you have to take but they are important, your diploma is important, even if it’s only as a paper steppingstone to better things.” Jeff found himself on the receiving end of one of Alan’s grins and realised sadly that he hadn’t seen one of those since their last flying lesson. “Now, don’t you have some research to do?”

Alan took the hint and headed out of the study with far more bounce than he’d had when entering it. Jeff had no concerns about delegating the task to his son, the similarities to John had been clear to see and he had every faith that Alan would find a suitable programme within the allotted time frame. The fact that the change to homeschooling came with the added bonus of one less loose end to tie up when the time came to relocate was not lost on him.

#High Expectations #thunderbirds #Thunderbirds fanfiction #Jeff Tracy #Alan Tracy #John Tracy #space brothers getting their own way

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fortunefavorstheway · 5 years ago

Text

Fortuna Chapters 1 & 2

AO3 link

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12k+

Din/OC

Din wakes up with a cold, he’s out of medicine, and the closest shops are sold out. He seeks out a blind healer living in the mountains and ends up getting more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, the Child makes absolutely sure the helmet stays on while Dad’s sleeping.

Long buildup of caretaking and fluff, ends with masturbation

When the Mandalorian woke up with a sore throat, his first instinct was to ignore it like always.

His developing paternal instincts swiftly squashed that first instinct. The sore throat did not go away after a meal and a couple of hours, so it wasn't fatigue. As he coughed from the growing itch in his throat and felt his face warm up, he knew that the first priority was to make sure the Child didn't catch anything, followed by getting well as soon as possible.

Din peered into the crate that currently served as the kid's cradle. Nestled among the blankets, he was still fast asleep, one hand outside the covers rising and falling on his chest as he breathed slowly and evenly. Smiling, he resisted the urge to get any closer in his present condition, and returned to the lower level. Opening his med-pack, he groaned when he saw the only medication available was a single dose of painkillers rattling around. He considered swallowing some bacta gel instead, but if there were unintended side effects there'd be no one left to take care of the kid. He wondered if he should save the painkillers for the kid, but dismissed it; it was too high of a dose of too strong a medicine for his ad'ika. He sighed and regretted it as it nearly became a cough. His carelessness had left his clan vulnerable to a simple cold, and he should've restocked sooner, but credits and discretion had both been scarce since they'd begun their journey to seek out the Jedi.

He tightened his fists with resolve, but weariness weighed down his limbs. He took the painkiller with water and then set about disinfecting everything on the ship, starting with his own clothes and armor. His limbs felt less tired as the painkiller did its work, but his skin was still warm with sweat. It only got worse as he slipped back into his clothes and armor, but if it meant the Child was safe from his sickness, he'd gladly endure the discomfort.

Weapons were last. He had finished disinfecting them and was about to begin regular maintenance when he heard the Child fussing. "Ad'ika," he croaked, hoarser than he anticipated. He grabbed some food and water and returned to the crate, where the Child was sitting up and holding his arms out, cooing with urgency. Din was more than happy to oblige.

"Ahh," the Child whined, pushing at the helmet. Ever since Din had made the adoption vow and revealed his face to the Child, the Child had grown used to him having his helmet off when they were alone.

"Not now ad'ika," Din said, sniffing as his nose stuffed up. "I'm sick and I don't want you to catch it."

The Child stopped pushing at the helmet, but didn't remove his hands entirely. His ears drooped in concern and he tilted his head before leaning against Din's chest. Something about Din's breathing must've been off, because the way the Child's brow furrowed was almost funny for how out of place it was on the face of a baby. The Child straightened and his ears perked as he held up his hands and reached towards his father.

"No!" Din said, startling the Child. "It's too much to ask for something as small as this." The Child's ears drooped once again and he pouted, eyes shining as he whimpered protests. Din sighed, and this time he couldn't stop it from turning into a cough. Once his body settled, he gently took the Child's hands in his own and then held him close as the Child had his breakfast. Once that was done, he continued to hold the Child close to him as he went up to the cockpit to navigate.

His throat wasn't as sore as earlier, so he felt comfortable talking to the Child as usual. "We're gonna need to re-stock on some medical supplies and refuel the ship. We're far from Imperial presence out here so we can go somewhere industrial, but even then, we'd better stick to somewhere that has a lower population density," he said, bringing up the map. The Child relaxed at this familiar routine, bouncing side to side in his embrace, and giving a small cheer as Din unscrewed the ball and handed it to him. He kept giving commentary as he went through each planet. "Too backwater, we won't be able to restock here... terrain is too dangerous and there's a strong criminal presence, so our ship would get scrapped immediately... this one would be perfect if we had enough fuel to get there..." On and on it went, and Din felt a steady fuzz taking over his brain. The next planet he checked, however, gave him pause. "Lisera." He selected it and read through the specs. "Mostly mountains, but they've got a small trade center in this valley that's away from any active volcanoes or earthquake zones," he leaned back into his chair and set the coordinates. "I'd say it's our best bet, what do you think ad'ika?"

"Eh!" the Child agreed.

-----

"I'm sorry, but we're out of medicine."

It was a mixed blessing that the cold and painkiller dulled his senses, or else Din might've done something truly regrettable right then and there. Instead, he said, "When will you restock?"

"I don't know. None of the other vendors have any stock either," the vendor forced a sympathetic smile. "You arrived at a bad time I'm afraid. A trade dispute higher up in this territory meant certain goods are a lot scarcer, and most of the residents here stocked up in case. Had you arrived one week earlier-"

"It's fine," Din said. It was something out of both of their controls, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. He'd hoped to get everything done in one stop, and the idea of having to spend more credits for fuel just to find medicine was making his stomach churn. At that, a coughing fit surged through him, and he struggled to keep his hold on the Child. The Child, in turn, drummed on his chest in a state of alarm, anxious to do something, anything that would help his father feel better.

The vendor winced at the Mandalorian's current state, then said, "If I may make a suggestion, Mandalorian," she turned her head towards the mountains. "There's a healer, Silla, who lives up in the mountains. She sometimes comes down here to sell some medicine and herbs, but in your circumstances it'd be faster to seek her out."

Din cleared his throat. "How much will it cost?"

The vendor frowned. "I've never been a patient of hers, but I've heard she's generous and willing to barter services. I will caution you however," she dropped her voice low, "I've also heard rumors that she has mystical powers. For a blind woman, even for a regular person, her diagnoses are inhumanly accurate, and they say similar things about how powerful the stuff she brews is."

Din considered this, his free hand cradling his child's head closer to his chest. If this woman was a sorceress, maybe he had a lead on finding the Child's kind. "Has anything bad ever happened to any of her patients?"

The vendor shook her head. "I've witnessed the occasional arguments when she comes down to trade, but otherwise no. It might just be that she's a stranger on this planet, and people talk." Sensing the Mandalorian's next question, the vendor said, "She arrived a few standard months ago on a cargo ship and almost immediately went for the mountains."

A freelancer who likely wanted to stay hidden. Din would have to be on his guard. "Thank you. Where in the mountains does she live?"

"Follow the path and you'll eventually find her. You'll know you're getting close from the smell," the vendor said. "A piece of advice: Under no circumstances are you to stray from the marked path, unless you want to be eaten, lost, or crushed." The vendor glanced up at the sky, where the sun was high enough to cast short shadows on the ground. "If you start now, you should be able to find her before nightfall."

Din nodded his thanks, and turned to start his way up the mountain.

-----

It was only until the town was out of sight that Din felt the painkiller begin to wear off. He wasn't aware of any pain or discomfort while he was moving, but the moment he stopped to catch his breath, fatigue seized his body and the sweat soaking his clothes felt heavier than his armor. He wished he could set his child down to give his arm a rest, but if they were this far and he still hadn't found the healer, then he couldn't afford to walk any slower. He switched which arm was holding whenever he began to feel tired, but the frequency of his switches was increasing. The Child, normally so curious about every new sight, was unusually subdued, as if sensing his father's distress. Every once in a while Din caught his child raising his hands, only to gently grasp and lightly squeeze them in his own in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

His throat felt parched and hot, but when he took a sip from his canteen he coughed at how scratchy it felt. How bad was it that it would hurt to drink plain water? The Child reached for the canteen, and Din almost gave it to him on reflex before he stopped. He needed to disinfect it first, and he fumbled around his pockets for where he would keep the alcohol wipes, only to come up empty. He wanted to grind his teeth at how stupidly unprepared he was, but that would only worsen his headache. The Child whimpered and a faint rumble came from his belly, so Din put his canteen back and grabbed the bottle of ration bar mush he prepared when they both had to be away from the ship. The Child wrinkled his nose at the familiar smell, but Din didn't have the energy to argue, simply pushing the tip of the bottle at his child's mouth until the infant's hunger won out and he began drinking from the bottle.

The sun was still up, but much closer to the horizon than when Din had first started. He stared at the railings on the mountain path above him, tempted to scale them to save time, but aside from the vendor's stern warning and the wire nets that held back rocks, there was no way he could do it with in his sweating, aching condition. His limbs were burning as he kept climbing and climbing but he still couldn't see any signs of the healer. The vendor had said he'd smell it when he was near, but as the snot dripping from his nose was making that difficult. Every drop that slid down his upper lip seemed to replace his fatigue with sheer rage and frustration, but all he could do was keep climbing, even as the inside of his helmet smelled more and more like raw bantha meat. The child soon fell asleep, and was wrapped in a makeshift carrier from Din's cape.

Din wanted to feel relieved as the sun began to set and the air cooled, but once it was too dark, Din would need to make camp for the night and delay medical treatment, and being exposed to the elements, even in his armor, wouldn't help any. The Child stirred and shivered but didn't wake, and Din found the resolve to walk still a few more steps. How could he protect his son if he was sick like this?

The sun was touching the horizon when Din smelled it, even through the congestion. It was a spicy smell that reminded him of the food the tribe served, and his nose itched at its presence. He picked up the pace and Din could've cried when he saw a light in the distance. Energy rushing to his limbs with the knowledge that his destination was in sight, he found himself in a flat clearing where the healer had set up camp. Past a single light where the path first entered the clearing, there was a large tent. Next to it there was a low line with clothes and a high line with plants, fish, and meat hung to dry. The fireplace wasn't going right now, but a black kettle hung over it.

His body was begging for sleep now that Din had paused, but not yet. He went up to the tent and knocked on the front panel, but nobody answered. "Hello?" he called out in a cracked voice, hoping he was loud enough to be heard but not too loud to wake his child. Still no response. He stepped into the tent and his heart dropped upon seeing it empty. There were shelves of glass bottles and various instruments strewn about, but Din didn't have the energy to focus on those right now. Instead, his eyes turned to the bedding on the floor, and he felt himself floating towards it as he his strength dwindled to nothing. Even if the healer was out, having a comfortable place to sleep after such a long journey would do for the night.

This, of course, was the moment the Child chose to wake up, and Din sighed long and low when those adorable green ears perked up. The Child did not fuss or cry, but turned his head outwards and began reaching for something out there. At this, Din stilled, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. We're being watched. Much as it ached to do so, he switched on the thermal tracking. There were no footprints in the tent except the ones he'd made, so he stepped outside. Scanning the ground, he still found nothing. As he remembered how Cara had jumped from above, he barely picked up the sound of wood creaking above the clearing. He whipped his head up towards and got his hand on his blaster, confirming a humanoid heat signature up in the trees. The tightening in his chest triggered another coughing fit, and with the sudden dizziness from his head movement Din struggled to keep his balance. The Child cried as he fell, though he managed to roll so his child did not get crushed underneath.

The figure climbed down from the trees, and after he switched off thermal vision he struggled to keep his eyes open as they approached. They were dressed in white robes and knelt before him. "Can you stand?" a soft, low voice asked. Another coughing fit and he strained to get his legs to straighten, but soon he was leaning on the healer as she led him back into the tent. He set his rifle to the side while she laid him on the bed and gently shushed the Child. "Your guardian needs rest. You can stay with him, but I'll need you to move." The Child barely paid attention to her, clinging to Din's chest with all his might, whimpering in distress.

As the darkness overtook his vision, Din murmured, "Helmet... stays on." Clutching his child's hands to his chest and weakly patting his back, Din's eyelids fell shut and he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

-----

If this one insisted on keeping his helmet on, then he was more likely a true Mandalorian than a mercenary simply wearing the shell of one. Silla wondered if instead it might be an urgent need to keep a criminal identity secret, until she knelt down to pick the child off of his guardian and a pendant brushed against her gloved fingertips. The Child cried out and seized the pendant, putting it in their mouth while their other hand clung to his guardian's chest. "Ah, it's yours then." Holding out her hand, she asked, "May I hold it for a short while? I want to know it's shape." When the child's answering noise was full of caution, she added, "You can hold it, and I'll let it go after a few seconds. I can tell that it's important to you." She smiled warmly, and after a moment's hesitation, the child removed the pendant from their mouth and held it out to Silla. Brushing her fingertips on the metal, her smile broadened when she recognized the shape. "A mythosaur skull. So you are a Mandalorian too?" When the child cooed in the affirmative, she let go of the pendant and brushed a hand along their head, feeling the light hair on top of thick, but soft skin, with their ears being the softest of all. "I must say, you are the most adorable Mandalorian I've ever met." The child giggled as she stroked their ears, but soon became distressed again when she held their waist to lift them away from their father.

"Now now, I need to change his shirt for a dry one so he can sleep comfortably tonight," Silla said. The child's weak whine said that letting go was out of the question. "Why don't you sit where his helmet is? I'll be moving him around a lot, and it might come loose. Can you help me make sure it stays on?" She moved her hand to the bottom of the helmet as if to take it off, at which the child gave a high-pitched shriek and launched themself onto the helmet, growling as menacingly as he could but to Silla's ears sounding like a tookit. "That's a start. Can he breathe like that?" The child went silent, slid down so they were laying on the pillow and clinging to the side of the helmet, the sounds they made softer than the earlier growls, but that nonetheless told the healer that they were watching her. Silla smiled. "Wonderful. You're such a good child."

The cape, boots, gloves, and pauldrons were the easiest and removed first, and Silla smiled when she felt the raised sigil on the right pauldron. A mudhorn skull? The bandolier and cuirass would be a challenge. She had to dig for the straps both on his shoulders and sides, and to remove them completely, she had to lift his shoulders up while keeping his head and neck steady, no small feat even if the child weren't clinging to his helmet as if both their lives depended on it. She unzipped his armorweave jacket and pulled his arms out of it, and finally reached the damp undershirt. Silla wrinkled her nose at the scent of disinfectant mixed with musk, and remembered her sisters complaining about how dirty "boy clean" was. She managed to move his arms and get them out just as she'd done with the armorweave outer layer, but now she had to slip it over his helmet.

"Can you help me?" she asked the child, moving her hand to the side where they were holding on. The child made a chirp, then got up and shuffled to the top of the helmet, where a slight movement and light pressure told Silla that it would be safe to remove the shirt now. It was a struggle to stretch it over and Silla winced when she heard some threads snap, but they managed to get the undershirt off while keeping the helmet in place. Throughout all of this movement the patient didn't even stir, to both Silla's relief and alarm as she recognized the signs of acute fatigue. He must've been determined to make the climb from the town to her tent, and given how tightly his child clung to him, she had to admire his dedication.

"Good job, thank you," she told the child. The child replied with a happy coo and reached up for the undershirt. "Ah, no, this needs to be cleaned," Silla said, tossing the shirt into her laundry basket. "How about the cape your father carried you here with?" Placing the blanket over the Mandalorian and wrapping the child in his cape, the first order of business was checking her patient's vitals. His skin was cool and but the monitor read his temperature as high, so his fever hadn't broken yet, and the sweat was likely from his hike. Otherwise, his signs were within normal limits.

After she wiped down her monitor with disinfectant, Silla grabbed a clean, dry towel and uncovered her patient, gently patting away all the sweat. Now that he'd been stripped of his armor, it allowed her to take him in more clearly. Though people knew of her as the blind healer, that wasn't entirely accurate. She could no longer see the surface details like most others, but she could see the energy, the Force even, that pulsed throughout the universe. She could see the disruptions in people where their bodies held pain and tension, and she could see when their souls were red with malice, no matter how soft their spoken words tried to hide it. Experience had taught her that it was easier to explain her observations using her other refined senses, because if she told others about her special sight, they were more likely to pry into vulnerable areas.

When she had first heard the ship fly overhead, she had finished her chores as quickly as possible and then climbed to her tree stand to observe in case it was a brigand. She was relieved at first to see a weary grey soul wander into her camp, but the bundle he carried made her pause. She had seen children before, and no matter what the state of their souls were in, the colors were intense. Mostly white, but when a child had red in their souls, it was like a firework, as intense as it was impermanent. The intensity of the white in this child's soul, however, was brighter than she had ever seen in any living creature, and it made her cautious. White could mean innocence instead of goodness, and neither of those were the same as harmless, so it wasn't until the Mandalorian had fallen to his knees and she heard the child cry out for his father that she felt it safe to descend.

As she continued moving the towel over her patient, her eyes turned to the beacon of light wrapped up in his father's cape, their hold on the helmet more like a comfort-seeking embrace than a protective cling. Her patient's energy was muted, as expected of someone who was ill, but it was unmistakably white. Even when he had reached for his weapon, no red had tainted his soul, his faded energy instead surging with brightness for a brief moment. There were several disruptions that she noted now, injuries and aches that he'd likely powered through to keep providing for his son, not knowing that he was putting the both of them in long-term jeopardy. As she placed her gloved hand directly onto his skin, the extent of his injuries and neglect became clear, and that was just on his torso. Still, he had a solid foundation, a body that had been trained well and experienced a lot of combat. Perhaps with some persuasion, after he recovered from his illness he could do some maintenance. The Mandalorian groaned and Silla flinched, realizing she'd held her hand to his bare torso far longer than necessary She finished patting him dry and got up, throwing the towel into the basket to join his sweaty shirt, and got a cloth patient robe from her supplies. She slipped his arms through the sleeves, and finally, she covered him back up with the blanket.

"Child," she whispered, "I have another bed for you to sleep in." The child's soul flared with oncoming refusal, so she continued. "You might get sick if you sleep near your father tonight, and your father would be upset if that were to happen."

The child made a noise of reluctant understanding, and Silla wondered how old the child was for them to be so intelligent and yet so quiet. "If you stay healthy, it would make him happy, and he'll get better faster." She knelt down and patted an area a few feet from where the Mandalorian was sleeping. "It would be dangerous to sleep on top of him, but I can put a bed for you here so you can sleep close to him. What do you think?"

The child tilted their head in consideration of this offer, then let go of the helmet, giving it a solemn pat before waddling over to where Silla was kneeling. They opened their mouth to say something, only for their stomach to rumble. Whatever the child wanted to say turned into pained whimpers.

Silla smiled. "Of course I can make you dinner. Food is medicine too, you know."

-----

The sound of wind and the soft light through his helmet made Din momentarily panic when he woke up, but the smell of spice and cooking food brought back his memory of the day before. The fact that he could even smell at all through his helmet was a relief, though now he was stuck with one nostril that could breathe fine while the other one was completely blocked. He sat up and found his body feeling lighter, his skin no longer a steaming hot prison, and he briefly froze when he saw that his shirt had been changed for a robe that was open at the back. His helmet was still on, and the rest of his clothes and armor were placed neatly at the foot of his bed. And the kid? A basket sat near the pillow, and Din looked inside and found his child sleeping on top of a folded blanket, wrapped in his cape. He reached a hand out to stroke his head but stopped when he saw his bare hands. Not yet.

Now that he had the energy to keep his balance and his eyes open, he got a good look around the tent. Opposite of him and the kid was a hammock with a fur throw inside. Around the perimeter were bags filled with various plants likely harvested from the mountain. In the center of the tent was a firepit that had been dug into the ground, filled with sand, and lined with stone. A large steel pot was boiling above a steady fire, and smaller pots of clay and steel cooked on top of a grill over a separate fire in the corner of the pit. Around the pit was a dense woven wire barrier, and Din blinked. Had that been there yesterday?

At the wall farthest from the door was a hovercraft. Drawers and shelves folded out of it and on the shelves were various glass jars containing what looked like dried herbs, cooking spices, and other medicinal materials. A table was laid out on top of it all, cooking and medical utensils strewn about on faded white cloth. His lip quirked when he noticed a snake submerged in a dark liquid in one of the larger glass bottles. Would it catch the kid’s eye and stomach?

The crunch of footsteps on earth accompanied by the tock tock of a walking stick approached the tent and Silla stepped through the entrance carrying a few bags. She paused, her head first turning towards the Mandalorian, and then towards the basket. “Good morning,” she whispered.

The Mandalorian nodded, then he remembered. “Good morning,” he whispered back.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he said. “Lighter. I can breathe easier but-” As if on cue, his body was shaken with coughs, his ribs straining as he struggled to keep them quiet. His mouth and nose filled with phlegm, and he sucked swallowed it back in with a grimace.

Silla nodded. “I’m going to prepare breakfast and some other medicines. We can discuss further treatment and payment while you...” She paused, her mouth hanging open as she remembered. “You can eat while I take care of a few things around the campsite, and when you’re done, call for me and we’ll talk.”

“Okay.” With a nod, Silla set her bags down below her hammock and switched her leather gloves for rubber ones. She took some clean towels out of a basket and lifted the smaller pots from the fire pit, then returned to scoop some hot water from the large pot into a small saucepan. She brought everything over to her hovercraft workstation, and soon the tent was filled with the ambient sounds of cooking: pouring liquid, sliding drawers, the clink of metal against glass, and chopping.

While Silla focused on her work, Din’s eyes focused on her, gathering as much detail as he could now that his vision was no longer clouded by fever or fatigue. Loose-fitting pants were tucked into dark leather boots, and over that she wore a long tunic that was tied at waist and had a hood. Her hair was completely wrapped in a scarf that sat tight and high on her head, and a blindfold that covered her eyes and eyebrows tucked into the scarf. Except for the black blindfold, all of the cloth covering her body was light gray. It matched her pale skin, and it was here that Din drifted from observation to guesswork. She looked young, but the quiet confidence in her stance, the way she spoke, and the way she moved reminded him of someone closer to Omera’s age. Right now, he was most impressed with how quickly she chopped the vegetables and flung them into a pot with a flick of her knife. Soon, she was scooping the food into small bowls and laying out two trays, one for him and one for the Child. She brought both of them over to the bed, setting it down near the basket where the Child still slept, while she knelt on the floor.

“I advise you to finish as much as you can. You were suffering from acute fatigue when you collapsed here last night, and everything here is meant to restore your strength and clear your airways as much as possible,” she gestured to the tray. There was meat and vegetable stew that was red with spice, rice porridge, a mug of tea, and a spoonful of dark syrup. “The two things that are non-negotiable are the syrup and the tea. The syrup will taste awful, but it’ll expel the mucus in your lungs and help soothe your throat. That will make it easier to drink the tea, which has a medicine dissolved in it that should help you breathe through both nostrils again.” She brought out a box of tissues and a large metal thermos. “Here’s more water if you need it. What questions or concerns do you have?”

Din eyed the syrup dubiously, vague memories of his illnesses as a foundling and even vaguer memories of his illnesses as a youngling and of the bitter, sickly sweet medicines he had no choice but to take. Surely he could maintain a poker face now, but just to be sure, he asked, “You said they're going to clear my nose and throat?” Silla nodded in response. “How much coughing and sneezing will they trigger?”

The corner of Silla’s mouth quirked upward. “Even outside, I’m going to know if you don’t take the medicine as directed,” she said. She straightened, realizing his concern. “Your child has been sleeping soundly since I put him to bed last night. The tissues can help muffle your cough. That said, do you want me to move him to the other side of the tent so he can continue sleeping?”

Din sighed as he considered it. The viciously protective part of him did not want to be separated from his child more than necessary. The pragmatic part of him said that if the Child woke up while his helmet was off, there was no way he could hold and comfort the kid without potentially infecting him. “Other side of the tent, not under the hammock,” he said. “Just in case.”

If Silla was insulted by the implication, she didn’t show it, instead smiling as she turned to gently pick up the basket and slowly stood from her kneeling position. With steady, fluid steps she brought the basket where Din had requested. Reaching into her tunic, she brought out a metal ball the size of a fist, and Din stiffened as she set it near the child. Then he heard the turn of a mechanical key, and as a soft metallic tune played throughout the tent, his shoulders relaxed. Silla’s went back to her workstation, rummaged through the drawers, and brought a few towels and a spray bottle back to Din. “I imagine you’ll want to clean your helmet after all that it’s absorbed for the past half day or so. This disinfectant can also be used on your hands before you eat,” she set them down. “You can leave your trash on the tray. What else will you need?”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Din said. “Thank you.”

Silla’s smile this time flashed a small bit of teeth, and he found himself weakly returning one of his own. “I’ll be right outside. Call me if you need anything,” she said. Once she ducked out of the tent, he checked to make sure the cover on his window was secure, and he waited until he heard the sound of carving wood to finally, finally take the helmet off.

Just being able to breathe in fresh air that wasn’t saturated with his own snot was clearing his head already, and first he sprayed as much disinfectant as he felt comfortable with inside his helmet on the more-than-off chance the unexpected happened. Setting it aside, he blew his nose and lightly coughed into a tissue to clear himself as much as possible for what was to come next. After spraying his hands, he picked up the large spoon with the syrup, grimacing at the sickly bittersweet smell of it as he brought it up to his mouth. Before he could psyche himself out any further, he stuck the whole thing in his mouth and swallowed. A burst of bitter cold hit Din’s chest and tongue as his face squashed painfully, and he managed to grab a tissue as a series of violent coughs burst out of his lungs. Over the rattling noise of his own body, he could’ve sworn he heard Silla murmur, “Ah, there it is” with an amused smile in her voice. Then, as the syrup aftertaste lingered on his tongue, he swallowed and found that the scratchiness was all gone. When he took an experimental breath in through his mouth, he found it didn’t trigger a cough either, not even an itch in his throat. Glancing over at the basket, he listened for any signs of the kid stirring, but after a minute of silence, Din sighed and got to work on the rest of his meal.

After the punch of the syrup, the tea was nothing. What bitterness the medicine had was blended with a spicy sweetness and a citrus flavor that reminded him of shig. Pouring himself more hot water, he dipped the syrup spoon into the mug to make sure he got all of it, then when he finished that cup he poured another one to wash out the aftertastel. The warmth traveled to his head and chest, and once the tingling hit his nose, he was a lot better prepared for the sneezes that followed. Afterwards, he was able to fully breathe through both nostrils, and with his renewed energy he found himself more ravenous than he expected. He tried to savor the porridge and the stew as the first non-ration meal he’d eaten in ages, but they quickly vanished from their bowls and he poured himself another cup of water to wash it all down.

The sigh Din released this time was one of satisfaction. He soaked one of the towels he’d been given in hot water, using it to scrub his teeth and his face. He was overdue for a shave, but that could wait until he got back to the ship. At the quiet he realized that the music box had stopped playing a while back, and he listened again for any signs that the kid was awake. Still silent.

Well, it was time for breakfast anyway, but before he could wake the kid, he needed to get dressed. Din gently nudged an arm out the tent window, making sure the flap stayed mostly shut. “Silla, could I have my shirt back?” he called out.

“Of course. One moment.” She went away from the tent and he heard the sound of rope twisting and the flutter of fabric, and then Silla came to the window and placed the shirt in his hand.

“Thank you.” It smelled fresh and he sighed at how cool it was when he slipped back on, but he didn’t linger on the feeling long as he closed his jacket and got his armor and boots on. After he got his gloves on, he gave his helmet one last wipedown with a damp, still hot towel. A deep breath, filling his clear airways with one last gulp of the mountain air, and Din slipped it back over his head.

He picked up the tray with the kid’s food and went over to the basket. The Child was stirring a bit, bunching up the cape in his hands and chewing on a corner, his eyes still closed as he made some soft smacking noises. Din smiled, reaching in running a finger gently over the kid’s forehead and cheeks, and at that, the Child woke up. “Ah,” he cooed, reaching up to be held, still clutching the cape in his hands. Din happily complied, and the Child patted his helmet and chest, as if sensing his renewed spirits.

“Yeah, I’m better now,” Din said. “Still gonna keep this on even when we’re alone just to be safe, okay?” The kid pouted a bit, but the sight and smell of breakfast brought back his good mood immediately. Din got a bit of porridge into the spoon, but the kid ignored it and grabbed the bowl, gulping it down. He made quick work of the stew too, and all Din had left to do was wipe at the kid’s chin to make sure his clothes didn’t get too dirty. “Slow down, or you’ll choke,” he said

To which his ad’ika only gave an indignant “Hrmph!” and tilted the bowl almost upside down to get the last few drops of stew. Another wet towel to wipe down the Child’s face and scrub his teeth, and Din called out to Silla that he was ready for her. He could’ve done so earlier, but he wanted to relish some quiet time with his child a bit more, and he dreaded what the cost of medical treatment including a night’s stay and breakfast would be.

“I heard your purse when I put you to bed last night, and I imagine you’re in financial straits at the moment,” Silla said, not unkindly. “In such cases, the payment I ask is that you help me make my rounds around the mountain this morning. If you wish to stay for lunch, you will accompany me into town while l take care of business there. If you wish to stay another night, I will lead you back up the mountain--I can do it even after sunset--and you will help me with anything that remains.”

Bartering services. Just as the vendor had said. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Silla smiled, then continued, “I mentioned further treatment before breakfast. While your cold should definitely be gone by the end of the day, your body is under a great deal of stress. Without proper rest, you’ll continue to be vulnerable to illness and your recovery times will be longer than if you were healthy. When do you need to leave Lisera?”

Din wanted to say “after the morning rounds”, but he thought about it. He was unlikely to find room, board, and medical care for this kind of a bargain anywhere else that he could reach with his remaining fuel and credits he had left. There wasn’t any significant criminal activity that he’d observed, let alone Imperial presence, and since he kept the kid close to him, he’d be prepared for any rogue bounty hunters. For long term gain, he could afford to stay for a few days. He looked at Silla’s face, an enigmatic smile gracing her lips, and for a moment he felt a chill, as if she could see right through his helmet and into his mind. Was this why the others thought her a witch? He wanted to observe a while longer before he brought up the subject. No need for her to think his kid was anything but his kid.

As if sensing his thoughts, the kid wriggled out of his grasp, waddling towards the music box and giving it a light teething before holding it out to Silla. Her smile warmed as she wound it up again, and the Child squealed with delight before resuming his gnawing.

“Your child was such a good assistant, holding onto your helmet to make sure it didn’t come off last night,” Silla said. “You should feel proud.” The child stopped gnawing for a bit and glanced up at Din, ears perked.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, patting the kid’s head and earning a happy coo. “I’ll see how I feel after this morning.”

Silla nodded and then stood. “First order of business then,” she said. “Get some hot water from that big pot and clean these dishes.”

-----

The morning in the mountains felt as much like meditation as it did work. Din was reminded of those precious few weeks he’d spent on Sorgan as they hiked through the mountains, Silla bringing a wheeled cooler that had a tray on top for her to set some cloth bags. She wore her hood up to block the sun and had a multi-purpose shovel strapped to her back.

Silla had given him a bag padded with a small blanket so that he could carry the kid over his chest, but every time they stopped to forage for food the Child insisted on jumping out to help and explore. On one occasion Silla had stopped him from picking up a poisonous mushroom, and Din couldn’t help but ask, “How could you tell?”

Silla smiled. “I know where they grow,” she said, “and how they smell.” She then plucked a few blades of grass and folded them together to make throwing stars, and presented them to the child, tossing one in the air to demonstrate. The Child’s happy peals echoed throughout the mountain and it was all but impossible to get him back in the bag after that. He threw the stars on the path ahead and then dashed to retrieve them. Keeping up with the Child as he continued this cycle still let them make their way through the mountain at a steady pace.

After what happened with the mushrooms, however, Din picked up on something, and he walked closer to Silla to silently confirm it. Whenever she came to the next plant to harvest, he could see her turn her head first, then she would sniff to confirm her findings before she touched the plant. As they approached a riverbank, he could see some apples growing on the trees far overhead, and when he looked at her, he could see her craning her head as if to look at them too.

Once they were underneath one of the trees, Silla said, “I usually climb up there to harvest those, but I’ve already gotten the lower hanging ones and it’s becoming increasingly difficult.” She turned towards him. “Do you have anything with you that could get them down?”

Din shot his whipcord at one of the apples, only for it to go straight through, and the broken pieces fell to the ground with a soft splat. Silla smiled with a sigh. “Maybe that can make it easier for you to climb up there, but it’s not necessary.”

The Child had paused ahead on the trail, seeing that Dad and Soft One had stopped. Gathering his stars he shuffled back to where they were standing, and he looked up to see what they were looking at. Ah! He knew the round sweets that hung above them, and it sounded like Father and Soft One were confused about how to get them. He held his hands up, seeing where the sweets clung to the tree. To me! To me!

The branches above rustled and Silla’s mouth dropped as an apple fell, and she held out her hands to catch it. “That was… very lucky,” she said in a mystified voice. Turning towards the Child, she scooped him up in her arms. “Did you do this?” she asked, holding the apple to his mouth. The Child dropped the stars to grab the apple, then cried out for his fallen stars. Silla laughed and picked them up, tucking them into a fold in his hood. “Can you do that again?”

“I don’t think-” Din said, the Child held up a hand and this time an apple fell for his father to catch. It was one of the easiest things he’d ever done, since all he had to do was give a little twist and the fruit would fall on its own.

Din watched Silla closely for her reaction. Her smile looked genuine, but when she spoke next, her trembling voice betrayed her. “You really are such a precious one aren’t you?”

They were deep in the woods and likely had privacy, but Din did a quick scan of the area just in case. Once he confirmed they were alone, he said, “Silla, how much can you see with your eyes?”

She went still, then turned towards Din. “What do you mean?”

Din shared his observations with her, how her body language seemed to use sight first before her other senses, and how quickly she’d drawn the conclusion that it was the kid who’d made the apple fall. “I’ve never met a blind person who moves as you do,” he concluded.

“Hm. Makes me wonder how many blind people you’ve met,” Silla said, lightly bouncing the Child in her arms as the air grew tense. “I will say, you’ve made your observations a lot more politely than most.” She brought up her hand to run them across the black blindfold. “I don’t see in as much detail as most others,” she explained. “I mostly can see the shapes of things. As for how I concluded that your Child got that apple,” she took a deep breath and faced him, and he could see her internally calculating if it was worth the risk to tell him. Another deep breath breath, and she continued, “I can see the energy present in all living things, and sometimes in the non-living, though that’s more restricted. There are some who call this energy the Force.” She went on to list a few of the colors she could see and what they meant, and then she addressed the apple. “For a moment, the Force in the tree seemed to have sparked as a thread in a brilliant white like your Child’s tied itself to one of the apple stems. I couldn’t believe it, so I asked him to do it again, thinking I just imagined it. But that same thread and spark happened again, and this time I could see the way it came from his body.” She sighed, then smiled at the Child. “You, I must say, have the honors of being the most adorable Mandalorian and the most adorable Force-user I’ve ever met.” The Child’s ears wiggled at the praise.

“Can you teach him?” Din said with urgency. “I’ve been searching for a Jedi who can-”

“I’m no Jedi,” Silla interrupted, “and I’m afraid my use of the Force is limited.” She reached up to touch the blindfold again. “I wasn’t born this way, but after an… accident with a more powerful Force user, I wound up with this form of sight in exchange for the normal kind.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I cannot be the one to teach this child.”

Din wasn’t as disappointed by the news as he thought he’d be. It was the strongest lead he’d had in a while. “Even so, I could use someone like you as my crew,” he offered. Silla’s spine straightened in surprise, and she stopped bouncing the child. “I need someone to look after him while I run jobs, and with you could make sure we--especially him--stay healthy.” Her mouth had dropped open again and she remained silent. “The pay is… sporadic, but I can give you a cut of every job, and you’d have food and shelter.”

The silence stretched on and Din found himself wishing he could see her eyes to get more information of how she was feeling, and then he wondered if she could see his embarrassment and desperation. Her mouth snapped shut and she said in an even tone, “You’ve had to leave your son alone in your ship?”

He couldn’t stop himself from ducking his head. “I take him with me when I can, but most of the time it’s too dangerous,” he said. “The Empire is after him for what he can do, and it’s usually a choice between which one means he’s safer with.”

Her jaw tightened and Din braced himself for a more scolding of his parenting, but then Silla nodded. “Yes, yes I would gladly join your crew. I’ve seen-” she stopped, then hugged the Child close to her. “Just one thing. Could we leave tomorrow? I want to forage one last time on a different part of the mountain, so we can stock up.”

“Yes,” Din answered, and her face finally relaxed into a small smile.

-----

With the Child’s help, they gathered enough apples to fill a small bag, and soon after the Child nodded off from the most practice he’d gotten in a while. Just as well, because when they got close to the net that had been set up near the river bank, Din saw a buffet of amphibious and aquatic life that would’ve sent the kid into a feeding frenzy. Silla opened the cooler to reveal it was filled with water in three separate compartments, and the two of them gathered enough crayfish, crab, and fish to fill all compartments to half capacity each. Din reached down to seize a frog that fit in his palm, and when Silla saw, she said, “Oh, they don’t eat those here.”

“No, but he likes eating these raw,” he said, gesturing to the baby sleeping on his chest.

The corner of Silla’s mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t recommend it,” she said. “Unless he has an incredibly strong immune system, raw animals often contain parasites.” Din went frozen with dawning horror, and she continued, “If it’s any consolation, I don’t see any Force signatures of other lifeforms in his body. She glanced in the cooler. There weren’t any compartments remaining, but she grabbed a cloth bag and went to the shore. Finding a small, flat piece of driftwood floating in the water, she placed it inside the bag, then soaked the bag in water. “We can put the frogs in here, then put this bag in the same compartment as the fish. Once we get back to camp, we can cook them.” He admired her cleverness, and though the frogs burrowed deeper into the mud as the sun rose higher, they caught enough for a decent snack. They both dismantled the river net, and began the trip down the mountain.

Despite their greater burdens, the trip down the mountain was easier and their footsteps felt lighter than it had been the way up. Perhaps it was the figurative weight off their shoulders now that she knew about the Child and he knew about the source of her “mystic” eyes. Once they returned to camp, Silla retrieved the bag of frogs, removed the piece of wood, rinsed the bag with hot water from the center pot until the frogs inside stopped moving, then threw the frogs into a smaller pot filled with boiling water. She then separated some of everything else they’d gathered into bags and water-filled jars inside the tent. When Din noticed she left all the crabs and crayfish in the cooler, he asked about it.

“I’m allergic to shellfish,” she explained. “Would you like some later?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.” So she prepared a water jar just for the shellfish.

She loaded the bags with what remained onto the hovercraft shelves, then with a click of a button, everything folded back into the hovercraft as it came to life. By now, the frogs were done, so she scooped them back into their bag and gave it to Din. She showed Din where and how to secure the cooler, and they settled in as the hovercraft went the rest of the way to town. There was a red scanner in front that allowed it to self-drive, and once again, now that Din was still did he realize how much physical exertion he’d been doing. They were content to sit in silence, enjoying the ambient sounds and sights, surface or deeper, of the mountains.

As the town came back into view, the Child woke up, smacking his lips. When Din opened the bag to show the Child the boiled frogs, the Child responded with bulging eyes, high-pitched squeals, and clapping hands before he seized one and shoved it into his mouth. At the sound of him gulping it down whole, Silla laughed, and the Child giggled in return before shoving another one into his mouth. He made quick work of all the frogs, moping as he shook the bag upside down to no avail. He began to whimper and fidget in Din’s arms, and Din murmured apologies that those were all that they could find. Still the Child whimpered, and soon began to softly cry.

Silla spoke up. “He’s not hungry, he’s gassy,” she said. Din picked him up and patted his back, but still the Child continued to cry. “Here, let me try.” Din handed the Child over, and after a bit of bouncing, Silla struck his child’s back with a soft thud.

“HEY!” Din shouted, lunging for his son, only to stop when the Child belched loudly enough to echo. With a sigh, the Child nuzzled into Silla’s shoulder, peering over at his father with some concern.

“You do a firm strike with the heel of your palm right here,” she turned to gesture to a place off center left below his shoulders. “Children are tough, but I can understand your concern.” She handed the Child back to Din, who lightly placed the heel of his palm where she’d shown him. The Child turned and held his hand, patting it in reassurance.

“Sorry I yelled.”

“Don’t worry. It’s a parent’s prerogative to worry about their child.”

-----

Once the townsfolk found out that Silla was leaving Lisera tomorrow, they gave her well wishes and gifts to send her off, to the point where they soon gathered enough food gifts to take care of lunch. The harvest she brought with her sold out quickly, and soon all that was left was the bottle of what Din learned was snake wine. She brought it to a Sullustan technician at the spaceport where the Razor Crest was docked, and while she worked that out Din went to the Razor Crest so he could eat lunch and both he and his son could use the refresher. When they returned, Din caught the end of their conversation.

“-dy for you when you arrive tomorrow.”

“Thank you Jae,” Silla said. “Hope you and Hiung enjoy the wine.” She turned towards Din and smiled. “That’s everything! Shall we head back?”

“Yeah,” Din answered. “We should start preparing as soon as possible.”

“A Mandalorian huh? So you’re the one taking our witch away from us, and after we were all startin’ to get to be friends with her,” Jae said with a laugh. “You take care of her huh?”

“Yeah,” Din nodded. “I will.” As they left on the hovercraft and went back towards the mountain, Din asked, “What was that about?”

“Oh! Since I thought you’d be gone for awhile, in lieu of his usual payment, I asked Jae to run some diagnostics on this-” she patted the hovercraft, “right here, and he threw in an offer to craft some simple medical tools to make my new job easier.” She opened one of the food gift containers and found herself with a box of spicy noodles. “Ah, Mala knows these are my favorite.” The sound of slurping and chewing filled the air until the town was once again out of sight, and Silla sighed and sat back in satisfaction, her face red from the spice.

Din reached out to touch her face, and Silla stilled. “Wha-”

“You had some sauce on your cheek,” he said, wiping at it with his thumb.

“Ah, thank you,” she said, and her face turned redder where he’d touched her.

They rested for a bit when they got back to camp, and as the sun set, Silla set out a clay pot of rice to cook and then began packing away as much as she could while Din prepared dinner. The Child first resumed the throw-and-chase of his grass stars, but soon grew bored and climbed onto his father’s shoulder to watch him work. It had been a while since he’d cooked over an open flame, but as long as he paid attention to the food instead of the fire he was fine. In addition to a pot of soup he was making for all of them, he cleaned and stir fried the crab and crawfish for himself and cooked the fish in a separate skillet for Silla, tossing both of them with some vegetables. Silla came over to add some of the dried meat to the soup, then sighed at the smell of sizzling shellfish.

“Crab and shrimp used to be my favorite foods, but after I reached adulthood I suddenly developed an allergy,” she said with a laugh, rolling up the clotheslines. “I used to beg my family to let me have just a small bite but they refused.”

“I won’t be breaking tradition then,” he said, and she laughed again. She’d taken care of everything that was outside the tent, and he told her that dinner would be ready soon. Soon, the soup had simmered long enough, the meat was the right texture, and the rice was steaming and fluffy. He portioned out some of each dish for tomorrow’s breakfast, placing them inside the now dry and empty cooler. When he finished making the dinner trays, Silla took hers and stepped towards the entrance of the tent.

“I’ll go,” Din said, getting up with his plate and the Child’s, but Silla shook her head.

“You’re my guest for now, and I don’t want either you or son to be exposed to the cold,” she said. “Besides, I imagine after I fed him dinner yesterday while you were sleeping, the two of you might want to catch up.”

“I’m wearing armor, and he’s-”

Silla held up a hand and set down her tray. Walking over to her hammock, she pulled out the fur throw, which Din could now recognize as a wolf pelt. Wrapping it around her shoulders, Silla retrieved her tray. “As your host and healer, I insist that you eat inside,” she said. Without waiting for his response, she turned and left the tent.

-----

He hadn’t been as hungry as he’d been for lunch, though the Child took his portions with his usual gusto. Hesitatingly, Din brushed a bit of the crawfish against his ad’ika’s cheek and waited for a reaction. Nothing happened, but he decided to wait at least another day just in case. He’d have to ask Silla if she had the equipment and knowledge to run some tests. The thought of his kid having an allergic reaction, of hives and difficulty breathing, made him shudder. He was snapped out of his morbid thoughts when the Child reached up to pat his face, then reached for the shrimp. “Not yet, ad’ika. I’m not sure it’s safe yet. If it is, we’ll get you some more, okay?” His son pouted a bit, but didn’t protest. Once they’d finished dinner and brushed their teeth, Din got the helmet back on and called in Silla.

The dishes were cleaned and packed away in the hovercraft along with a few remaining bags, and the tent felt a lot larger to Din now that the only things left unpacked were the beds, the large water pot, the cooler, a basket of towels, and a bag of medical supplies. The Child settled into the basket-crib with Din’s cape as his blanket, and with a turn of the music box, he was soon fast asleep.

Silla smiled one of her warm smiles as she kneeled and peered into the basket, and Din wondered the Child looked like through her eyes. She’d said his soul was a brilliant white, but what did that look like when the Child was at peace, well fed, and happy? She then turned towards him, and Din felt her eyes scanning him.

“Were you caught in an explosion recently, or a similar sort of accident?” she asked. When Din answered in the affirmative, she explained, “I’ve noticed several disruptions in your energy along your neck, shoulders, and back. The most critical damage has been healed, but what remains can become an aggravating problem if left untreated. I can start now if you’d like.”

There was likely a reason she’d waited until the child was asleep to bring this up. “What kind of treatment?”

She retrieved the bag and brought out what looked like four pads hooked up to a small radio, along with a metal tray filled with smooth, flat stones the size of her palm. “I can loosen your muscles first with a small electric current, and then do a manual adjustment. I’ll need to apply the pads to bare skin in order for the current to do its job properly, but if you’d rather not, I can do the manual adjustment as long as your armor is removed.”

He had to admire how she was able to say it with such a neutral expression and tone of voice, as if oblivious to the implications or, more likely, aware of the implications but experienced enough for it to not phase her. “So it’s massage therapy.”

“A little more intense,” she said. “Like with the medicine this morning, noise is expected, and in case your helmet has a setting to turn the mic off, I’d rather you didn’t, because if I hit a particularly painful spot, I’d rather know. If you’re in pain and tense up, that works against the treatment. However, it’s all up to you.” She set everything down and folded her hands in her lap.

Din considered it. She’d already undressed him once, the only difference was that this time he’d be conscious of it. The electric current seemed a bit suspicious, but in the unlikely (and it was highly unlikely, given how the kid approved of her) event that she tried something funny, he’d still have his blaster at his hip. “We can do it with the current. Give me a moment.” Silla nodded and closed the tray with the stones, latching it shut. Just like this morning, she gently picked up the Child in his basket and set it on the metal tray, then lifted them both and brought him over to the other side of the tent, out of the shadow of her hammock. She dropped the tray into the large metal pot in the center fire, then stirred the pot and stoked the flame while Din undressed. At some point, satisfied with the fire, she returned to the basket-crib to check on the Child, that smile returning to her face, and she reset the music box. She grabbed the pillow from her hammock and returned to the fire pit, sat facing away from Din, and then simply waited.

He finally got his undershirt off and he told her he was ready. She placed her pillow next to his in an inverted V-shape, and said, “On your stomach. I’ll do your back first.” He did so, and she adjusted the pillows so he could lie face down comfortably. His vision cut off, all he could focus on was the activity of her hands as she applied the pads to his back in a 2x2 grid. She switched on the machine, and the feeling of the electrical current going through him made him shiver. “I’m going to turn up the intensity. Let me know when to stop by raising your left hand.” He heard her turning a knob, and the tingling in near his left shoulder grew until it felt like someone was squeezing the muscle, at which point he raised his left hand. She repeated the process for all four pads, and Din couldn’t help but sigh at the surges that ran through him, squeezing and then relaxing his muscles like… like…

“We’ll let that do its job for 10 minutes,” Silla said. She got out two towels and laid them over the pads, then stood and went back to the fire pit. He heard her slip on gloves and get the metal tray out of the pot, then she returned to his beside and he groaned as he felt the heat on top of towels, making the electric pulses feel even stronger as they both melted him. He barely registered her “Let me know if it’s too hot” as she covered him with the blanket, and for what feels like an eternity Din just shut his eyes as what feels like years of stress dissolved away with each electric pulse under the heat. He lost track of Silla’s footsteps, but at some point the music box stopped playing and he heard it wind up again.

The electric current stopped and Din shivered as Silla removed all the layers and pads, only to sigh when he felt one of the hot stones digging into his back. He groaned as she pressed it into him, hissed as the pain seemed to build as she dug into a pressure point, only for something to give an audible pop and he released a breath at the same time as she did. “There we go,” she murmured, a pleasant tingling sensation radiating throughout his back while she moved on to make another part of his body feel sour. When the stones had cooled down and it felt like his back muscles had been tenderized, he felt her hands on him. She pressed lightly, but everywhere she pressed made sent a small jolt through him, and he wondered if it was a lingering effect of the electric pads. In particular, when she pressed her hands into his lower back, he felt something travel up his spine to the base of his neck, and he swallowed a lump in his throat.

She asked him to flip over, and the whole process repeated on his chest. Now that Din was facing up, she took back her own pillow. The electric pulses went for longer as she needed time to reheat the stones and metal tray, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Everything went about the same until it came time to apply the hot stones directly to him. Face up, he could see her sitting at the head of the bed, and when she leaned over, her chest hovered right above his face.

Din was now truly grateful for the Creed and how she respected it, because the only thing that would’ve made this silent torture worse was if she could see the expression on his face. The fact that she’d cured his cold this morning now felt like a curse as he could breathe in her scent with her so close to him, something that smelled like almost over-ripe fruit and steam. His eyes drifted to where he could see a shadow of a nipple poking through her robes and he clenched his teeth. He closed his eyes to rid himself of the temptation, but with that image in his mind, all he could focus on was the heat of her hands travelling and digging into the vulnerable parts of him, taking his pain and replacing it with a warmth that slowly pooled lower and lower. He could mask his groans as the result of the pressure from the stones, but he felt himself growing hard. This time when she set aside the stones and pressed her hands to him, every single touch seemed to send that electric jolt from straight to the base of his skull and then back down. He wasn’t aware of how much he was sweating until Silla shifted to the side of the bed and made small patting motions all over his torso with a dry towel. At that point, Din decided he would risk opening his eyes.

Her expression was neutral while Din focused on keeping his breathing steady. If she said anything about his breathing patterns, he could easily say he was making sure the cold wasn’t returning. She set aside the towel and reached for his undershirt, but paused. Her head turned towards Din, her brows furrowed in concern, and a frown on her face. The tent was silent save for his breathing, and then her brow relaxed and her lips parted a fraction of an inch.

Then Silla leaned down, close enough that he could feel her breath next to his ear, and whispered, “Just so you know, that is a completely normal physical response.” Din continued to focus on his breathing as if the denial made it more likely she meant something else. “While this-” she held up his shirt, “-is still off and your son sleeps, do you want me to take care of that?”

Din’s breathing stopped, and he wondered for a moment if he’d been poisoned and was hallucinating. That would explain why his throat suddenly felt tight. “You don’t-” he stammered. “You’re not-”

Silla’s mouth quirked into a cheeky smile. “There’s a euphemism where I grew up for whores,” she murmured, dark honey dripping into her voice. “Intimate healers. We were taught that for many, sex is as important as food, water, and sleep.” She gently lay herself next to him on the bed, and the hand that had been resting on his shoulder drifted downward. “Considering all the stress and anxiety that surrounds it… and you have been under so much stress already. I would gladly help you with it.” She paused at his stomach, tracing light circles that made his insides twist with heat. “If it’s payment you’re worried about,” she continued, fingers dancing tantalizingly close along his belt, “I’d say after all you’ve given me, you’ve more than earned it.” He seized her hand, squeezing it tightly in his own, holding it just above his belt. He could feel how soft it was, and he loosened his hold only slightly when she gave a small grunt of pain. Slowly, he steadied his breathing and he turned to look at her face. The way her mouth was parted promised warmth and comfort, and when his gaze drifted downward to see her breasts pressing into his side, he groaned before he could stop himself. “One word, yes or no, Mandalorian, and I will respect it,” she said, voice low and breathy.

He wanted, ached to give in, but the tremors in his limbs and the sight of her teeth in that small smile she was giving terrified him. If he gave in to what he wanted, he felt that this woman, this healer, would devour him with her devotion. That he felt scared at all filled him with self-loathing, and soon his mind was locked in a downward spiral. He kept a tight grip on her hand as he pulled it up, where he pressed it against his chest and relished the feel of it for just a while longer. A few more deep breaths, and he croaked, “No.”

And just like that, she lifted herself up, pulling her hand out of his grasp. She handed him his undershirt, and left his side, and while he got the undershirt over his helmet, he glanced over at the basket in case the kid had woken, relieved to hear only silence. He started when Silla appeared again at his side, which in turn caused her to flinch, but she simply handed him a cup of a sweet smelling beverage with a straw sticking out of it. “This tea should help you sleep tonight,” she said, the smile on her face small and tight. “Goodnight Mandalorian.” She rubbed the hand he’d gripped and returned to her hammock. Once she adjusted her bedding and zipped herself inside, silence filled the tent once more.

Din sipped the tea to the last drop and settled back on the bed, breathing deeply and forcing his eyes closed, but it was no use. His mind kept going back to how Silla pressed herself against him. One word, just one word. He tried to simply let the thoughts flow through him, but his body grew unbearably hot, and as he clenched his hand at the sense memories flooded, he knew he couldn’t hold out any longer.

Switching the mic in his helmet to off and grabbing a towel, he slipped off a glove and undid his pants, and shoved his hand inside, hissing at the sweet relief as he found himself as hard as a rock. He rubbed his thumb at the tip, pre-cum dripping into his hand that let him slip it over the rest of his length. He sighed as he squeezed up and down his length and he felt the calluses on his hands Silla’s hands were soft so soft suppose that she were the one doing this right now. She’d lick her lips and let out those breathy moans while she ran her hands up and down his dick, slipping her tunic off her shoulders to reveal those breasts- Din gasped at where his mind was going but he was lost to his own fantasy, pumping faster, his hand catching the tip with each stroke as if-she the tip in her mouth no it was too much she’d been kind too kind and generous with him but she pressed her breasts around the rest of him and how could he refuse. He imagined untangling her hair out of the scarf she wore, imagined that it was as pale as her skin as it flowed down and then he pulled at it then pushed her head down, made her take all of him, and she gasped and gagged around him but soon started moaning and he could hear her saying “Mndhh! Mndhh!” He let go of her head and she sucked hard on the tip, pressing her tongue at the spot that made his head spin. “Mando,” she gasped, a trail of spit going from his dick to her mouth. A smile spread over her face.

“Din…”

The burst of heat slammed into him and he gasped as he came, thick white ropes splattering onto his belly and the towel. He kept stroking for as much as he could, but the fantasy image began to fade along with the body heat. Before long, his head cleared, and he could feel his breathing return to normal. He absent-mindedly wiped himself off with the towel, thinking for a moment that he should toss it in the fire when he was done, before deciding on the less stupid idea of just hiding it on his person. Once done, his arm hung limply at his side. Din sighed at how his body felt like his own again, and he closed his eyes to welcome sleep.

In the dead silence of the tent, Din’s heart just about stopped when he heard Silla sigh and groan, and it didn’t start beating again until he heard the faint snoring that followed. He was beginning to regret offering her a place in his crew, but to rescind his offer after all the preparation and packing they’d done would be an act of complete cowardice.

Maybe once they were on the ship and some time had passed things would cool down, but even as Din considered such a chain of events, his instincts warned him that a professional relationship was not going to make this any easier.

#The Mandalorian Fanfiction #Din Djarin #The Mandalorian

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lordyouko · 6 years ago

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Chapter 4 - Something Like That [Inucest Kinktober]

[For October 10 Prompts: Hair-pulling | Waxplay | Micro/Macro | Bonds (Telepathic or Empathic)]

Warnings: Wax-play, hairpulling, Original Character (OC), Angst

_______________________________________________________

“Eiji! Come on!” Inuyasha called, sitting up on the metal platform where he’d been lying.

“No!” Eiji replied through gritted teeth. “Absolutely not!”

He stalked over to the other side of the room. There was only one light on the room and that was overhead the platform Inuyasha had been lying on. The rest of the room was in darkness and shadows, and Eiji took refuge in those as he removed himself from the young man’s request, mentally and physically.

“I’m tellin’ you, I’ll be fine!” Inuyasha told him, trying to remain calm while his claws twitched with the urge to rend flesh.

Eiji whirled around to give him a glare that had made many a burly human men tremble, but which only caused Inuyasha to frown at him in annoyance. “I have indulged you in all of your batshit crazy things so far, Inuyasha,” he growled. “I am not doing something that will put your life in danger.”

Inuyasha took in a deep breath and released it as slowly as he could, trying not to lose patience. “I’m tellin’ you, my life would be in no danger,” he told him. “Look!”

Eiji looked beadily at him, and reluctantly shuffled back a little to peer at the other man’s – boy’s, really – forearm that he was holding out for him. His brows drew down in a confused frown and he walked back towards him to look closer.

Underneath the remainders of wax, the boy’s skin was flawless. Where the unnecessarily hot candle-wax should have left nasty burn-marks, the only evidence that something had even touched him was the dried wax, which Inuyasha chipped off lightly with his too-long fingernails.

“There. You see? I’m tellin’ you, I’ll be fine. I heal real fast.”

“How’s that possible?” Eiji muttured under his breath. As a trained dominant, he had been doing this for a really long time, and he knew from experience that burn marks from that particular type of candle took months to heal, if they ever healed at all. That was why he’d been trying to deter his friend and client from using that particular type of candle, but he’d finally caved under his insistence.

What he was suggesting now, though, was going too far.

“I don’t know what tricks you have up your sleeve,” he told Inuyasha. “But no trick’s gonna keep that shit from burning the skin off your neck! I am not doing it! I’ll be charged with assault and maybe even manslaughter if you cark it on my table!”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes even as he gritted his fangs irritably. He had struck up a friendship with Eiji because of what he’d heard about the man’s prowess as a ruthless dom who could take his clients to heights they couldn’t get elsewhere. And he did have a more… flexible moral code than most of the pansy ass, uptight humans he’d met. But he could tell he wasn’t going to budge in this particular argument so Inuyasha decided to try a different approach – sincerity.

He closed his eyes, giving in to the memories he’d been trying to keep at bay and when he opened them, they were haunted with all the things he had been trying not to think about for the past so many years. When Eiji glanced at him, he found he couldn’t look away.

“Please,” Inuyasha said quietly. “…I miss him. I don’t know what to do. Please.”

Eiji’s shoulder’s slumped quietly on hearing the dejection in the other man’s voice.

“I don’t see how this will help you,” he tried desperately. “Did he really… did he do this to you? On your neck?”

Clawed hands on his neck, graceful, deadly fingers closing casually, proprietarily and the burning, burning from the most potent poison in the world…

“…something like that,” Inuyasha muttered.

Eiji tsked impatiently, walking back around to Inuyasha’s side of the room. “…he really must be some piece of work,” he muttered.

Inuyasha looked up hopefully. “So you’ll do it?”

Eiji squinted at him grumpily. “You’ll really be alright from that? You won’t, you know… die?”

Inuyasha shook his head rigorously. “No, no absolutely not. I’ll even sign one of ‘em release forms or whatever if you want, statin’ you’re not to blame for whatever happens.”

Eiji waved his hand dismissively at that. “Thanks, but it doesn’t work like that.” Consent would only get him so far. If whatever they did here proved fatal to his client, he would still be held legally responsible.

But he couldn’t ignore the desolation in his eyes. After all, men didn’t normally seek his very expensive and rather controversial services if they could do make do with anything else.

He gestured for Inuyasha to get on the table and the young man lay back down eagerly. His cap, that he refused to take off, no matter the circumstances, remained firmly in place while his long, flowing white hair dangled off the edge of the table.

Eiji walked up to him, igniting the long candle next to him with his cigarette lighter. Inuyasha’s face glowed golden in the dim light of the candle in the decrepit, dark room. He looked down at the younger man grimly. “You remember your safe words?” he asked.

Inuyasha smiled up at him bitterly. “Green, yellow, red,” he parroted as always.

Eiji nodded, then took a deep breath. Even though there was definitely something off about Inuyasha – it just wasn’t normal to heal at the rate he did – and even though he wasn’t doing anything the hanyou had expressly begged him to, as always when he touched the strange man, he was still left with the feeling he was doing something he definitely shouldn’t be, trespassing on some sacred ground.

Once, after Inuyasha had been fit and fine after a particularly hard session, Eiji had briefly even entertained the idea that he was some kind of demigod, like in the Percy Jackson novels. The golden lenses he always wore in his eyes encouraged the notion. But he’d dismissed the idea immediately, of course. There were no such things as supernatural beings, and if there were, surely a god child would not be so… desperate and twisted.

Inuyasha didn’t know of his thoughts. If he had, he might have lauded him for how close he got to the truth – although in the other direction.

Inuyasha’s eyes were closed when he felt the first drops of burning hot wax on the delicate skin of his neck. He had specially requested those candles which melted at a higher temperature than normal. Those puny human candles with their paraffin wax could do no harm to hanyou skin.

Eiji wrenched his head back roughly by his hair, and Inuyasha’s breath quickened. The wax dripped all around his throat, the pain seeping into his skin. Feeling like he could finally breathe freely, Inuyasha allowed himself to remember.

Golden eyes like the sun, looking down at him cruelly amused as the youkai took his pleasure in the hanyou’s body… battle-hardened hands tangled in his hair to bend his spine back at an unnatural angle… the youkai’s hard cock thrusting into him without mercy, sending electric pleasure down Inuyasha’s spine… his claws on Inuyasha’s back marking him with cuts that wouldn’t heal for as long as the other desired, so strong was the poison in his veins… being left sweating and shaking with the sensations on his body, barely able to keep his eyes open as the other used him as he willed – and then left.

Eiji looked on, entranced, as always, at the look of deep pleasure, heart-breaking pain, and sheer bliss on the man’s face. He could see the outline of his ample cock in his pants; he was hard as a rock. As always, he wondered who had got the young man addicted to such tastes.

“He’s gone,”Inuyasha had told him softly when he’d asked once.

When he’d asked him if he’d be coming back, the man had only smiled bitterly. “He’ll find me if he wants to.”

Eiji had seen a lot in his admittedly pretty interesting lifetime. But he wondered what sort of man could leave a gorgeous man like this one, who was clearly besotted with him, and who had let him do pretty much anything to him that the other had wanted. He thought he wanted to meet this mystery man one day.

The hot, burning wax was a pathetic substitute for the agony that made his skin sizzle, Inuyasha knew. But it was something. It was better than nothing. Squeezing his eyes shut, Inuyasha grabbed himself and began to jerk himself off. He pretended the hand on his cock wasn’t his own, but the other’s fingers were so much longer, his touch so much better. Tears escaped out the corners of his tightly shut eyes as the scent of thunderstorms and electricity came back to him unbidden.

When he came in his pants not moments later, the only thought filling his mind was:

“Brother, where are you?”

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A/N:Thanks for reading..

Tomorrow’s prompt is:Object Insertion | Sounding | Cross-dressing | Tribadism/Scissoring

#inucest #kinktober 2018 #kinktober #lordyouko #sess/inu #angst #SessInu #sesshoumaru/inuyasha #inuyasha #sesshoumaru #myfic

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queen-haq · 4 years ago

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Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 7

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Rating: R for language and light smut.

Words: ~2200 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*.

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost...

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Chapter 7

You should have asked Billy to stop. The logical part of you knew fucking him in some dirty alleyway was wrong. You deserved better than this, even if he didn’t think so, but when his mouth was on yours and ravaging you, and you were filled with so much anger that you wanted to scream – well, it dulled the sane part of you. Your body was desperate for release and you simply gave into your baser instincts.

You ripped his leather jacket off while he did the same with your coat. You bit his bottom lip so hard you tasted blood in your mouth as he braced you uncomfortably against the jagged wall. There was nothing remotely tender or loving about this moment as he pulled your underwear down and hiked up your skirt to your waist. Knee propped against the wall, he balanced you atop his leg. You rubbed yourself on his thigh, groaning at the arousing feel of his rough jeans on your pussy. The moans you cried out were swallowed by his demanding mouth, his fingers bruising your hips as he held you steady.

You quickly unzipped his jeans, pulling his cock out, pumping him quickly before he forcibly removed your hand from his. His fingers slipped inside your mouth and you licked them with your tongue, your teeth nipping his skin. You were so wet already, grinding down on him, but he took his fingers from your mouth and reached down to stroke your pussy, getting you ready for him. You gasped when he penetrated you slowly, taking his time so you felt every inch of him impale you. Your body shuddered, quivering under the intensity of his gaze as he watched you take him in. Then he began to thrust, jostling your body hard against him. Clinging to him, you bit his shoulder hard each time.

You missed him, the feel of his hands all over you when he was excited, the weight of his body pressing down on you when he was inside you, how loud and wild he was when he was fucking you.

Eyes closed, you lolled your head back against the wall and moaned loudly as he brushed your clit. The combination of his cock and fingers drove you crazy, you were lost in a haze of ecstasy when Billy lifted you higher. You winced with pain as your back scraped against the wall but he didn’t notice, focused on maneuvering your leg around his waist so he can go in deeper.

Pain and pleasure rocked through your body. You could feel yourself getting close, so close, when he suddenly gripped your chin.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” His voice was tender, gentle, eyes shining bright. “Look at me, Y/N.”

His beautiful brown eyes were glazed with need, mouth slightly open. He peered up at you, his nose crinkled, with the most amazed expression on his face. Struck by an intense wave of affection, you caressed his beard and leaned forward to lick his bottom lip. A warm, wicked smile marked his lips before he pulled your lip with his teeth, playing with you.

Hips undulating in unison, his fingers working you, you hit your orgasm within seconds and the world exploded.

As waves of pleasure surged through you, you rode them out, blissful and semi-aware of Billy still thrusting in you as he sucked the corner of your neck. He groaned loudly, his body shaking, when he finally came inside you.

Time stood still. Your body felt boneless, your mind soaring.

You were limp in his arms, probably heavy as hell, but he somehow managed to still hold you up, breath ragged at first but slowly returning to normal. He grasped the back of your head with one hand while cradling your face with the other, angling up to graze your forehead, your eyebrows, dropping gentle kisses on the top of your closed eyelids. You murmured contentedly, enjoying this unexpected moment of tenderness from him.

Then you heard voices approaching and your eyes flew open. The reality of where you were hit you like a ton of bricks. Immediately you untangled yourself from Billy’s arms, pushing him away, and started righting your clothes.

Your thighs felt wet, slick with his cum. You dug through your pockets for Kleenex, something you could use to clean yourself but there wasn’t any. But Billy was prepared, of course he was. His eyes glued to your face, he retrieved tissue from his jacket pocket and started wiping your thighs. “I can do it!” you snapped, grabbing it from him. When you felt somewhat presentable again, you started walking away.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

You pulled out your phone to request an Uber but he snapped it from your hand. “What are you doing? Give me my phone back!”

“I’ll take you home.”

“I’ll get home myself. I don’t need anything from you!”

“Just shut up and follow me to my car.”

The last thing you wanted was to spend more time with him but he was holding your phone hostage. You followed him grudgingly, careful to keep your distance. The car was parked nearby and upon approaching the vehicle, he held the passenger side door open for you. You knew better than to assume the chivalrous gesture was meant for you specifically. It was a thing he always did, as part of the charming image he cultivated, but whereas he usually wore a smile when he held the door open, right now he simply looked furious. You slid in; he slammed the door shut. As you buckled your seat belt, you grimaced. The same spot on your back that had scraped against the wall was now rubbing against the seat and the friction from the contact was almost painful.

The car ride home was filled with tension. You felt his eyes on you every so often but you refused to acknowledge him, not when your mind was reeling with hurt and anger. How could you be so stupid? You were supposed to move on from him, instead you fucked him in some alleyway next to a crowded restaurant. Worse yet, there was a chance your boss may have spotted you. You may have potentially risked your career for a guy who wouldn’t even go out with you.

Over the past year, researching him as you had, you’d come to realize he needed the finer things in life. His car, his penthouse, the clothes he wore, they were all a status symbol for him. He needed them to feel like he’d accomplished something, probably to separate himself from the kid who grew up in foster homes and had nothing. Women, obviously, played into that equation as well. Women like Dinah Madani, beautiful, powerful, accomplished, they looked great in his arms and made him feel good about himself – but you were not in the same category of women as Dinah and he treated you accordingly. She was good enough to take to the gala, to be the date he wined and dined. You were the woman he fucked in secret. Well, not exactly a secret because he fucked you on the street like you were trash. Somehow you didn’t think Dinah Madani would ever get the two-bit whore treatment from Billy.

Rage hit you again, and you scooted as far from him as possible. The movement caused the sore spot on your back to hit the chair again and you winced.

“You okay?” he asked.

You were starting to panic, taking count of everything that had gone wrong in the past hour. The man who tried to kill you was out on bail. Roger found out you had shared embarrassing info with a competitor, which may have potentially jeopardized your job. You just fucked someone without protection, someone who was known for sleeping around.

Suddenly you couldn’t breathe, everything was weighing down on you. Shit. Shit. Shit.

You hunched over, clutching your temples, staring down at the floormat. You were struggling to breathe, your chest felt constricted.

You felt Billy rub your back, murmuring some nonsense to you, but you ignored him, instead closing your eyes to take a few deep breaths. You inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly. You did it for several minutes. Soon the panic subsided and a familiar numbness took over. Your mind was clear again.

So, yeah, you were in deep shit at the moment, but it was nothing compared to what you’d gone through in the past. You were able to get out of your family’s clutches, that meant you could get through anything. You just had to be calm and formulate a plan.

Okay. Out of everything that had gone wrong, the easiest thing to fix was an unwanted pregnancy. You’d go down to the pharmacy and get Plan B. That way you didn’t have to worry about being knocked up. And then you’d make an appointment next week with the clinic to get checked out. Even though Billy was usually very careful about using a condom – except today – you had no idea how many other women he was sleeping with and you didn’t want to risk catching anything from him.

Two things down, two more things to go.

First thing when you got home, you’d call Roger. You’d reassure him that telling Billy about Adam Preston was a one-time thing and you weren’t in the habit of divulging confidential information to a competitor. You were shook up yesterday, you weren’t in your right mind, and that had resulted in a terrible error in judgement. It was never going to happen again. And Roger valued you, he appreciated all the work you did, he wouldn’t hold something so silly over you. And if he saw you fucking Billy? You cringed at the thought, but there was no point in inviting trouble. If he did catch you red-handed, well, you’d cross that bridge when you came to it. “There’s a pharmacy at the end of my street,” you said to Billy, without looking at him. “You can drop me off there.”

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Adam Preston was the biggest problem you had to overcome. You’d already started looking into his family, trying to find dirt that you could use as leverage against them in case you needed to. But you remembered the look in Adam’s eyes when he’d been ready to kill you. He was unhinged and held you responsible for everything wrong in his life. There was a very good chance he couldn’t be reasoned with or blackmailed, but you were not going to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder in fear. No, never again. You’d spent your entire childhood that way, always wondering what inconsequential thing would set your father off. You were not going to live through that again. So, fuck Adam Preston. If he couldn’t be controlled, then he’d have to be eliminated. Simple as that. And you knew exactly who to turn to for that.

“Give me my phone,” you said to Billy, finally turning to look at him.

Dividing his attention between the road ahead and you, he shot you a confused glance. “I’ve been talking to you for the last ten minutes. Have you heard a single thing I’ve said?”

“No.” You held out your hand. “My phone, Billy.”

“Why do you need to go to a pharmacy?” He cast her a quick glance. “Did I hurt you?”

“I don’t want to get knocked up by you. So I’m going to the pharmacy to get that taken care of. Does that answer your question?”

You noted the way his jaw clenched, but you reminded yourself not to care. You were done with Billy. You were done with feeling like shit. The first time he made you feel worthless, you could console yourself with the fact it hadn’t been your fault. Before you caught him with Dinah, you didn’t know he viewed you. Every time since then, however, was a conscious choice on your part to engage with him which meant you were solely responsible for how pathetic you felt right now. He was selfish, callous, and treated you like shit, and yet you still fucked him. That was something you had to hold yourself accountable to.

Parking his car a few feet away from the pharmacy doors, he turned off his car. His face was dark, his voice terse. “I didn’t force you to fuck me back there, babe. You wanted it as much as I did.”

You met his solemn stare. “You’re right. I did. I fucked you even though you make me feel worthless. There’s only been one other person who’s made me feel that ugly and I cut them out a long time ago - but not you, you I fuck.” A bitter laugh escaped you. “I told you about the Adam thing and what did you do? You went and threw it in my boss’s face so you can brag about Anvil. He could fire me tomorrow and I wouldn’t have any recourse because I’m the one who divulged confidential information. But you feeling smug and superior is obviously more important than me keeping my job.” You looked away from him, staring out the window. “You keep hurting me, and I just let you. For what? Because I have feelings for you? Because some part of me might love you? That’s not a good enough reason.” You shook your head. “I fought like hell to make something of myself, to be safe and happy. I’m not going to let these stupid feelings ruin all that. You will not destroy me.” You felt calm, at peace with your decision. “Give me my phone.”

Your fingers made physical contact when he handed you your phone. His potent stare was affixed on you, angry, volatile, filled with emotion, but you ignored his gaze and snatched the phone away from him.

You opened the door and exited the car, heading to the pharmacy. There was a line at the counter and you took the opportunity to block Billy’s number on your phone.

It was odd. Revealing your weaknesses to Billy, making yourself vulnerable – any of those would have made you hyperventilate before. You weren’t in the habit of giving people ammunition to use against you, but you suspected it was the only way to get rid of Billy permanently. And, strangely, telling him how you felt in the car was freeing. Because, ultimately, it didn’t matter what he thought, the only thing that mattered was you. And you were ready to move on.

Part 8

A/N - As always, thank you for being such a wonderful, generous audience and all the likes, reblogs, comments, asks, and messages you’ve left me. Trust me when I say, I’m committed to finish this story because of you :)

If you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list, please let me know.

Tag List

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#billy russo x reader #billy russo #the punisher #billy russo imagine #a woman scorned

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bcdrawsandwrites · 6 years ago

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Neither Can You Rating: T Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Family Characters: Héctor, Ernesto, Imelda, Coco, Julio, Pepita, Dante, Miguel, Óscar, Felipe, Victoria, Rosita… possibly others. Warnings: Violence, broken bones Description: “Do you care about your familia… more than your music?” Héctor didn’t have to think twice to answer yes. But the grin on Ernesto’s face sent a chill down his spine as the man continued, “Are you willing to put that to the test?” View all chapters here! FFN Link | AO3 Link | dA Link

Chapter 17: Instinct Summary: In which Victoria unintentionally helps someone.

Pepita felt a crackling through her fur and feathers, irritating them even as she flew through the air. This was not new. She’d been feeling it all morning, knowing that something was going to go wrong. She had slept little, keeping watch over the house all night long, making sure no one dared approach it. While her instincts were sharp, they were not always specific, and she was not entirely sure what to watch out for, especially since she did not have the scents of the bad man’s pack fresh in her memory.

But even though the general anxiety was not new, the feeling she had was—something was wrong. She did not know what, exactly, but it had something to do with Imelda’s litter, and she was not going to let it slide. Tipping her wings, Pepita turned down toward a different tower from the one her territory was in.

“Pepita!” Imelda cried over the wind, her heels digging into Pepita’s sides. “We’re heading home! We can search for Dante later.”

You will not find him here, gatita, Pepita thought with a quick glance over her shoulder, but turned her wings back toward the house, fighting to ignore the crackle of anxiety. It was true that Imelda’s mate needed to rest in the relative safety of their territory, and perhaps by checking there first, she could more easily pinpoint what was amiss.

She would have to hurry, though. Something was wrong, and she did not want to wait for that something to come to her.

In spite of how incredibly vast the Land of the Dead was, news traveled exceptionally fast.

Unfortunately, “fast” did not always mean “accurate.”

“Sí, señora, I heard it was as big as a horse!” one vendor said over the sizzling of the food he was cooking.

“It broke down the door and took down four men! Who let that thing run loose?” muttered a wood carver as she chipped away at a hand-carved alebrije figure in the shape of a bat.

“So my friend said that—this is true, she works in the apartment!—that the alebrije could change in size, and that’s how it got in,” one merchant said as he cleaned his shop window. “I swear! She’s not a liar.”

Victoria lifted up her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose, shutting her eyes against the headache forming at the front of her skull. This wasn’t going exactly how she’d expected it to, as she’d headed into the marketplace to hunt down more information on the supposed alebrije attack. She’d already had one false lead so far, and that was enough of a pain having to find the apartment and ask around there, only to find it was the wrong place. And this account, in spite of the inaccuracy, was the best lead she had so far, unfortunately. “Sí, that’s quite interesting. Which apartment is that, anyway?” she asked, looking back at the vendor again.

“Oh, it’s ah, out in the tower west—no, southwest?—of this one, it’s uh...” The vendor moved to scratch his head, only to wind up scrubbing his washcloth over his wig and getting soap in his hair. With a frustrated grunt, he tossed the cloth back into its bucket and leaned into the shop. “¡Abuelita! Where’s the apartment Martha works in, again?”

The woman inside the shop shouted the address back at her grandson, who turned around and repeated it back to Victoria. In turn, Victoria pulled a notepad and pen out of her apron (usually reserved for quickly jotting down orders) and wrote the address down, hoping that perhaps this would be the right one this time.

“If you see Martha there, tell her I said hola!”

“Of course.”

One relatively short gondola ride and a quick trolley stop later, Victoria arrived at the apartment matching the address she’d been given. It wasn’t a particularly impressive-looking one (it was tall, but then, so was any given building in the Land of the Dead), but maybe...

Adjusting her glasses, Victoria decided to walk around the perimeter of the building first, gazing up at the windows. There was nothing she could see at the front of the building, nor around the side (though it was harder to look in the alley). But when she reached the back, she paused, noting that one of the higher up windows near the top was not properly reflecting the sky, as though it were broken.

Feeling a thrill in her chest, Victoria hurried back to the front of the building. This had to be it—she was finally getting somewhere. She couldn’t make herself too obvious, though, and stepped into the lobby, trying to read the atmosphere. To her surprise, there didn’t appear to be any police around (either they’d finished their investigation already, or they hadn’t investigated at all), but there was an intense conversation at the front desk.

“...and when I first moved here, I was told no alebrijes.” The skeleton, an older man with a stooped back, roughly tapped his finger against the counter twice for emphasis. “That was the rule! No alebrijes! That’s why I moved here! And you’re telling me some dumb perro got in here and wreaked havoc?!”

The young man at the desk, who must have been about nineteen when he died, looked understandably terrified. “I-I’m sorry, señor, this isn’t something that normally happens—”

“Normally?!”

“I-I mean, it almost never happens! We really don’t allow alebrijes here, and we’re not sure how the one got in—”

“Well you’d better find out! I am allergic, do you understand? You put me on the top floor of this stupid place to keep me as far away from those things as possible, and I find out there’s some—some animal breaking into here, just two floors below me, and—?!”

Ah, good, this was working out well. With the man at the desk distracted, Victoria hurried out of the lobby and down the hall to the stairwell. She wasn’t keen on potentially getting stuck in an elevator—they hadn’t exactly reached a point of being reliable in the Land of the Dead—and taking the stairs would give her time to think.

This might not be the safest idea, part of her realized, but she buried that fear as quickly as she could. She didn’t know just whom Dante had attacked (if anyone at all)—it could have been a harmless bystander, or it could have been Ernesto de la Cruz himself, for all she knew. If it was the latter, or anyone associated with him, she could possibly be putting herself in danger... especially given what that man had done to Héctor.

She felt a sick twist where her gut used to be, but shook it off. She was not Héctor—she was a remembered skeleton, not nearly-forgotten as he had been, and she bore no injuries to her bones. On Dia de Muertos she’d handled herself perfectly fine against Ernesto’s lackeys, who hadn’t been expecting her to be as strong as she was.

And she could be strong when she needed to be. She’d defended her little sister against bullies more than a few times when she was alive, until Elena was old enough to fight for herself. It didn’t take long for even the men of Santa Cecilia to realize it wasn’t wise to cross her. She’d defended herself then, and she could do it again now, if need be.

Victoria would always fight if she had to protect her family.

And, stupid as the alebrije was, Dante was technically family. What hurt him hurt the rest of them too, especially Miguel. And if her Papá was right, and this did have to do with Héctor, well... She was going to make sure this was where it stopped. Héctor had gone thr—

She shook herself. The trouble Héctor had gotten into was hard enough on everyone, and she wasn’t keen on seeing things get worse. Not to mention, whomever Dante attacked (if that was indeed what happened) couldn’t be guiltless.

It’s about the family, not about him.

Mija, you’re allowed to be worried for Papá Héctor.

I don’t care about him.

With a start, Victoria realized she’d run out of stairs to mount, being faced with a door to the roof. Huffing out a sigh, she turned around, counting two floors down from the top, and opened the door to the hallways. With no small amount of frustration she realized she hadn’t noted where the broken window was, exactly, other than that it was near the top of the building, so she had no idea which suite it was in. This was getting to be a ridiculous endeavor, but she’d come too far to back out now.

No one was in the halls at the moment, so she stood by each door, listening intently. In one room she heard a television; in another, obnoxious music; in yet another, a loud argument. Hearing another door open elsewhere, she casually leaned against the wall, pulling a pocket watch out of her apron as though checking the time. A skeleton glanced at her as he passed, but otherwise left her alone. As soon as he turned a corner, Victoria put the watch away and resumed her mission.

Just as things seemed hopeless, she heard a sound that made her stiffen: harsh wind whistling through an open window.

Or, perhaps, a broken one.

If it was the wrong door, she’d simply ask the occupant which one was the correct one. Swallowing back any nervousness, she raised her hand, and knocked.

There was no immediate response, but as Victoria waited, she eventually heard footsteps heading toward the door, followed by metallic jingling and clicking. The door pulled open slightly, prevented from opening any further by a chain lock, and an unfamiliar skeleton peered out at her. He was about her height, but bulkier, wearing a short brown wig and a dull jacket. “Can I help you?” he asked, sounding distinctly annoyed.

“Sí,” she answered, trying to subtly peer past the skeleton, but his wide frame blocked any view of the room beyond. However, the sound of wind whistling behind him was more apparent now. “I’m here to ask you some questions about the alebrije attack, if that’s all right.”

The man looked her up and down before shutting the door. With a few more metallic clicks, it was opened.

“Glad someone’s checking in on this,” the man grumbled as he stepped back, allowing her to enter. “The police have been useless. Haven’t caught the perro.”

Victoria stepped in, but stayed just inside the doorway. It would be unwise to walk all the way in, in case things went south.

The apartment was, to put it simply, a mess. Paper and garbage littered the carpet, their source being an upturned trashcan in the corner. The couch, which bore a number of slash marks on it, had been tipped backward, one door was covered in scratches, and over in the adjoining kitchen, dog kibble was scattered across the floor. And of course, as she’d guessed earlier, the window had been smashed open, and there were rolls of duct tape and dense pieces of cardboard sitting nearby. There were also a couple other doors, probably to the bedroom and bathroom.

“You’re the domestic worker, right?” the man said, heading toward the window and gesturing at the supplies sitting by it. “I don’t want my window covered in cardboard forever, here.”

“Sí,” Victoria lied with a calm nod. “I need a bit more information, though, first, so we can make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“Well, come on, then,” he said, beckoning her inside.

Tensing, Victoria weighed her options before stepping further into the apartment and shutting the door behind her. If she kept close to it and he didn’t lock it, she should be all right. “It’s certainly a lot of damage,” she said, eying the slash marks in the couch. “Especially for a mid-sized dog.”

He frowned, clenching his fists. “Sí. I was attacked,” the man said stiffly. “The dog barged into the room and assaulted me.”

“How did he get in?” she asked, trying to see if she could determine any other details. One thing she noticed was that, aside from some scattered objects, the apartment seemed... rather empty, as though someone had been in a hurry to leave. Yet the resident was still here, wasn’t he?

“Heard something at the door, thought it was an amigo of mine. I wasn’t exactly expecting a rabid alebrije to burst in.” He was looking at the couch now, and he stooped by the far side of it, grasping it to push it upright.

“Rabid,” Victoria repeated.

“Well, why else would it attack?” the man grunted as he strained to lift the couch. “Are you going to help or not?”

Frowning, Victoria took a quick glance back at the door before stepping up to the other side of the couch, aiding the man in lifting it.

With a bit of effort they managed to set it back upright, and the man rolled his shoulders. Then his brow furrowed, and he stooped down again, looking at something on the other side of the couch that Victoria couldn’t see. “You know, that’s funny,” he murmured.

Curious, Victoria stepped around the couch to see what he was staring at. “What is it?”

“Oh,” he began, and heaved a sigh. “Just that we never told anyone how big the perro was, or what its gender was.”

Ice shot through Victoria’s marrow as he looked up at her, cocking a brow bone.

“And the thing is... the domestic worker left just before you came in, Señora Rivera.”

The man shot to his feet and moved to grab her, but Victoria was faster, whipping a pair of scissors out of her pocket and jabbing them roughly between the man’s carpals. She turned around only to balk at the sight of two other men, one of which had just latched the door. Both of them wore familiar-looking suits and sunglasses, and she grit her teeth at the realization.

“It was you!” she snarled, glaring at them as she fought to keep her terror from showing. Internally she cursed herself for falling into such an obvious trap, but it wasn’t supposed to go this badly. Her eyes flicked from the door to the men as she briefly considered whether or not she could get the chain lock unlatched quickly enough. Hearing a dull thud behind her—the scissors hitting the carpet—she bolted forward, charging directly at one of the guards.

The man reached to grab her, only to cry out as she stamped her heel into the top of his foot. As he staggered back, Victoria reached for the lock, grasping the chain and frantically tugging it. But the simple action was harder than she’d expected with the panic and adrenaline surging through her, but she just had to—

The world spun, everything becoming dizzy and blurry. She blinked once, then again, before realizing that she’d lost her glasses. Her instinct was to hunt for them, but she fought against it, moving to give the chain another tug.

Strong hands seized her arms, and Victoria automatically reached back with her foot to stomp on her attacker’s shoes. This one kept them well out of reach, however, as he yanked her back away from the door. The other two men were immediately at either side of her, and horror nearly choked her as she realized she had no way to get herself out of this. Unless—

Her body stiffened before she willed it to fall apart, her bones coming loose from the startled man’s grasp. She wasn’t used to this at all—her tios were always the ones who practiced taking themselves apart—but she willed herself back together as quickly as she could.

It wasn’t nearly as quickly as she would have liked. As she felt herself reconnecting, there were already hands on her legs, her arms, her back. By the time she thought to scream, she felt one of the hands move to her throat, while two others swiftly tied a gag around her mouth.

“Gracias, Señora Rivera,” the first man snarled just behind her.

Before she could turn to face him, a thick bag was shoved roughly over her head.

“You’ve made our job a lot easier.”

Dante awoke with a frantic howl.

[BAD!] he yelped, scrambling to his feet. [BAD—ow, ow, ow!] He lifted his foreleg, licking at the cuts that still marred it, and then sniffed around frantically. He was in a small space between a couple buildings, and he did not have wings. No, no, that was bad! He was on the wrong side! Bad things were going on on the other side! He didn’t know what, but they were very, very bad, and he needed to do something right now.

Fighting to ignore the pain in his body, he barrelled out of the alley and down the street. [PEPITA-GATAAAA!] he howled, though he had no idea where she was. [¡AYUDA! Bad things! The tall bone man! The tall bone lady! ¡Nuestra familia! BAD! IN TROUBLE!]

Many humans were staring at him as he scrambled out of the streets and into the graveyard, but he ignored them all, focusing on the edge of the wall that was fading to reveal a vast expanse of water, and a distant city with enormous towers.

[PEPITA-GATAAAA!]

#imelda rivera #dante #pepita #coco #pixar coco #coco spoilers #rivera family #my writing #fanfic #neither can you #here we goooooo #not a long chapter but a very very important one

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defendersofaurita · 6 years ago

Photo

Title: Fuel the Fire

Author/Artist: AnchoredTether

Rating: M [graphic depictions of violence, major character death, dark themes]

Pairings: Plance [Pikelavar], Kallura [Thunderyun]

Series: Defenders of Aurita

Chapter: 6/?

Summary: With the evil wizard Dakin defeated, Block can finally save his village from being turned to stone. Meklavar seeks to retrieve the Jewel of Jitan, Jiro needs to avenge his master (and twin brother) and slaughter the Leviathan, Valayun continues her search for the runestone, and Pike seems to have an agenda of his own. Revelations are brought to light and a mysterious ranger may be the key to solving their problems.

CHAPTER 06 :: FUEL THE FIRE

Thunder was the first to wake, Rover nudging his nose against his cheek. "Okaaaay, I'm up, I'm up." He protested, slowly stirring from his makeshift bed as he sat up. He scratched Rover's head as he examined the group fast asleep, an eyebrow rising when he laid eyes on Pike practically draped on top of the tiniest member of their group. He wondered for a moment if Meklavar was alive, but he noticed the rising and falling of her chest. It appeared they all survived the night, Block's magical fire died down to its last embers. Rover let out a soft whine, pacing nervously between Thunder and the entrance to the cave.

"What is it boy?" He whispered, getting up to his feet to investigate. Rover was poking his snout around the corner of the mouth of the cave and Thunder peered cautiously out into the early morning light. What he saw caused him to softly gasp.

Two ginormous, glittering dragons lie curled up asleep within the ravine of the canyon close to their cave. One was a warm sandy color that blended in with the rocky terrain, the other a dull gray. Thunder let out a curse under his breath as he quietly rushed back to the sleeping teammates. He had to wake everyone without startling them, for he was afraid that so much as a sneeze and the dragons would wake. One of giant lizards simply had to breathe fire into the small cave entrance and they'd all be cooked alive.

After a moment of pondering, Thunder decided it would be best to wait for each person in turn to wake naturally. He sat there hoping no one woke obnoxiously loud… he was mainly waiting for Pike to blow their cover. It was a long, tense wait, but eventually Meklavar woke with what sounded like a wheeze.

Meklavar remembered Pike was practically spooning her when they fell asleep last night, but at the same time she was nearly pressed against Jiro's back so personal space was a luxury at this point. Somehow between that point and now, Pike had draped himself over her hips and side so that his lower half was behind her and his upper half in front of her, squished between her and Jiro. She was fairly certain khaliit didn't have spines because she couldn't fathom how his positioning could possibly be comfortable. When she lifted her head she noticed Thunder crouched close-by making hand motions. She understood she needed to be quiet and there was something outside, so she offered up a nod. She looked down at Pike and wondered if she'd have to scratch behind his ear again to wake him up.

As she laid there looking at Pike contemplating what to do, she became aware of the half-breed's unwavering stare. Unlike her, Thunder probably knew what khaliit purring meant and he'd get a wild misinterpretation if he saw her waking Pike by scratching his ear. When her eyes met Thunder's, he spoke again with his hands. Meklavar narrowed her eyes in confusion, so Thunder simplified.

He pointed at Pike's face, then petted Rover while giving her a look.

Oh, Meklavar thought. He's actually suggesting I do exactly that. She reached out a hand and gently stroked his messy brown hair. Sure enough, once she started scratching the base of one of his ears, Pike started purring and slowly came to as he groggily blinked the sleep from his eyes. Meklavar held a finger to her lips so he would know to be quiet. He halted the purring with an embarrassed pursing of his lips, his expression confused. He started to pull himself off of Meklavar but when he caught whiff of a scent he froze, turning to look at Thunder with startled eyes. "Dragons?" He mouthed and Thunder nodded.

Meklavar felt her muscles tense but she tried to shove the panic down as it threatened to boil in her veins. Pike seemed to have noticed - when he placed a hand on her shoulder as he was pulling himself up to his feet his hand lingered there comfortingly. His movements woke Jiro and even though the paladin was silent, all three of them placed their finger to their lips.

Once everyone was awake, Block cast a temporary shield to silence their conversation. They were all huddled tightly together in a circle, shoulders pressing against each other.

"Ok, why are we being all quiet?" He asked with a yawn.

"There's two dragons sleeping right outside our cave entrance." Thunder said.

"Dragons??" Valayun turned a shade paler.

"What kind of dragons?" Jiro asked. "Were you able to tell?"

"One of them is definitely a ground dragon." Thunder said. "No wings but it's huge and its scales are jagged. This canyon is its home turf so it's the one at an advantage here. The silver one might be a water type but it could also easily be fire breathing. Silver ones are kind of ambiguous but it does have wings."

"So what's the plan of action? You seem to be the most versed when it comes to dragons."

"Wouldn't Meklavar be that?" Block asked. "She's dragonborn, doesn't that mean she can talk to them? How about she just persuades them not to eat us?"

"It's not that simple, Block." Meklavar scoffed. "Just because I'm dragonborn doesn't mean I'm peachy with all dragons. If I knew how to talk to dragons and command them and slay them, everything as we know it would be vastly different."

Pike's ears drooped since he understood exactly what she meant by those words. "I have my invisibility cloak. What if I were to sneak by and cause some kind of distraction while the rest of you escape?"

"While you what… outrun two dragons??"

"I'm a ninja, I've got tricks up my sleeves."

"That's actually a good idea." Thunder said. "Rover can accompany you so if the worst happens, he can teleport you to safety."

"In case you forgot, your wolf likes to chase me so I don't think that's going to work. I can teleport myself, thank you very much."

"I'll tell him not to chase you." Thunder hissed. "Besides, your teleportation is limited in distance, isn't it?"

Pike looked irritated. "Well yeah, but isn't your wolf as well?"

"He can teleport up to several miles away, and can take people with him."

Pike's jaw fell. "How is that even possible?"

"He's a star wolf." Thunder said with a hint of annoyance. "He's not from this world so clearly he's not bound by its rules."

"Anyway." Jiro interjected. "Pike and Rover will distract the dragons and lead them one direction while we run the other. What do we have available to us as far as stealth goes?" He looked to both Block and Valayun. "What spells can you two cast?"

"I could cast the same spell that masked our scent yesterday." Block offered.

"With the morning precipitation I could easily form fog within the canyon." Valayun said. "It would be good for cover."

"While that is true," Meklavar pitched in, "in the worst case scenario where the dragons notice us and follow us into the fog, we wouldn't be able to see their attacks coming and they would more than likely be able to pinpoint us by scent alone."

"Hmm. No fog, then."

"So our best bet is to release the cat and dog as bait," Block summarized, "run like crazy in the opposite direction, and hope we can all meet back up safely without the dragons figuring out our escape and subsequent meet-up place?"

"Sounds like it." Jiro said.

Pike let out a sigh of defeat. "It was nice knowing you guys."

][ --- ][

][ music ][

Pike was half expecting Rover to start chasing him or biting his tail once they left the group but he was surprisingly well trained. He stayed under the invisibility cloak by Pike's side as they crept their way around the silver dragon. Pike and Rover traveled deeper into the canyon while the rest of the group would go the opposite direction towards higher ground and back into the forest where there was more cover. Thunder claimed that Rover would know where to meet the group and teleport both him and Pike to safety when the time came, but Pike still had his doubts.

Then he heard the dreadful sound of scraping claws.

Pike turned his head around to see the silver dragon pulling itself to its feet, its long snout sniffing the air. They barely had any distance and it was already honing in on them. Although the silver dragon was the size of Dakin in his Coranic Dragon form, the sand colored one just behind it was easily twice as big, if not larger. Pike started to slowly continue further away from the dragon, hoping it wouldn't notice them, but once it started to turn towards the cave where the rest of his teammates were he knew it was time to make the distraction even though it was grossly premature.

He pulled off the invisibility cloak and yelled a "HEY!" simultaneously as Rover howled. The dragon whipped its head to zero in its red eyes upon them, the sand dragon also raising its head as it stirred from sleep. The silver one unfurled its wings and let out a terrifying roar, its rows of fangs glinting ominously in the morning sunlight.

"Time to run, boy!" Pike said to Rover as they sprinted away. Fortunately, both dragons gave chase, ignoring the cave completely. Unfortunately, both dragons gave chase.

"This is our cue, right?" Meklavar asked back at the cave. Everyone was close to the entrance in anticipation while Thunder was right at the edge, peering outside as he watched the dragons slither away.

"Not yet." He whispered. "If we leave too soon they'll notice us and simply change direction."

"Khaliit are good runners, right?" Block asked nervously.

"No, that's khariit you're thinking of." Meklavar said. "But Pike's a ninja. He'll be fine… I think." As if on cue, his scream could be heard in the distance of the canyon.

Just as a wall of fire was about to hit Pike and Rover, the wolf leaped over and bit down on Pike's shirt as they both glowed a brilliant white before disappearing out of harm's way. They were up on a higher ledge of rock along the wall of the canyon, looking down at the silver dragon as it ran deeper in.

"Alright, time to whip out my Ace." Pike pulled out his summoning scroll, dramatically unveiling it in front of him as he formed hand signs and pulled out a giant spear from the paper. He took a deep inhale to concentrate on his mark, then thrust it with a yell. The dragon's head began to turn back towards the sound but it was too late - the spear found its mark at the base of the dragon's neck. When it hit, a crack of lightning exploded from the weapon, causing the dragon to collapse with a shrill of pain.

"It actually worked." Pike breathed. The sand colored dragon caught up as massive claws climbed up the side of the canyon toward where he and Rover stood. "Time to move!" They ran, narrowly avoiding the gnashing of teeth.

"Thunder?" Meklavar looked alarmed.

"What?" Thunder asked.

"No, didn't you hear it? Are one of the dragons lightning-based?" Her brows lowered suspiciously as she heard the dragon's pained screech. "Or is Pike actually trying to attack it??"

"Either way, shouldn't we start to make our escape?" Block asked. "They sound far enough away."

Thunder fully poked his head around the corner to see there were no dragons in sight - they had moved past the bend of the canyon. "Yes, we should go now." He led the way as the rest of the team followed.

"Why! Won't you die!!" Pike had teleported himself onto the dragon and held onto the spear embedded in its flesh as it ran and jumped around trying to fling him off. With frustrated yells he channeled more lightning strikes through the spear to slowly damage the beast. When he felt his energy wearing out, the dragon decided to unfold its wings and take flight. "Oh cheese."

Rover had his paws busy with the bigger dragon, leading it away as he teleported further and further down. He looked up, training golden eyes up at the silver dragon ascending with a screaming khaliit. He knew that if he left to save Pike, the larger dragon might discover the rest of the team. Rover teleported onto the snout of the sand colored dragon, charging at its eye with a fury of claws. The dragon roared, whipping its face and causing Rover to fly against a wall of rock, releasing a yelp. He teleported away, narrowly avoiding the dragon's claws.

Pike couldn't form any hand signs while he held onto the spear for dear life. He had little energy to perform any more lightning attacks, and he was too far off the ground to simply let go and escape the situation entirely. Gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way. He pulled out a kunai and stabbed it into the neck of the dragon as if he were rock climbing. The dragon roared and suddenly changed direction, heading into a nosedive. The dragon kept changing velocity as it flew, trying to throw Pike off. He pulled out another kunai and began climbing across the flesh of the creature as it continued its aerial tricks.

He looked down to realize they were incredibly high up, and altered his course of action. Heading towards one of the dragon's beating wings, he took a leap of faith onto the dragon's silvery webbed limb. His kunai dragged through the leathery flesh and tore the wing asunder. With a ribbon of blood dancing through the air, Pike was falling. With a triumphant grin he saw the dragon could no longer fly and would inevitably fall to its death. With widening eyes of horror, Pike realized the dragon wasn't going down without exacting its revenge, it's massive jaws opening and the flesh of its mouth glowing amber as it prepared to breathe fire. He closed his eyes, focusing as the wind roared in his ears and his heart pounded in his chest.

As the flames flowed from the dragon's maw, Pike opened his eyes and teleported onto the beast's head. It was well planned out to teleport on the only solid ground in freefall, somewhere he could accurately pinpoint himself to, but it was as if the dragon anticipated his exact move. Rearing its head back, the dragon flung Pike off and slammed him away with a powerful whip of its tail. Pike screamed as he fell away from the dragon, something painfully wrong with his right arm as it hovered lifelessly by his side, trails of crimson streaming through the air as he fell.

"ROVER!!!" He hoped the wolf could teleport him safely to the ground, but he wondered with horror if Rover's teleportation would be vain in cancelling the momentum of his freefall the same as his teleportation lacked. At the rate he was falling, it didn't matter if he was teleported - it would only speed up his inevitable splatter. The silver dragon began closing the distance between them with its one good wing. There wasn't much distance left between them and the ground. With the last ounce of chakra he felt in his veins, Pike aimed with his left arm and released a final bolt of lightning towards the spear still embedded in the dragon's neck.

][ --- ][

][ music ][

"Something's wrong." Meklavar said after the group saw and felt the lightning and the crash of the dragon as it shook the ground. "Pike and Rover should have returned by now." She ran towards the scene, Thunder following closely behind her.

"Meklavar, wait! You can't just run blindly towards an injured dragon!"

"Watch me." She spat over her shoulder, running even harder.

"Come on, we should follow." Jiro ordered, leading Valayun and Block.

The scene was ghastly. Crimson stained the once green grass, the silver dragon lied in a heap with unnatural angles as its broken body shuddered with each dying breath. Its labored inhales and exhales were a disturbing type of requiem. Meklavar's amber eyes frantically searched the area for any more bodies, hoping to her core that she wouldn't find any.

Alas, she saw two smaller bodies off in the distance.

When she knelt at Pike's side, Thunder quickly followed suit next to Rover. "Pike, what were you thinking??"

"I wasn't." He wheezed.

"You just killed a dragon!"

"Assassin, remember?"

Meklavar wanted nothing more than to smack him but she knew that would be counterproductive in their current circumstance. It was in that moment she noticed the damage upon his arm and started to feel a wave of nausea creep up her throat. Valayun reached her side and began casting a healing spell which glowed a bright cyan.

"I don't know how much this will help." The archer said. "We might have to still physically set his arm."

"When you're done with Pike, Rover needs some healing too." Thunder said calmly, his hand pressed up against the wolf's side to stop the bleeding. He looked over at the khaliit. "How did he save you?"

Pike half coughed, half laughed. "Somehow he teleported us but also changed our direction so we were upside-down and started falling upwards. Which… meant we landed on our backs, which hurt something awful, but it was better than the alternative. I owe him one."

Thunder and Pike continued talking but their voices slowly faded as Meklavar felt an odd sensation in her chest. The feeling drew her to her feet, turning back towards the dragon. When she reached the clearing of broken trees, she saw Jiro and Block standing near the dragon, the paladin's sword covered in blood. She saw the penetrating mark over its heart where Jiro took the life of the creature in mercy.

"I couldn't stand to see it slowly suffering." He said softly as if he had to justify his actions. A paladin through and through, Meklavar thought.

She felt a voice caressing her mind, seething, dark, and venomous. It wasn't a sound to be heard, it was a touch within her mind.

Sister of mine, blood of my blood. Answer the call, take thy mantle.

She took a step closer to the silver corpse, the markings upon her face glowing faintly. The voice continued, and she realized it was the dragon's soul speaking to her.

And the Scrolls have foretold of black wings in the cold, that when brothers wage war come unfurled! Zarkon, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, with a hunger to swallow the world! But a day, shall arise, when the dark dragon's lies, will be silenced forever and then! Fair Aurita will be free from foul Zarkon's maw!

Somehow she knew the words that came next as if they were etched into her very bones, and spoke them aloud with the dragon inside her mind.

"Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by her honor is sworn to keep evil forever at bay! And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout, Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!"

Her hand touched the nose of the dead dragon and she was encompassed in light. A silvery, golden light flowed from the dragon and into her, filling her with a power she could barely comprehend till she felt she would burst. When it was done and over she fell to her knees, Jiro and Block rushed to her side.

"What language were you speaking??" Block asked. "What was that light???"

"Language?" Meklavar asked groggily as if she just came out of a daze. "The same we're speaking!"

The realization dawned upon Jiro as his face reflected awe. "You were speaking dragon!"

"….I was?"

"You were." Thunder's voice sounded behind them, and they all turned to look at him. "We could hear it from over there." Meklavar's eyes widened when he spoke the reality she was still trying to grasp.

"You just absorbed a dragon's soul, dragonborn."

#chapters #defenders of aurita #voltron fanfic #voltron dnd #voltron au #monsters and mana #pikelavar #voltron dnd au #voltron #vld #mnm #voltron fanfic au

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thecompletebookworm · 7 years ago

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Where the Sea Takes You

A very happy @maydaymenagerie to the incredible @findingtallahassee, who is an absolute saint and was far too willing to put up with me.

This is very loosely based on the Adaro, a little bit of Solomon Islands' mythology. Basically I've made the Adaro more humanoid, allowed them to be any gender, and veered away from the definition where it is just the evil part of a person's soul that is trapped on Earth terrorizing others while the rest of them can pass on. Takes place post 3A, and ignores the Dark One Vault mythology.

Available on AO3 as well.

This was a stupid idea, an absolutely crazy stupid idea. She skirted around the edge of the water, being careful not to touch it just yet. Though to be fair, Belle had already tried most of the less out there ideas and her heart was aching.

She hadn't stayed too long with the other Storybrooke residents once she was back. If she was going to feel all alone, she might as well feel alone where she felt at home.

Not that it was anyone's fault. The Charmings had an entire kingdom to run and their daughter's absence to grieve. She'd been happy to see Robin again, to play with the little boy who had been saved by a deal made what felt like ages ago. Still, even as she helped with finding blankets and sorting through other supplies, Belle felt empty. Sure she was helping people, and maybe she was being selfish, but right now the only person she wanted to help was her True Love.

She refused to believe he was dead. Even though that was probably the safest assumption, with his dagger through his chest. But Rumplestiltskin had disappeared in a blinding flash of light. His lifeless body hadn't hit the ground. She hadn't cradled it to her chest, her tears soaking into his suit that only in death could look unkempt, as his lifeless eyes stared up at her. While those images had haunted her nightmares, they were not reality. Only his dagger had clattered to the ground.

The others didn't quite see it that way. She didn't need her pitying looks. Her true love was out there and she was going to do everything in her power to find him.

Belle had scoured the Charming's library and then the Dark Castle's. While never one to shy away from research, there was something troubling about especially difficult about hunting down a way to find Rumple with no clues. She could write a better book about the Dark Ones than any of the ones she found, although that was probably by design. She could practically hear Rumple's voice in her head, muttering about wanting to know the monster's weaknesses.

Like she needed a book to do that. Experience had taught her well. While technically Dark Ones do not need sleep, they should not be left working magic for longer than 15 hours at a time if you want a sociable Dark One. Provide cookies at teatime for a smile. Warm patches of sunlight were irresistible when grouchy.

Although looking back, maybe she just knew what made Rumplestiltskin tick, not the dark one specifically.

Belle's foot grazed the water and she jerked it back. She was not going to summon the creature before she was ready, or at least until she had taken the precautions so that she knew she was summoning the right creature.

Belle had found the first mention of the creature when she'd translated some of the ancient Fairy texts. These waters were haunted by fearsome beasts, the Adaro, if she'd read it correctly. At first Belle had dismissed the creatures as just another name for merfolk, but after talking it over with Ariel she decided a little more research was necessary. Ariel had never heard of any merperson with a shark's dorsal fin or a sword extending from their forehead. And the line proclaiming, the Adaro to be affected by the darkest of magic and forced into serving penance, seemed to fit too perfectly.

Her heart had swelled with hope when she had finally found a ship willing to take her to an island in the heart of Adaro territory, but Belle had tried to not let her hope get the better of her. The Adaro were by no means her first theory, failing the intervention of fate, they were her last. She had traveled to countless forests and enough ominous caves to know that just because something worked on paper, there was no guarantee that it would lead her to her True Love.

Belle shuddered in the cool ocean breeze, more from anticipation than anything else really. She moved a few steps further in land to avoid the tide as she pulled the final ingredients to summon the Adaro from her satchel. A lock of her hair, a handkerchief she'd just happened to have in her pocket when they left Storybrooke, a tiny square of leather from her favorite pair of his pants and their chipped cup. Nervously smoothing out the handkerchief one last time, Belle kicked off her shoes and approached the water, her feet sinking into the wet sand.

She closed her eyes and stepped forward. As her toes touched the water, Belle drew forth her last memory of Rumplestiltskin.

"I love you, Belle. You made me stronger." She echoed his last words to herself.

Belle kept walking forward into the sea, the water rising higher and higher up her legs. While she stumbled over a rock on the seabed, she did not open her eyes. When the water reached her chest, she began to drop the items one by one, visualizing Rumplestiltskin as she did so.

The Handkerchief floated for a second before it sank in the murky water, practically glowing under the light of the moon. She thought of when he first found her again and they were headed back from the well in his car. She had started crying silent tears. This world was new and overwhelming but Rumplestiltskin was somehow there with her. He couldn't very well dry her tears while driving but he had pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her. He'd held her hand the whole ride home, which she now knew from experience, was not the safest idea. But Rumplestiltskin had been a better driver than her and when they made it home in one piece, he had clutched her to his chest and promised he was never going anywhere.

Belle bit her lip, trying to keep herself on the task at hand. As soon as she got him back, Belle was going to keep him to that promise.

The leather fragment was next. He had always looked so good in those pants. She had thought she was coming down with something the first time she saw him in them. Her heart rate had sped and she felt clammy. Looking back it was almost silly how much worried she'd been, but to be fair it was the first real taste of attraction. And she certainly was heartsick in the end.

Her hair, the hair of a lover, was one of the strongest summoners. It was why many deemed this ritual too difficult or risky. The Adaro were supposed to be the most fearsome of men and women in their pasts. Finding a love, or even someone they cared about was supposed to be the most difficult step. But in their case, it had been the simplest ingredient.

Belle turned the chipped cup over in her hand, running her hand carefully over the fractured edge. She had been so worried upon her arrival at the Dark Castle, but even when he was pretending to be indifferent, Rumplestiltskin had known exactly what to say to calm her down.

She finally opened her eyes, the cup still clutched in her right hand. It was hard to see, but she thought she might see some movement in the distance. As the movement drew closer, she saw not one, but nearly half a dozen dorsal fins sticking out of the black water. Belle stood her ground despite every nerve in her body screaming at her to run. The sea captain had laughed at her; called it a suicide mission claimed her gold was just as good as any, but still refused to take payment for the return voyage. Belle understood now. The mere presence of a human, especially one alone and desperate on a moonlit night, would be enough to draw attention to herself, just not necessarily the attention she wanted.

Still the creatures stopped several body lengths away from her. They were close enough that she could see the sharp swordlike point extending from the tips of their heads, but not close enough to make out their faces.

Belle clutched the cup tighter to her chest. Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.

"I'm looking for Rumplestiltskin."

She wasn't sure if they understood her. Still one swam closer to her and Belle's heart picked up. "Rumple," she allowed herself to whisper.

But as it grew closer she could tell it was not. The women, if you could call this Adaro a woman, had long dark brown hair that seemed matted against the small grey scales of her skin. It's twisted expression allowed Belle to see the large fangs bared menacingly at her, head tilted downward so she could strike Belle's chest.

This had been a fool's errand, and now it was going to be all over. Belle squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for impact. A part of her hoped that she had been thoroughly wrong and just in denial about Rumple's death. Because if he was actually dead, she'd merely be joining him, instead of leaving him cursed and lost somewhere by himself. She heard what she could only describe as a snarl and knew that one way or another she was about to find out. Hopefully, it would be a quick death, a painless one.

But the blow she expected never came. Belle opened her eyes a sliver to see exactly what was taking so long.

Another Adaro had joined the first. They were fighting, heavy tails thrashing around the shallow water, heads turning this way and that to use their swords.

It was with a whine that the black haired Adaro conceded, fleeing back into the small circle. With its opponent gone, Belle was able to get a closer look at her savior.

His hair was shaggy and brown, the ends curling from the salt water. He peered at her with deep brown eyes that she would recognize anywhere.

"Rumple!" she wanted to throw her arms around the creature that was also her husband, but he shrunk back from her.

He didn't remember, couldn't remember in this form. Still she had hope. He was closer than he'd been in months, even if he didn't recognize her. Belle dipped the chipped cup in the water, filling it to the brim before dumping it over her outstretched hand.

His eyes seemed to light up at the cup, although it might just be because it was something new and unfamiliar. He offered her his own scaled hand and did not pull away when she clasped it.

Staring with determination at their interwoven fingers, Belle dipped their cup into the water once again and poured it over them. She felt his grip tighten for a second, before he pulled away. As soon as his hand left hers, she wanted to scream. They were so close. He couldn't leave now.

But soon Belle felt him nuzzling up against her side, almost as if he couldn't get enough of her.

This time she was the one to pull away and a small smile broke out at his whining. But she had only pulled him off his position plastered at her side so she could face him.

"I don't know exactly what is going to happen Rumple. I know before you needed your curse to find your son, and he needs help finding his. But please,” Belle bit her lip. "I don't even know if you can understand me, but let my kiss you. Let me at least break this one. Come back to me Rumple."

She leaned forward and although he didn't pull away, it wasn't exactly the great reunion kiss she'd been hoping for. He was stiff as a board at first, his webbed fingers plastered to his side. But even as she watched, as the grey scales melted into flesh, he grew bolder, pulling her closer and running his fingers through her hair. Belle could feel the tears running down her face, but she didn't stop kissing him, didn't pull away until she absolutely had to.

Gasping for air, she could only stare at her love and try to enjoy the feeling of all the places where his very human body was pressed up against hers.

"You saved me." His face was so full of awe she almost giggled.

"Of course I did. I couldn't very well live my happily ever after without you."

He pulled her in close once again, running his hands down her body, affirming that she was here, that she was real. He could feel her shivering and placed a hand at the small of her back to guide her out of the water.

"And that's exactly what we're going to do, just as soon as we get you into something dry."

Belle gave him a slightly disapproving look. Her soaked white chemise was nothing compared to the fact that his transformation had left him completely naked. "I thought you didn't believe villains got happy endings."

Rumplestiltskin gave a dark chuckle at that. "Let's just say I'm not about to stand in the way of the happy ending of the bravest hero I've ever known, and if she just so happens to be in love with a beast-"

"Madly, madly in love with the beast" Her cheeky grin betrayed the fact that just this once she wasn't going to argue with him over calling himself a beast.

"If she just so happens to be madly in love with a beast, I see no reason to deprive her." Rumplestiltskin kissed her, nearly making her fall onto the sandy shore with the force, but catching her.

"Good. Because my happy ending only works if your get yours too."

"Anything for you sweetheart."

#findingtallahassee #May Day Menagerie #maydaymenagerie #rumbelle fic #rumbelle

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forsetti · 7 years ago

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On Sexual Assaults: Me Too and Why I Didn’t Report

There are a lot of issues that I am very passionate and deeply invested in (racism, health care, belief systems…) For me, all of these take a backseat in importance to sexual harassment and assault. This is why the “Me Too” phenomenon really struck a nerve. As I saw “Me too” post after post and comments on Facebook and Twitter, I was reminded of just how prevalent and ignored sexual harassment and assault is around the world and how far we are from truly admitting and correcting the problem in our very modern, very advanced society.

I was raised by a very strong, independent, knows who she is and what she wants-woman. Of the many aspects of my belief system she impacted, none has been as influential as how I treat and view women. I was raised on gender equality. My mom is a better hunter than her husband or any of her sons. She is the most mentally strong person in our family. If I had to pick anyone in the world to do what is best for me and watch my back, it would be her. Trying to insult me by calling me a “mommy’s boy,” is futile. I’m damn proud of being just that.

Besides being a “mommy’s boy,” almost all my close friends my whole life have been women. For more reasons than I care to go into, I gravitate toward women more than men when it comes to friendship. I find the vast majority of men boring, obnoxious, arrogant, and intolerable. Because of this, whether from women I’ve dated or had close friendships with, I’ve been exposed to “Me too” from their point-of-view for thirty-plus years. I’ve seen first-hand the short and long-term damage done to women by men’s overt and oftentimes completely ignorant behaviors.

One of the first times I was introduced to, “Me too,’ was when I was an undergraduate at Utah State University. I was dating a woman who grew up in the same hometown as I did. She was younger than me and I never really knew her growing up. I was introduced to her by one of my younger brothers. From the first time we went out, I could tell she needed sexual reassurance, positive sexual reinforcement. By the third date (it usually didn’t take this long,) she confided in me that she had been sexually molested by some of her older brothers. She knew what had happened to her was wrong and intellectually she knew it wasn’t her fault but emotionally, her self-worth was tied to how sexually attractive and desired she was to someone else. The upshot of this was she wanted and needed sex to validate herself. The damage caused by her sexual abuse was profound and very detrimental to her psychological and personal growth.

A few years later, I was dating a young woman who exhibited the very same traits like the one who had been assaulted by her brothers. Except, instead of needing sexual approval, she repelled any physical contact. The first time I tried to hold her hand, she withdrew and the tension was palpable. A number of dates later, she confided in me that one night while she had been out jogging, she was attacked and raped. This was a good Mormon girl who had been told her whole life that being sexually pure was the one and only thing she had to protect until she got married. She blamed herself for what happened to her. She went to the other extreme of the first young woman I knew who had been sexually assaulted, anything physical was viewed as bad and she felt guilty for the most basic physical contact.

These two experiences happened in my early 20s. Since then, from women I’ve dated and female friends, I’ve heard dozens of horror stories about sexual assault. Because these stories came from someone I cared about, it was easy to tap into some form of anger-”How dare someone do this to someone I really care about!” The thing is, it isn’t just about people I care(d) about. If the majority of women I know have been sexually assaulted, it is not an irrational jump to conclude the majority of women, in general, have been assaulted as well.

Fundamentally, I knew this but it took a few years of real-life experiences to drive the point home. I remember visiting a good friend of mine in Arizona and going out with someone who was a sister of one of her friends. On the very first date, she told me how she had been raped by her ex-husband. For reasons I’m not entirely clear about, women have always felt comfortable telling me very personal and private things very early on in whatever relationship we have. As flattered and honored as I feel about how comfortable they are opening up to me, I also feel very bad because some of the things they feel the need to tell have been horrific. When I first saw the “Me too” meme, I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Deep down, my response was, “No fucking shit!.”

Of all the women I’ve dated more than twice, I cannot think of more than a few who cannot honestly say, “Me too.” I’m not talking, “Me too” to sexually harassment. I’m talking about “Me too,” to sexual assault. These women all have come from middle to upper-middle class families. The rate of sexual assault among the lower classes is much, much higher because they don’t have the means to speak up. Whether being felt up at a bar to being raped, women endure unwanted contact from men more than is reported and certainly more than most of us want to contemplate because to do so is to admit some culpability to a massive moral failing. This culpability can be something as minor as participating in sexualized jokes and comments to major things like sexual assault. Some of the women I’ve known/know have handled and dealt with what happened to them well. Many have not. I feel horrible for the ones who have not dealt with it well and understand why they haven’t. We live in a society that is more than eager to blame women for whatever happens to them, especially when it comes to their sexuality.

Whenever there is a report of sexual assault it is always skewed towards the women. “Seven girls in South Port High School Were Sexually Assaulted by Member of the Football Team.” The headline should read, “Members of the South Port High School Team Sexually Assaulted Seven Girls.” Sexual assault IS NOT a women’s issue or problem. There is NOTHING they have done to create it. There is NOTHING they can do to prevent it. Rape and sexual assault are entirely a men’s problem. We are the ones who do it for whatever dumbass, egotistical, testosterone-driven, peer pressured reasons. In the same way racism in America cannot/should not be solved by minorities, sexual harassment and assaults cannot/should not be solved by women.

The parallels between racism and sexism are strong. Not only is the problem not the responsibility of the victimized group, but the causes for both are also rooted in a long tradition of bullshit. Racism is rooted in the unscientific, completely arbitrary notion that whites are mentally, morally, and spiritually superior. Who makes and perpetuates these ideas? The people who benefit the most from it-whites. Sexism is rooted in the idea that men are superior to women. Who makes and perpetuates these ideas? The people who benefit the most from it-men. It is this fucking basic. It is also, this fucking dumb.

When a man assaults a woman, it inevitably damages one or all the qualities I love most about women. I don’t love women because they are women. I love them because of who they, who I was raised to be, and who I aspire to be. For me, when a man sexually harasses or assaults a woman, it damages not just morality, justice, and equality, it damages the traits of humanity I hold dearest. It damages people who I care about and love. It damages a group who has done more for me than any other. Whether they realize it or not, it damages the men who do it. It also damages the men who don’t because it rightfully makes women defensive of all men.

Men who view women as inferior/disposable, live in a world that is devoid of women’s true value. As angry as I get towards the typical male d-bag who views and treats women as inferior, a part of me feels pity for them. Pity they will never know the true nature and value of women. Pity they are so insecure they feel the need to play out their power issues on someone else. Pity their self-worth is tied to a facade of superiority. Of course, whatever pity I feel is outweighed by anger 1,000,000/1. The damage done to women by these attitudes is far more important than men’s ignorance, egos, and arrogance and any pity I might feel.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt this way. I’m pretty sure this is the result of how I was raised. Anyone who knows me well knows the thing I have always wanted to be more than anything else is a world-class assassin. Not an assassin who kills just for money or arbitrarily but one who takes out bad people. In my list of “bad people,” pedophiles and rapists are at the top and I could/would take them out with absolutely no remorse. In fact, I’d probably sleep better at night. Often, when I say this, people tell me, “No you wouldn’t. You say that but you don’t really mean it.” Trust me, I mean it. The reason I can say this with absolute surety is because of the damage I’ve personally witnessed to people I care about the most.

I’m glad “Me too,” raised awareness of the problem but it is meaningless unless men change their beliefs, their behaviors, their responses when other men behave in their typical brutish fashion. “Me too,” like “Black lives matter,” is great for starting a much-needed conversation but unless we take it seriously and continue the conversation to where it needs to go, the same behaviors will continue and more women will suffer. I wish I could say things will get better but if the past has shown me anything, it is men are slow fucking learners and they especially don’t dare touch anything tied to their fragile egos. Until they are truly willing to do this, “Me too” will continue to be a thing.

Addendum: The sexual assault nerve of victims was once again exposed and laid bare with the recent claims by Dr. Christine Blasey Ford that Supreme Court nominee, Brett Kavanaugh assaulted her when they were in high school. What Me Too did for giving women a platform to let others know their experiences with being sexually assaulted, this most recent exposure has brought out a very misunderstood but very important aspect of sexual assaults-why victims often don't report it. This has given rise to another movement/hashtag #WhyIDidntReport.

All anyone has to do is read through the thousands of accounts of people, mostly women, who have come out and explained why they didn't report their assault or waited to tell anyone for years, to understand why. Fear-fear of retribution by a culture and society that views and treats women as second-class citizens. Guilt-guilt of feeling somehow they were to blame for their attack because the language we use puts the burden and responsibility on them, not their assailants. Shame-shame of not being the “perfect daughter,” the “pure Christian,” the “loyal girlfriend/spouse,”... Realization-realization that not only will their story not be believed, it will be ridiculed and used against them.

Just look at how the men in the United States Senate talk about Dr. Ford-”She's an opportunist,” “She is mixed up,” “If it really happened, she would have come forward years ago”... Their responses are the most “humane” on the right. Some of the conservative base has been threatening her with physical harm, rape, and murder. All of them, in their own especially fucked up way, is doing what they are with the intent of not only scaring Dr. Ford from testifying before the committee but more importantly, letting every other woman out there know, if you tell on one of us for sexually assaulting you, we will bring down the thunder on you, your life, and your family. There is a word for this kind of behavior-”terrorism.”

Make no mistake, sexual assaults and everything tied to is a form of terrorism. It is violence or the threat of violence to intimidate in order to achieve a particular end. Sexual assaults are not about sex. They are about power. Power over another person in the most personal way. The horrible treatment of victims of sexual assaults through intimidation and threats of more violence is terrorism added to the terrorism already committed against them.

Don't ever talk to me about America being a “Christian nation,” or how much we “respect women,” as long as we turn a blind eye to the real way we treat women, the way we talk about and address sexual assaults. As long as there are thousands of untested rape kits in police stations around the country, we can't claim women are important. As long as women's reproductive choices are not 100% in their hand, we can't claim that women are equal. As long as men in power use their power to subjugate, denigrate, and silence women, we can't honestly say we respect them.

There is a Me Too Train barreling down the tracks and picking up incredible speed. It is going to run over everything and everyone in its path, without remorse, without sympathy, without a fuck to give because that is the way it has been treated by those it will run over and their enablers for centuries. I, for one, will have no remorse for anyone caught in its wake. I don't care if you are someone I know, love, idolize... if you are not on board with the underlying issues behind Me Too and Why I Didn't Report, you deserve what you get because the ethical sides of this issue are black and white. If you don't understand or know the difference by now, you have no one to blame but yourself.

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squirenonny · 7 years ago

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Five Times Zethrid Flirted With a Cat (and one time it flirted back)

Rating: T (language and brief but graphic depictions of violence) Words: 5392 Summary: Zethrid has a problem, and that problem is a cat.

(Or, Zethrid might be crushing on Narti. She might be too much of a coward to talk to Narti. Not that she'd ever admit it out loud.)

Written for @queen-gr as part of the @vldlunarladies exchange!

[Read on AO3]

1. Accidental

It was a slow day in the Galra Empire. No rebellions to put down, no threats to confront, no large game on nearby planets to hunt as a gods-damned break from the monotony.

“I hate this assignment,” Zethrid said to no one in particular. It was just her in the officer’s lounge on the space station in the middle of literal nowhere that had been her home for the last… how many decaphoebes? Hell, she’d given up counting ages ago. Not like she was going anywhere anytime soon. All the interesting posts were reserved for the pure Galra. The ones with respectable parentage. The real soldiers.

Yeah. She’d like to see one of them step into the ring with her. Then they’d see who the real Galra was.

The lounge remained disappointingly quiet, and when she drove a fist into the couch cushion in frustration, it gave a rather anticlimactic huff and then, slowly, sagged beneath her knuckles.

Groaning, Zethrid flopped backward and pulled a pillow over her face. She could only imaging the lecture Lotor would give her if he saw her moping like this—let alone Acxa . But she couldn’t help it. She was bored. There was nothing to do except go down a few decks and pick a fight with one of the enlisted men, and it had already been made clear that that was not an option befitting one of Lotor’s generals.

The door hissed as it opened, and Zethrid groaned into the pillow. “I swear to fuck if you’re here to tell me there’s some dumb-ass meeting I should be at right now--”

Something small, light, and poky landed on her gut, forcing the breath out of her in a rush.

“What the--? Kova?” Zethrid lifted the pillow from her face and glared at the cat as he began kneading at her stomach. He didn’t purr—he never did—just stared her in the eye as he jabbed his tiny, sharp-clawed paws into her again and again. She swung the pillow at him and he scuttled back, hissing at her. Zethrid hissed back.

They glared at each other for a long moment, a silent battle of wills that dragged on longer than it should have. Once Zethrid realized she was having a staring contest with a cat, she flopped back down and cursed at the ceiling.

“That’s just perfect,” she grumbled. “I’ve stooped to getting territorial with an animal. Great job there, Zethrid. Really striking fear into the men’s hearts with this one.”

It was only a matter of seconds before Kova forgot his indignation and ventured forward once more, stubbornly ignoring the hand Zethrid shoved in his face and squeezing himself into the space between her hip and the back of the couch. He did this, sometimes. Found the warmest, softest body in the room to use as a bed. It was only luck that had spared Zethrid that fate so far—well, luck and the fact that she usually tried to keep herself moving. Sitting still never got anything done.

So it was usually Acxa who wound up with a sleeping Kova sprawled across her lap, or sometimes Lotor. The cat was a common fixture at their strategy meetings and Acxa’s research sprees, when he wasn’t curled up on Narti’s shoulders. But Zethrid’s core temperature ran higher than the other generals’, thanks to her father’s heritage. She supposed all this fur made her a softer bed than most, too.

Damn this cat.

Zethrid’s hand hovered over Kova’s back for a long moment, slitted eyes staring back at her beneath heavy lids. Kova didn’t blink, didn’t even stir at the irritated growl that built in Zethrid’s throat.

But she couldn’t keep her hand in the air forever, and there were only so many comfortable ways to lay on a sofa, so with no small degree of reluctance, she lowered her hand down onto Kova’s back. “You want to smother me?” she growled. “Then you can deal with me returning the favor.”

A long, taut silence followed, during which Zethrid was sure the cat was going to tear her hands to shreds.

Instead, he started purring.

It was a strange sound, gravelly and uneven. Sounded more like he was snoring than purring, but it vibrated in the ridges of his spine where they pressed against Zethrid’s fingertips, pulsing in time with his breathing. On the inhale, the sound faded, only to return in force when Kova huffed an exhale.

“You can’t possibly like this,” Zethrid muttered. Her fingers found the hollow where Kova’s ear met his skull, and the first scratch had the cat melting into her touch, purrs coming more insistently. Zethrid shook her head. “Well, shit. You’re as much of a surprise as--”

The door opened again, and Zethrid’s body went rigid as Narti stepped into the room. With her mask on, as always, it was impossible to read her expression, but the flick of her tail didn’t seem particularly pleased. Zethrid felt too hot, her mind grinding to a halt.

“Uh...”

Zethrid snatched her hand away from Kova, who stretched and lifted his head to peer toward Narti, still purring away. That was the thing about familiars—they weren’t just pets. Kova was Narti’s second pair of eyes, and though she didn’t need to look through him to get around, she could peer into their bond, no matter how far apart they were, and there was no way to tell from the outside whether or not Kova had someone else in his head.

Narti crossed her arms, cocking her head to the side in a question. She lifted one hand, running her fingers across her chest in the sign for, Really?

“It was his idea!” Zethrid cried, sitting up so fast she dislodged Kova, who dug his claws in in an attempt to hold on. It hurt like a xinthosian rivvu’s bite, and Zethrid bit down on her tongue to stifle a cry of pain. Like hell was she going to complain about it. She wouldn’t give Narti the satisfaction.

Kova resisted a moment longer, then hissed again and sprang up onto the arm of the couch. Narti lowered her hand, and Kova climbed nimbly to her shoulders, where he sat staring at Zethrid, tail lashing from side to side. Zethrid got the distinct impression Narti’s tail wanted to do the same.

The damn cat was still purring.

After another, painfully long silence, Narti finally turned and walked out, and Zethrid moaned into a pillow. She should have picked a fight with one of the soldiers.

2. Experimental

“You need to do something about that crush of yours,” Acxa said, not looking up from her display screen. “It’s going to get you into trouble one of these days.”

Zethrid squeezed her water pouch so tight it split at the seam, contents running down her arm in little rivulets of shame as she choked on her cry of, “What?!”

Acxa lifted her head, eyebrow arching. “Don’t play dumb with me, Zethrid. You can act the meathead in the field all you want, but you and I both know Lotor never would have promoted you if you didn’t show at least a modicum of situational awareness.”

A shiver of restless energy slithered up Zethrid’s spine, taking up residence in her ears. (Curse her ears. No one else on this team had to worry about body parts projecting every damn thought to cross her mind.) “Who told you?”

“Told me?” Acxa snorted. “Please. All anyone has to do is spend five minutes alone in a room with the two of you. All that unresolved tension in the air is enough to power a teludav.” She swiped at her screen with two slender fingers, seeming for all the world like she was telling Zethrid to add soap to their next requisition list. “It was one thing when we were stationed at the fringes of the Empire and Prince Lotor didn’t have anything better to keep him entertained. But we’re at war now, Zethrid. If you give the paladins an opening, they’re going to take it.”

Zethrid scoffed. “Were we watching the same battle? I could pulverize those wimps with one hand tied behind my back—even if I am distracted by whatever crush you think I have.”

Acxa sighed, switched off her screen, and stood. “If you’re afraid Narti doesn’t feel the same way, then why don’t you just ask her?”

“Uh, I don’t know, because I’m not generally in the habit of making an idiot out of myself?”

Holding up her hands, Acxa backed toward the door. “I’m not getting dragged into this, Zethrid, okay? Just… figure it out? For your own sake. It’s painful watching you pine over her.”

Zethrid scowled at her back as she left, abandoning Zethrid to her watch. It just figured. They finally got called back to the heart of the Empire, finally got to see some real action, and now suddenly Acxa got on her case about Narti. (So Zethrid had come to watch Narti train once or twice in the past few weeks. It wasn’t a crime to take an interest in a comrade’s progress.)

Anyway, it was entirely Acxa’s fault that, a varga later, when Lotor brought them all together to talk about the paladins and the fight and blah, blah, blah—Zethrid couldn’t concentrate on what Lotor was saying.

Now, obviously Zethrid couldn’t take Acxa’s first bit of advice, the part about “just” asking how Narti felt about her. But she could try to follow the second suggestion and “figure it out.” Experiment. It seemed like something Acxa would be proud of, in all honesty.

She had a piece of raw seppabeast meat wrapped in plastic in her pocket, and she spent the first five minutes of the briefing fiddling with the loose edge of the wrap. Narti stood beside her, fully focused on Lotor, as were Acxa and Ezor. Kova, though… Kova was staring right at Zethrid, watching . Which meant Narti was watching.

Fine then.

Shooting a look at Lotor to be sure he wasn’t paying attention (he wasn’t; he was too focused on whatever Acxa was saying to care about Zethrid), she pulled the meat out of her pocket and held it up in front of Kova’s nose. The cat perked up at once, following the meat as Zethrid waved it back and forth in front of his face.

Narti didn’t react.

Zethrid smiled, inching the meat closer so that Kova started to bat at it. There was always a question of whether or not Narti wanted you interacting with her familiar, and when he was on her shoulder, sprawled against the curve of her pauldron, which had been designed specifically to give Kova a perch, it was safest to keep away.

But Narti wasn’t telling Zethrid to back off, as she did when someone crossed a line, a certain sharpness to her signs that hit with the same force as a shout. She hadn’t yet moved to position one of the others between her and Zethrid, either, and neither her tail nor her hands were twitching with murderous intent. Which was a bit of a disappointment, really. Narti was damn hot when she was primed for a fight.

Narti turned her head a fraction—just far enough that their eyes would have met, if not for the smooth, opaque helmet in the way. Which was ridiculous, of course. If Narti wanted to keep an eye on Zethrid, she’d do it through the cat, and if she wanted to listen to what Zethrid was doing, her ear was already pointed in a perfectly useful direction.

No, she wanted Zethrid to know she’d taken note of the—was this flirting? Zethrid wasn’t sure if this could be called flirting, feeding raw meat to a cat.

But it was something , and the fact that Narti was watching her, was openly acknowledging the exchange, sent a thrill through Zethrid. She grinned wider, staring deliberately back at Narti. Not at the cat; at Narti. If Narti wanted Zethrid to know she’d noticed, then Zethrid wanted Narti to know she’d noticed she’d noticed.

You’re not stopping me, Zethrid thought. That knowledge brought with it the rush of battle, adrenaline and a primal hunger coursing through her blood. She wanted to push the limits of this contest, though she hadn’t yet figured out the rules.

She didn’t care. She always lived on the edge, and if the danger here wasn’t the bloody, fatal sort she was used to, it still made her feel alive.

Kova’s next swat caught Zethrid’s fingers, claws sinking right through the fabric of her gloves and drawing blood. She yelped, cursing as she snatched her fingers back, and Acxa’s voice trailed off. She, Ezor, and Lotor were all staring at Zethrid now, exasperation plain on Acxa’s face, while Lotor looked merely surprised. Ezor glanced from Zethrid to Kova, who now had the chunk of meat trapped between his paws and was tearing into it with a bloothirsty sort of glee—probably because there was actual blood on his treat—to Narti.

Zethrid could have done without the delighted smile that suddenly lit Ezor’s face.

She growled, ready to tear into whoever made the first comment, but it was Narti who broke first, lifting one hand to her face as though to hide a smile. Zethrid’s anger and embarrassment faded to something softer around the edges, something that left her feeling like someone had bashed her on the head.

When they all finally split off to their various tasks, and Ezor hip-checked Zethrid a coo of, “You two are adorable,” Zethrid was still too flustered to defend herself.

3. Sentimental

Ezor wasn’t allowed to give romantic advice anymore.

Zethrid wasn’t honestly sure what had possessed her to take said advice, especially considering Ezor had given it entirely unpromtped, and Zethrid didn’t know what counted as a “cute romantic gesture” when you were dealing with a magical, psychic, nigh-immortal cat, but…

Yeah. She was regretting this already.

Narti wasn’t here, which was some small mercy. Not because it spared Zethrid the embarrassment of knowing the other woman had seen her bringing half a robeast’s worth of kitchy toys to the command ship for Kova—because Narti was most certainly watching this entire awkward display. But at least Zethrid didn’t have to face the laughter.

Kova, himself, was having a great time… with the wrappings. He ignored the hollow balls and stuffed mice and tassels and even the climbing tree (evidently Zethrid herself was far more fun to climb, and she had the scratch marks to prove it). The officer’s lounge was an explosion of cheap plastic, fuzz, and embarrassment.

And Kova?

Kova was curled up, asleep in an empty box with shreds of brown paper for a blanket.

4. Coincidental

Battle.

It was a nice change of pace, as far as Zethrid was concerned. Too much of the fight with the paladins was confined to space, where Lotor insisted on holding back and leaving Voltron in one piece if you can, girls.

Zethrid didn’t do restraint.

That was probably why Lotor kept her out of the new ship, the one he’d made from the meteoric ore. That ship was a beauty, faster than anything in the universe except the Red Lion itself, more powerful than a hundred ion cannons compacted into one. The havoc Zethrid could have wrought from behind the controls of that beauty…

But of course havoc was bad . Havoc was counter-productive . Havoc was off the table, Zethrid, and until you learn to keep your destructive impulses in check, you’re not allowed to touch the new ship.

Lotor and his frickin’ schemes.

It had been a few weeks since they’d last faced the paladins of Voltron, and things had been quiet. A few minor shows of force, a whole hell of a lot of parlaying with planetary leaders. That silver tongue of Lotor’s was getting quite a workout these days as he folded would-be dissidents back into the empire.

So it was a gigantic relief when they came across Hakkadia, a world that would not be enticed. The local leaders had outright refused to meet with Lotor, the people hid when Lotor tried to appeal to them directly, and then this morning, they’d actually dared to launch an attack on Lotor’s vessel with their cute little home-built ships.

The orders to put down the rebellion put Zethrid in a good enough mood that she could be generous and say the locals had spunk. They were kind of adorable, actually.

Especially when they screamed.

Blood seeped between Zethrid’s fingers as she impaled a rebel on a length of rebar, the heat a pleasant contrast to the chill Hakkadian wind. A trail of carnage traced her path across the city, rebels lying where they fell. They were all as good as dead, though many of them still breathed. Their moans made a nice score to accompany her fury.

Two more Hakkades charged her, polearms crackling with electricity. Zethrid smacked one away, leaped, and came down on the haft of the second weapon, crushing it beneath her. Its wielder dropped it at once, pulling out a knife as he backed away, while his companion stumbled, fumbling her weapon. The force of Zethrid’s backhand could have flung it two blocks away, and the rebel’s hands had to be smarting from holding on.

A flicker of movement on the rooftop beside her caught Zethrid’s eye. Kova sat there, tail curled around himself, eyes unblinking as he watched her fight. Zethrid looked around, but Narti was deep in her own fight, a stolen polearm glinting as she twirled it. Her tail tripped up her enemies, and their own blade cut them down, and when she was done she stopped, her back toward Zethrid.

Kova meowed, a question and a challenge, and Zethrid grinned. Her blood already sang in her ears, but this—this was even better. She charged in, roaring as she went, and though the looks of terror on the rebels’ faces were no less satisfying than normal, her mind remained transfixed by the cat on the roof, looking quietly on.

And, well, if Zethrid fought with just a touch more… flair… than usual, no one ever had to know.

5. Temperamental

Things finally came to a head as they left another newly-loyal world behind. All five of them were in the cockpit, waiting for Lotor to step in with the usual debriefing and handing out of assignments for the long vargas before they reached their next target—not a planet, this time, Zethrid suspected. It had been too long since they’d made progress on their real goal.

Not that she particularly cared at the moment. Narti was sitting at her station, Kova curled up on her shoulders and watching Zethrid—always watching. He hadn’t approached her once since that first day, before the summons from Haggar arrived, and Narti seemed to be going out of her way to avoid being caught alone with Zethrid.

She’d seen it as a challenge. Of all the generals, Narti was the most reserved—not because she couldn’t speak, but simply because she preferred the company of her familiar to any other. Even Acxa was reasonably social. She spent a lot of time with Lotor, and she let Ezor tempt her into having a drink every now and again. She was always there whenever Ezor or Lotor decided it was time to have a “girl’s night”--be that drunken duels, holovids, a spa day, or some good old-fashioned hunting of massive, ancient beasts. Narti was more of a toss-up. Sometimes she showed, sometimes she didn’t.

But it was different now. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t show up to group activities as that she didn’t show up other places she could normally be found. That, and Kova sometimes seemed to be patrolling the halls. He vanished as soon as he caught sight of Zethrid—off to warn Narti, no doubt. The only place Zethrid could talk to her anymore was in company.

Fine, then.

She waited until Ezor went to grab something from the cargo hold. Something to boost the scanners, maybe? Zethrid hadn’t been listening. All she cared was that the seat next to Narti was open now, and Zethrid wasted no time in claiming it. She reached out as she passed and gave Kova a quick scratch behind the ears.

The cat’s eyes snapped open, pupils dilating as he focused on her, and his tail gave a single, violent lash. That gave Zethrid pause, but she didn’t back down. She sat, kicking her legs up onto the seat back and leaning backwards over the armrest, her ear quivering as it brushed against Narti’s arm.

Narti stilled.

“You’ve got some blood in your whiskers,” Zethrid observed, reaching up to scratch Kova under the chin. His ears went back, but he didn’t resist the touch, which she figured was good. There was blood in his whiskers—all over his snout, really. He’d gotten deep into it during the last battle, latching onto the face of a much larger beast while Acxa lined up her shot. Kova wasn’t hurt—he, like Narti, was much too slippery for that—but he seemed to have missed a spot in his grooming. Maybe he was just too tired.

He let her scratch him for a few more seconds, but when she traded scritches for pets, he let out a low, unhappy growl and retreated to Narti’s other shoulder. She reached up and laid a hand on his back. Neither of them looked at Zethrid.

Stunned, she sat upright, her feet dropping to the floor. “What’s your problem?” she hissed, keenly aware of the others in the room. “You’re giving me the cold shoulder now? What gives?”

“Aw, come on you two. Don’t fight.” Ezor leaned suddenly over the back of Zethrid’s chair—Ezor’s chair, technically. Her eyes, bright with interest, darted from Zethrid to Narti and back. “Did… something happen?”

Zethrid looked at Narti, waiting for an explanation. She said nothing, though, just continued to scroll through scan data and pet Kova, whose tail was flicking harder than the Altean princess’s whip.

Pressing her lips together, Zethrid stood, feeling an uncomfortable tightness gathering in her chest. “Nothing happened,” she growled. “Apparently, nothing has been happening for the last few weeks, and I’m just too dense to get the memo.”

Still she waited, just a few seconds longer, silently begging Narti to contradict her. A gesture, a single sign, a glance from Kova—anything.

All she got was frosty silence and the sense that somehow, Zethrid had crossed a line.

“Well,” Lotor said, leaning his cheek on his hand. “If we’re done with the drama for today, could we move on to actual business?”

Zethrid balled her hands into fists. Shame and hurt were battering at her—neither one an emotion she had much experience with. She felt like an idiot. She’d let herself be strung along like a lovesick Altean, tripping at Narti’s heels—and for what? For a laugh? Was Narti just bored ? Was this all a game to her?

With a roar, Zethrid slammed her fist down on the console beside Narti, who flinched, snatching her hands back from the sparking remains of her station. Kova arched his back, hissing at Zethrid. She bared her teeth in return and then, ignoring Lotor’s budding lecture, she stalked out of the room.

(+1: Transcendental)

Kova dropped a dead rat in Zethrid’s lap.

She jerked back, staring at the mess of blood and sinew in disgust as Kova tucked his paws underneath himself and stared.

Zethrid stared back, baring her teeth. “What are you expecting me to do with this, eat it? ” She picked it up by the tail— she normally wasn’t bothered by a messy kill, but it was different when she was trying to relax and someone came along and dropped it in her lap. “For fuck’s sake, Kova, where did you even find this?”

Narti sat quietly beside Zethrid, their knees brushing together. He went hunting, she signed, gesturing toward the forest visible beyond the ruins they’d claimed as their base on this gods-forsaken planet. There were no people here, no rebel outposts, not even any dangerous predators. Just a weird energy signature Lotor and Acxa wanted to check out.

Zethrid craned her head to search for Ezor, who was supposed to be helping her watch the ship, but of course she was nowhere to be found. Probably planned it that way.

After a moment, Narti started signing again, and however mad Zethrid was, she couldn’t keep herself from turning to catch the words. It’s a gift. To apologize.

Zethrid turned to the cat, who arched his back, rubbing up against her leg. He was… honestly, he was irresistibly cute when he did that, and his warmth made Zethrid keenly aware of the relative coolness of Narti’s body. They’d never been close enough for Zethrid to notice that before.

“Apologize for what?” Zethrid asked, ignoring the painful bubble of hope building in her chest. “I’m the one who was too stupid to realize I was making you uncomfortable.”

Kova meowed once, mournfully, and butted his head against Zethrid’s hand. Seeing that she wasn’t resisting, he climbed onto her lap, curled up, and started purring. Zethrid stared at him, utterly baffled.

You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Narti signed. Not… Her hands stalled, and her shoulder rose and fell with a sigh. Not like you’re thinking. Can I? She peeled off her glove and held her hand out, fingers ghosting over Zethrid’s bracer.

Zethrid knew a few things about Narti. Not a lot, mind. She didn’t talk much, and very rarely about herself. This conversation was already the longest they’d had. But Narti had served under Lotor for a long time—almost as long as Acxa herself. What Lotor hadn’t deemed relevant knowledge for the rest of them, Acxa had passed along at Narti’s request, and Ezor had pried most of the rest of it out of Acxa before sharing it with Zethrid late at night in hushed tones.

So Zethrid did know the basics. Narti’s father was Galra, and her mother had belonged to a race that shared a distant ancestor with Balmerans. They were a subterranean species, used to living in darkness. Narti had eyes, and she could see, poorly, but she didn’t depend on sight to navigate. She wore her mask to filter out the bright lights her eyes weren’t equipped to handle.

They were also a psychic species—but where Balmerans’ minds were linked to the Balmera on which they were born in a symbiotic relationship, Narti and her mother’s people were psychic parasites. They took hosts and controlled them.

It was this ability, presumably, that had drawn Narti’s father to her mother, though Zethrid wasn’t clear on which had been the hunter and which the prey. And it was this ability that had made Narti so valuable, first to her father and then, later, to Lotor.

Zethrid didn’t know how all that psychic shit worked, but she knew it involved physical contact, ideally skin-on-skin.

She hesitated only a moment before yanking off her gauntlet and holding out her hand, palm up, for Narti to take. She felt the instant Narti slid into her mind with a brief chill, followed by an unfocused moment, and then a peculiar calm settled over her.

Sorry, said a voice in her head. It sounded like wind through trees, like water dripping in a cave, echoing and indistinct. It shifted, and Zethrid settled back into her own skin. Narti’s mind no longer hovered over her, but rested beside her, in the space between them. I never learned how to do this without overshadowing someone first.

“This?” The word echoed oddly, rebounding off Narti’s psychic presence a split second before the sound reached Zethrid’s ears.

Communication, she said. My mother used to speak to me in this way. My father… did not approve. This was not useful to him. I had to rediscover how to do this after Lotor and Acxa gave me a place on their ship. It is still not perfect.

“Huh.” Zethrid’s fingers traced the ridges on Kova’s back, and his purrs burrowed into her. They didn’t quite attain the level of words, as Narti’s touch did, but there was more to it than what Zethrid could sense without Narti inside her. “So… You’re really okay with… you know...” Zethrid barely had to think about her mediocre attempts at flirting before they appeared before her, layering over the view of the ruined city like a holodisplay. She flushed, trying to force the memories down.

Amusement radiated up her arm—a strange sensation, but not unpleasant. Like someone running a feather against the grain of her fur. I am more than okay with it. I am… sorry. Your advances made me uncomfortable, but not because they were unwelcome. I’m just not used to… that. To receiving that sort of attention. To being desired as anything other than a weapon.

Zethrid couldn’t help but snort. “A weapon? Please, Narti, at least give yourself enough credit. If anything, you’re an entire armada.”

The link stilled for a moment, Narti shifting in surprise and confusion. Zethrid sensed she’d said something wrong. Vague impressions drifted toward her, filling in the pieces she’d missed.

“Oh. I thought—” Zethrid fell silent for a long moment, absorbing the nebulous communication drifting through her. “When you said weapon, you didn’t mean soldier, did you?”

No, said Narti. I was a tool, nothing more.

“Aw, hells, Narti. I’m sorry. I didn’t--”

You do not think of me that way. I know. Kova purred, the sound swelling along with Narti’s affection. You prefer to fight with your own two hands.

“And I prefer not to treat people like things,” Zethrid growled. “I mean, shit! Who are these people? Do I need to go bash some heads in, or would you like to--”

They are dead. A single image crystallized in Zethrid’s mind: a Galra in an officer’s uniform, dead in a puddle of his own blood. A younger Galra, diamond-patterned scales punctuating her thin fur in a line from the crown of her head down to the base of her long, reptilian tail, stood over him, her face unreadable for the familiar, expressionless mask.

Zethrid grunted. “Good for you,” she said, hoping Narti felt the full weight of the words.

From the way she squeezed Zethrid’s hand, the meaning came through all right.

I’m sorry for ignoring you, Narti said. I’m afraid Kova may have rubbed off on me.

Zethrid barked out a laugh that startled both Kova and Narti, and she winced as the cat sank his claws into her leg. Gods, I want to kiss her.

She didn’t realize Narti would be able to hear the thought until the cool hand on hers flushed hot with the same embarrassment that turned the psychic link to jittering fuzz.

Oh, Narti said.

“Shit.” Zethrid leaned her head back, groaning frustration at the sky. “Sorry. Again.”

No, it’s all right. It’s just—the sun--

“Yeah. Right. Listen, we can just pretend this never--”

We could go inside.

Zethrid froze. “Inside? Like--?”

There’s too much light out here for me to take off my mask, but if we go inside, turn down the lights…

“Make out in the dark, huh?” Zethrid smiled her best, most predatory smile. “I could be into that.”

Laughter rang in Zethrid’s head for a moment before Narti withdrew, the absence of her hand leaving a cavity in Zethrid’s mind. She stood, backing away, and even without the mental link, Zethrid could read her intent in the sway of her hips. She was way better at this than she gave herself credit for.

Come, she signed.

Zethrid stood without thinking, completely forgetting the cat in her lap. Kova yowled, sinking in claws as he scrambled upward, and before Zethrid could decide whether to throw him off or shield her face, he’d reached her shoulders, where he caught his balance, flicked his tail once against her nose, and settled in, curled up atop her pauldron.

He likes you. Narti’s hands hesitated for a moment, then flashed through one last, hasty sentence. So do I.

Zethrid was grinning as she followed Narti inside.

#zerti #narthrid #zethrid #narti #narti/zethrid #(whatever their ship name is)#voltron #lunar ladies exchange #my writing

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aroseandapen · 7 years ago

Text

A Diamond in the Rough (And the Spinarak)

Rating: Teen/Gen Paring: None Word Count: 2500 Summary: A couple of Team Rocket grunts guard what might be their most valuable pokemon of all, as they hold down the Radio Tower.

Notes: For @nonotlikeaustralia of course, because she thought I wouldn’t write an absolutely serious ficlet for a Pokemon OC I made when I was 9.

“Arceus above, I hate bugs.” The black-clad man peered in through the narrow spaces of the bars, at the small spider pokemon scurrying around inside. It noticed his face so close and let out a hiss, clicking its mandibles at him as it backed away. “Remind me why we can’t just dump this thing outside? I’m pretty sure no trainer in their right mind is coming to look for it.”

“You’d be surprised.” His partner didn’t bother looking at him, his gaze shifting between each of the entrances leading out to a separate stairwell. Although most foolish trainers or police looking to free the radio tower would come from below, he didn’t want to rule out the possibility of an attack from the roof. That was why his pay was higher than his bug hating partner’s, despite the fact that they were both grunts.

“Crazy.” Shaking his head, the first grunt banged his hand against the side of the cage, causing the green pokemon to scuttle around the inside with frightened warning shrieks. “Hey, you, you’re lucky we got orders from the boss, or else I’d use you as food for my zubat—ack!”

He’d barely gotten the words out when the pokemon apparently had enough of the torment. It rushed him, the venomous point on the top of its head boring straight for him. Fortunately for him, his reflexes were just fast enough for him to tear his hand away and fall back away from the cage, flat on his rear end. His partner snickered at the display, a huge sneer plain on his face. The senior grunt didn’t bother hiding his mirth at his partner’s misfortune.

It was the idiot’s own fault if he got himself poisoned anyway.

“Don’t laugh!” Idiot didn’t seem to agree that he’d deserved the attack, glaring up at him from the floor. “Spinarak are poisonous! It could’ve killed me!”

“Venomous, actually.” He couldn’t resist the urge to be pedantic, especially not when it gained such a dumbfounded expression from his partner. “You’d probably be fine if you ate it.”

“What? Who said anything about eating it?”

“You did, apparently. Poisonous implies that you ingested it, venomous that you were stung or something by it. Not that I’d expect you to understand.”

The idiot still didn’t seem to understand, letting out a huff as he pulled himself back up onto his feet. “Whatever, who cares? Venomous this, poisonous that, it doesn’t matter if it’s still trying to kill me!”

At that point, it was probably time for the senior grunt to take the high road. There was no sense in continuing the conversation, and he’d gotten all the satisfaction that he imagined he could get. Thus, with a smirk, he turned back to watching the shadowy corridors, content for now to let the topic slide and continue their guarding of the strange Spinarak, a pokemon that might as well have been just a normal bug type if not for the strange markings on his back—rather, of the lack of such markings. Any moron could see that it was a special pokemon.

Except this moron apparently. His idiot partner pulled a tiny capsule from his pocket, allowing the pokeball to fill out into its full size in his hand.

“You know what? I’m going to knock this thing out and then it won’t be any problem for us at all! Go, Zu—!”

He spun around, grabbing his partner’s pokeball arm in a flash. Before the moron could throw and release his pokemon, he forced the arm back down to his side.

“You idiot!” he hissed, piercing the other’s eyes with his own glare. “Don’t you even realize that this thing is valuable? And if you knock it out or kill it, we’re going to have to revive it and waste all the time where it could be sitting in that cage making its silk for us?”

Nothing lit up behind the idiot’s dull eyes—no comprehension or even a tiny inkling of understanding what a terrible idea he’d been about to act on. “No? Why do we care about something that comes out of a bug pokemon’s butt? Any spinarak in the forest can make silk, we don’t need some trainer’s pokemon. We can catch a million of them no problem!”

“Because. It’s not a trainer’s pokemon.” When there was still no understanding, he had to resist the overwhelming urge to groan. Did he have to spell out everything for his partner? “It’s an experiment. Don’t you see its back?”

They both turned their heads to look at the spinarak. It was climbing the barred wall opposite of them, each of its six spindly legs sticking to the metal with whatever adhesive it secreted in its body. Which gave them a clear view of its back, a solid green that wasn’t like any other Spinarak in existence. Not to their knowledge, anyway. And even if his idiot of a partner didn’t understand the significance of that, a great senior grunt such as him knew a thing or two about what the scientists of Team Rocket worked on in their spare time.

“Yeah…” Finally his partner seemed to be getting the idea that there was something with the Spinarak that didn’t meet the eye, even if he didn’t fully understand the reason for it. “What about it?”

“This Spinarak doesn’t spin silk. Not like just any old Spinarak. This would has been genetically altered with the type of elements and minerals inside its body to produce diamond silk.”

“…What?” He didn’t seem particularly impressed by the explanation. Not that the senior grunt could blame him. Most dullards didn’t understand the complicated science-y stuff that went into the experiments.

Neither did he incidentally. All that talk about elements and molecules and atomic structure was lost on him. He’d left school at the average age of ten, and joined team rocket just four years later, so he didn’t know what any of that was all about. What he did understand, however, was the fact that the Spinarak was incredibly valuable to all of them—and they’d never want for funds again with a diamond-spinning pokemon.

Never again would be be relegated to petty theft just to get enough money to eat or to garnish his wages or to help out the cause. Now he could move on to bigger and better things.

Like regular theft.

“The stuff that comes from that ‘some pokemon’ butt,” he finished with to his wide-eyed partner, “is important to the entire team as a whole.”

For a good minute, said partner didn’t speak. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then continued to gape like some star-stricken goldeen looking up at a freshly evolved magikarp it’d been picking on until that moment. Satisfied that his point sunk in, the senior partner crossed his arms and went back to his watch.

There’d be no stupid fights and knockouts with precious cargo today.

Instead of going back to watching with him, the stupid grunt turned back to the cage, staring at the Spinarak as it clicked threateningly at him. It was a bluff—the pokemon could do nothing when it was trapped in a box as it was, and they were both safely on the outside of it. He ignored his awed partner, grateful at least for the silence it provided him. Really, only one of them needed to keep watch anyway, and he’d use this as leverage when he wanted to get some good sleep and blackmail his partner into taking over for the entire night.

The silence didn’t last, much to his chagrin. “So, like. Why is it here? And not in some underground vault locked away? What if some kid comes in and trips over it and frees it, and then he’s the one with the diamond spinning Spinarak and not us?”

It was a good point, actually, but he wasn’t about to admit that. He scoffed, arms tightening over his chest as he refused to even make eye contact with his partner. “I don’t know, who cares. Orders are to guard it and the Radio Tower from anyone who comes in. The superiors probably have a reason for it, but they don’t have to tell a couple of grunts about it.”

“Right. Sure.” Although he didn’t sound convinced, it was dropped, and they fell back into silence.

Now it was the senior’s partner to be uncomfortable with the silence. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like his partner was pursuing the point, or even like he acted smug about making a point that he couldn’t counter. But he couldn’t resist the overpowering urge to speak again anyway. Just to make sure he had the last word, as petty as he knew it was.

“Anyway, no one is going to storm the Radio Tower. There’s a ton of us in here! It’ll take a whole army to take it back from us, and the moment we see a whole army coming we’ll take the Spinarak and we’ll be out of here!”

Alright. Now he was done.

“You’re right, of course.” Even while his partner agreed with him, it somehow still felt as if he was being mocked. It grated on his nerves even more than the clicking and hissing and scuttling from the bug pokemon they guarded. “I just wonder if—wait, what was that?”

Both of them had heard it, the distant sound of a door opening and then falling shut, the noise echoing up at them through the corridor on the right. It was probably just another shift coming up from the lower floors to relieve them for the day, but still the pair of Rocket Grunts tensed. Surely it was too early for that to happen? Yet neither of them dared to even look down at their watches, two sets of eyes trained on the entryway as they heard the faint sound of footsteps. Louder and louder, approaching them.

A head of blue hair appeared in the room.

“Hey kid!” The newer partner was the one two speak up, shooting the girl who’d walked in a nasty look. “This isn’t the place for you. You better get out of here if you don’t want some trouble.”

What an idiot. Perhaps on the very first few floors they could excuse some child wandering in and making their way up. Several flights up, however, with no opposition? Impossible. The senior partner could tell that it was no accident that the girl had made it up so far.

And it showed in her eyes, when she turned a determined look onto the grunt who had spoken. She said nothing, but a pokeball had found its way into her grip and her answer was clear.

“Tch.” If his stupid partner was going to go the forgiving, merciful chances route, he sure was not. He pulled out his pokemon—his pride and joy, his growlithe that had been gifted to him after years of loyalty. And that honor hadn’t been bestowed upon him because he was hesitant to fight a kid. “You think you can take on Team Rocket? You’ve got another thing coming, you dumb little kid. You should’ve just let the adults take care of this one—go, Growlithe!”

Without a word, the girl sent out a pokemon of her own, some blue crocodile kind of species that he’d never seen before with sharp protruding canines. It was intimidating, for sure, and his own pokemon shuddered and seemed hesitant to go into battle with it, but looks meant nothing. The weird pokemon could be the scariest looking thing in the world, and turn out to be the weakest.

He believed in his Growlithe.

And so their battle began.

……

And then ended, too soon.

The thing had been a water type, as it turned out. Not that he had any pokemon to switch out to, but it had wiped his growlithe out with just a few water guns, and he couldn’t stop the growl that ripped out of his throat as he returned his pokemon to its ball. Crap. This wasn’t good. His partner had no chance of winning, not with his lowly Zubat.

They had to get the Spinarak out of there, quick.

“Hold the kid off! I’m taking the pokemon up to the roof!” he snapped at his partner already lifting the cage into his arms.

“What? What, no!” The idiot decided that it was a good time to argue with him. He wanted to throttle the man, but he needed to keep his cool. Later. They needed each other right now.

“I don’t have a pokemon to fight with! You do! Just hang on and hold her back so I can get it out of here!” he said, backing up away.

The girl watched him, her eyes darting from his face to the Spinarak in the cage and back again. She seemed to be calculating, probably trying to figure out a way to cut him off and ignore his partner. Unfortunately for her, and lucky for him, the Zubat was released from the ball. Their battle was initiated, and his partner wouldn’t allow her to turn her attention away from him.

Perfect. At last they were properly working together. He turned from the battle that ensued before him, making a quick escape to the stairs that went up. All he had to do was get to the roof, and a helicopter would pick him up and then…

A sharp sting in his chest derailed all his thoughts.

With a shaky horror, he looked down at the cage to see the Spinarak, where the cage was cradled against his chest, had taken the opportunity to strike. The horn on its head had pierced him. It stung him, and he could feel the venom he’d just lectured his partner about flood his system.

Or maybe that was just adrenaline. It hardly mattered, when he could already feel the strength fleeing his body and his vision blurred.

He crumpled to the ground, and the cage clattered out of his arms with the Spinarak shrieking inside of it. Good. The awful little creature; he hoped that it died. Just like he was sure to die now that he’d been stung.

Someone approached. A little spray medicine was dropped into his lap. His brain vaguely told him that it was an Antidote. He looked up to see the blue haired girl standing over him, giving him a worried look for just a moment before she turned to the fallen cage. The grunt watched as she picked it up, murmuring some kind of reassurances to it in a soothing tone, and as he applied the antidote to his wound he watched the girl walk right out of the floor from whence she’d came. With their most valuable pokemon in her arms.

Curses. Curse that girl all to hell, and his partner that she’d wiped out so quickly as well.

#pokemon #team rocket #one shot #spinarak

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simplifyingforces · 7 years ago

Text

Prepare to Interface [AO3 link]

Rating: Explicit Fandom: Red vs. Blue Characters: Dexter Grif, Dick Simmons Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons

The Temple of Procreation has an algorithm. Simmons doesn’t understand it.

Simmons' HUD vitals flashed ominously at the edge of his vision as he stumbled down the hallway toward the base's storage wing. It wasn't supposed to end this way. Years of waiting, hoping, wishing -- all undone by something as monumentally stupid as this.

He stopped for a second to catch his breath, slamming his hands against the wall. If he could just make it to those sweet, solitary, air conditioned storage units, everything would be fine. Perfectly, forgettably fine. Like he wasn't about to lose his virginity courtesy of an alien-made, planet-wide aphrodisiac fine.

God, he hated Blue Team sometimes. Stupid Tucker and his stupid alien sword, casually activating temples without even entertaining the possibility of something so minor as actual, real life consequences.

Statistically, the number of pregnancies alone would put the planet under a level of strain so severe that it could cripple the entire infrastructure before they even had a chance to rebuild. He'd said that at least twice, along with a lot of other good, solid reasons backed up by peer-reviewed empirical data. He just couldn't remember them all at the moment.

"Never thought I'd see someone so set against losing their virginity," Simmons whispered to himself mockingly. That had been Tucker's only response to his perfectly sensible objections. Like it was all personal for him.

Like anyone wanted their first time to be someone coerced into wanting them.

And there it was. The other main reason for his concern, otherwise known as consent and immediate impact on individual, familial, and communal dynamics! Just because it sounded like the subtitle to a scientific study didn't make it any less true.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t open to the potential merits of the temple. He’d conceded that Chorus might benefit from a jump start to the reconciliation process, and it made some kind of weird sense on a macro level to give everyone 24 hours of ”ravenous sexual frenzy” as a means to accomplish it. He supposed.

But his own micro level life didn't need that bullshit.

Forget what Santa had said about sensitivity to the intricacies of consent as plotted into the temple's algorithm, too; if someone had been interested, they would have spoken up by now, what with him being a war hero and all. Tucker had made that perfectly clear. Tucker had also been much more of an asshole than usual lately.

Simmons absently rubbed at his collarbone. Even with the slightest pressure from the armor bearing down on it, he imagined the stitches pulling against his skin and drew his hand away. They'd been so lucky, again. Again and again, and hopefully they would no longer need to be. Church wouldn’t need to, at least.

He violently pulled his thoughts away from the Staff of Charon and started back down the hall. The heart rate monitor in his HUD placed him at 142 BPM and rising. What would happen if he didn't fuck? Santa hadn't even talked about that. He could already see the headline: War Hero Dies, Determined to Remain a Virgin.

Grif would love it at least; assuming Grif wasn't also dead from a decided lack of temple-induced fucking. He hadn't even been there to know that there was temple-induced fucking to worry about. Grif had shown zero interest in showing up at the temple today -- or for any other mission lately, for that matter. Maybe if he had been there, they wouldn't be in the position they were currently in. Grif could have-- could have-- well, probably not done anything at all, if Simmons was being perfectly honest, but at least he'd have been aware. At least he wouldn't be on his own, wondering what was happening to him right now and why.

And how would Grif be taking all this, exactly? His physical fitness had always been notably well below par. The effects of the temple already felt like the slow grip of imminent death to Simmons and he was at least ten times healthier.

It was also impossible to forget just how much Grif had completely disregarded his own safety on the Staff of Charon. His chest had absorbed countless hits of enemy fire, just because he’d insisted on taking point with the Grif Shot halfway through. The exact sound of Grif’s small grunts of pain had played in surround sound via comm as Simmons bled out through his armor. It wasn’t until the end -- Tucker surrounded by dead and dying and the room suddenly horribly quiet -- that Grif had stepped down, armor burned black and smoking.

He didn't need to contact Grif. Grif was probably absolutely fine. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Usually. At least forty percent of the time. When they weren't in a crisis situation.

It wouldn’t hurt to check on him. Just a casual hello, maybe a little update on the temple.

Simmons switched over to their private channel and signaled in. Grif almost always picked up there.

No answer.

He swallowed drily and started walking faster. What if Grif was with someone? What if he wasn't and was already dead? What would Sarge say if sex (or lack thereof) literally killed half of the Glorious Red Team?

Anxiety roiled in his gut, and he groaned in irritation. Ugh, he couldn't think about Grif right now! It wasn't like he could do anything for him anyway.

The storage wing doors came up on his left and he keyed in the entry code. A couple of lieutenants ran past him as he went through the doorway, completely oblivious to his presence as they giggled and tripped over one another on the way out. His eyes followed them as they passed, face warm and heartbeat racing as he took in their roaming hands. Jealousy was stupid. Who would he even want to fuck on this planet, anyway?

He closed his eyes as a deep shudder ran through his entire body. Fucking someone, anyone, right now sounded incredible. He was actually amazed at how good it sounded. He'd put a lot of effort into not thinking about sex for so long, circumstances being what they were.

Did it matter if he thought about one person over another? Say, Tucker versus Donut, or Carolina versus Kimball?

As if on cue, images started flowing in. Very graphically.

He slapped a hand against his helmet hard enough to sting.

Focus, Simmons. Keep moving.

Around the next corner, he finally spotted the individual unit doors and let out a sigh of relief. One of them had to be available.

He yanked on the handle of the first one and let out an angry noise when it didn't budge. It wasn't like he wanted to fuck all over the canned vegetables! He just needed space and time alone, where he didn't have to worry about running into anyone and embarrassing himself for the rest of his military career. The thought of actually seeing Carolina, Kimball, Tucker, or Donut right now made him want to throw himself off a cliff.

"Let me in, come on, one of you, any of you," he demanded as he went down the line, pulling at each handle. Locked, locked, motherfucking locked. Sweat was starting to form on his brow. Heart rate at 155. He was steadily ignoring anything below his waist.

Focus.

His eyes finally lit on a door wedged open with a broom handle in the far right corner. "Thank you, god," he whispered as he bolted in, kicked the broom away, and let the door swing shut, darkening the unit almost completely. He unclasped his helmet and let it fall to the floor as he leaned back against the wall. Cool air blasted from the ceiling vent onto his sweaty hair, pushing it downward.

If Simmons had been himself, he would have checked his surroundings on entry. As it turned out, intense manufactured arousal made it incredibly difficult to focus on anything other than...well, being aroused.

And in that time, someone else in the unit had noticed him.

"Simmons?" that someone else called out from behind a wall of opened, empty cans of food. "I think there's something wrong with me." The voice paused. "Like, really, really wrong, dude."

Simmons' eyes shot open in panic.

"What the -- Grif?!"

Most of the people Simmons had met over the course of his enlistment held the same ideas about the existence of a higher power. Sim troopers, freelancers, and the people of Chorus had no reason to believe some omnipotent being looked after them from behind the scenes. Not with everything they'd been through.

Simmons had never been in that camp. No, he was confident that God existed -- in fact, God had always had it out for him specifically. He'd known that since his fifth birthday, when his dad made him cry in front of his entire kindergarten class for getting last place in Pin the Tail on the Donkey.

Moments like this just continued to confirm it for him.

"Why are you in here?!" He pushed off the wall and gestured angrily at Grif's canned food wall. Grif was just on the other side of it. Close enough to touch, if he just took a few steps forward. Not that he wanted to or anything.

"I've been coming here for weeks, dumbass! Why are you in here?!" Grif responded in kind, and maybe if Simmons had been thinking straight, he would have thought about the likelihood of Grif holing up here with endless amounts of food and dark space and silence. He would have just assumed Grif's laziness for not answering a comm instead of being dead or in the middle of orgasm. But he didn't, because half of his blood was no longer in his brain.

"God damn it, Grif!" He kicked his helmet away and slid to the floor. If he held his arms against his cheeks, he could cool himself slightly off the armor metal. It helped him focus well enough to hear Grif's indignant, irritating response.

"What the hell, dude? I tell you I'm sick -- after you barge into my space, by the way -- and you get mad at me?" Grif began to haul himself up and make his way over to Simmons' side of the room.

"Stay back!" Simmons scooted away hurriedly, slamming his back against the door. Grif didn't know. He didn't know anything, and that was dangerous as hell.

"Okay, chill," Grif said, taking an exaggerated step backward. Simmons saw his head tilt down slightly, taking him in. "Wait. You look like how I feel, which, by the way, is really, really shitty. What's going on?" Grif picked Simmons' helmet up off the floor, sweaty skin shining off the dim light of the HUD as he peered into it. He clicked the headlamp on and set the helmet on a shelf so that they could see each other more clearly.

Simmons slightly hated him for that.

"Well, if you had bothered to come to the meeting today, you would know." Simmons rubbed his temples, looking away. Of course Grif would hang out in the storage closet in his undersuit -- why wear full scale armor anymore? The war was over, and Grif's bruises probably felt a lot better that way. Unrestricted beneath breathable fabric and open to the cool, cool air. Simmons swallowed thirstily.

Silence reigned for a moment, until --

"Seriously, that's all you're going to give me? I'm trying not to die of heat exhaustion and--and-- whatever this is," Grif said as he flailed his arms in confusion, "and you're going to hang missing a meeting over my head? Cut the shit, Simmons."

"I am trying," Simmons said measuredly through ragged breath, "to focus." He clenched his fists tightly before setting them to work on his own armor. Grounding himself in simple tasks could work. Plus, he was just so hot. Maybe if he could cool off a bit, he could warn Grif. Grif needed to know.

"Focus here then, Simmons, and tell me what's going on," Grif said shortly. Simmons could see his fingers tapping against his folded arms in stiff, agitated motions in the lamplight. It was very un-Grif-like. Simmons could grab them, just for a second, put them where they'd be of better use, and --

With shaking hands, he pulled his chest piece off and placed it on the floor. Santa's algorithm was clearly bullshit. He took a knee and started methodically working on a leg, staring intently at the ground. Cool down, Simmons. Cool. Down.

"Simmons," Grif ground out impatiently, and fuck his voice, honestly, for sounding so beautifully gravelly deep.

"Grif," he said hoarsely, fumbling with the clasp on his calf. "Stop." He'd never thought of Grif's voice as beautiful before. Once he got out of this mess, he was going to write these reactions down just to prove how right he'd been.

"Stop what? You stop! No, wait; you start! Tell me why I woke up feeling like I have the biggest case of blue balls known to man!"

"Fine!" Simmons yelled, and it felt good to do it, like the smallest, greatest release. He stood and pelted the wall with the rest of his armor, satisfaction growing with each loud rattle to the floor.

"If you had gone to any of our meetings since the battle, you'd have known that conducting alien tech research is a top priority for Chorus right now." He paced as he drew on his anger to maintain his train of thought. "And Tucker's sword makes us the perfect candidates to do it. Not like you care, since you've been MIA for every mission." He paused for a second to let that truth bomb sink in, a bomb so full of truth that he actually wanted to hear Grif's inevitable excuse-laden reaction.

Instead, he got nothing but silence. "Are you even listening to me?"

And then, he made the stupid, stupid mistake of looking at Grif's face. It was unnerving how intently Grif was staring at him. Grif's body had lost all of its usual studied calmness and looked ready to spring. At him. Imminently.

Simmons let out a long, shaking breath and felt himself sway slightly, the room closing in on him and Grif in the small beam of light. Was he getting lightheaded? What was his heart rate right now?

"Forget it." Grif's voice cut through the quiet, hurried and high-pitched. "You're totally right, Simmons. I don't care enough, so you should just go ahead and take your nerd explanation somewhere else. Yeah."

"Um," Simmons responded eloquently. His anger had dissipated, leaving nothing but wanting in its wake. He should turn around and walk out. He should stop staring at Grif. He should move his ass, immediately. Right now. Any moment --

"Look," Grif continued, completely unaware of his inner turmoil. "You can tell me later, okay? I can't do this right now, with you -- I mean things! Being, you know --" He trailed off and fluttered his hands in Simmons' general direction.

The thing was, Grif had never really been the type to tell Simmons what to do. That had always been more of a Simmons-to-Grif dynamic. So Simmons should definitely go. It would be reasonable to leave. If he could bring his body back online, he would honor Grif's request, because he was someone who did the right thing. Really, he was. He didn't want to do this to Grif. He didn't. He just needed a second. Just a second to --

Without warning, Grif lurched towards him. Simmons fell backwards as Grif gave him a graceless shove, almost as if he were undecided between pushing Simmons or falling down himself. And then, inexplicably, Grif's hand clamped down hard on contact, and he pulled Simmons back towards him, making their heads bump together in the whiplash.

Simmons hissed through his teeth. Grif's touch burned through the fabric of the undersuit, and Simmons felt every part of himself radiate toward it.

"What the hell," Grif whispered, wide-eyed and half-shadowed from the narrow beam of the headlight. This close, Simmons could see one iridescent eye, and it was the clearest he'd seen Grif maybe ever. As long as Simmons had known him, he'd been awed and slightly jealous of Grif's uncanny ability to maintain the most dull and uninterested stare, regardless of person or situation. To add insult to injury, Grif's eyes were so dark that his pupils were practically invisible, giving him an added layer of immunity from the betrayal of any instinctual reactions.

Simmons had actually thought for an embarrassingly long time that Grif's eyes were black. It hadn't been until after the surgery, when Sarge had shined a flashlight in Grif's face during an implant check-up, that he'd finally realized they were a deep, warm brown. Hidden depths, he'd thought ridiculously at the time, but it didn't make it not true.

Now, Grif's closeness had let Simmons see everything, and it was so much. Too much.

"Grif," he said, and it was whiny as fuck, so annoying, he hated everything about it. What was he supposed to do? He wasn't equipped to handle this. Grif didn't know. It wasn't his fault. It definitely will be Simmons' fault if he lets this happen.

Grif released a heavy breath through his nose before releasing his grip. The loss of contact felt like losing a piece of Simmons’ own self, and it was...sad? How could a body be sad? What was the temple doing to him?

"Simmons, just...leave." Grif paused. "Please." His hand was now running through his hair, fingers agitatedly pulling at the strands as if to keep it from flying forward onto Simmons again. But he looked more at ease now. That was good. Safe.

"Well," Simmons tried to say lightly, "if you're going to bust out the niceties." He fumbled blindly for the door handle behind him.

"It might help to turn around," Grif said absently. He dragged his hand down to rub at his cheek. "Just a...just a thought."

Simmons tore his eyes away from Grif's hair, which now looked really well-tousled instead of like its usual greasy tangle. "Right." He spun around clumsily, banging his shoulder against the door.

"Fuck," he breathed, jiggling the handle. His arm still burned where Grif had touched him. "It's locked." He paused. "Wait. Why is it locked from the inside?"

Realization hit him like a lightning bolt. I've been coming here for weeks, dumbass. Weeks in which Chorus leadership had noted in meetings -- meetings Grif had skipped! -- a concerning drop in food supplies and begun creating fail-safes against smuggling. Grif's exceptional fatassery had finally gone a step too far. Why hadn't he thought for one second about the purpose of that goddamned broom handle.

Simmons stared at the door as if he could will it to open. There was nothing else to do. If he turned around, though -- if he looked at Grif -- his body sang at the thought, and he pushed down on it, hard.

"Simmons," a voice suddenly whispered against his neck, because Grif was shorter than him and holy fuck when had he gotten so close? "Simmons." Grif's exhaled breath tickled his skin, and he shivered. All he could think about was Grif touching him again. Why hadn't Grif touched him again? Grif couldn't touch him again, or it would all be over.

Simmons braced his hands against the door to stop his knees from shaking. There had to be another way out of here; all he needed to do was find it. Then he wouldn’t even have to explain the temple. It would be the most sound, practical solution to this...problem. For the best, really.

"Something's wrong with me," Grif muttered against his neck. "Talk to me, Simmons, come on, you always talk, say something, give me anything--"

Okay, Simmons, think. No other exits, no windows, nothing but Grif and his helmet’s headlight shining on their backs.

Wait. His helmet?

"I'm sorry," he said to the wall, and then pushed back hard, sending Grif sprawling with a yelp of surprise.

Simmons turned and leapt forward, fumbling for the helmet, the light careening wildly against the walls. "Come in, hello? We're stuck!" he cried out as he jammed it on his head. His hands itched to touch Grif's skin. "In here. Alone. Anybody?"

Comms couldn't be down, not for all of Chorus. That was impossible. He scrolled frantically through his HUD until he got to the alerts screen and read:

COMMS SHUT OFF FOR DURATION OF TEMPLE EFFECTS BY ORDER OF PRES. KIMBALL

"Right," he sighed, shoulders drooping. "Of course. Privacy is important, and," he let out a short, defeated laugh, "who'd be able help us right now anyway?"

He pulled the helmet off and dropped it on the floor. The light faced somewhere left of them, leaving them in semi-darkness. Below him, Grif was concerningly silent.

“Grif?” He looked down, heart pounding. “Did I kill you?”

“No. Not yet at least,” Grif muttered. Unlike the unnerving panic attack from earlier, he’d seen Grif like this before. You know, relatively calm, but also bright-eyed, slightly flushed and...wriggly, for lack of a better term. It had never been personally directed at him. Some things you just couldn’t avoid after sharing a room for long enough. Especially when your roommate decided to look at porn with you in the room.

This still wasn’t personally directed at him, Simmons reminded himself firmly.

“Look,” Grif said from the floor, "can we be real for a second?" He bit his lip and let out a soft, frustrated noise as he shifted restlessly. "I need to get off. Like, now."

Simmons could actually feel the flush that spread across his cheeks as he took Grif’s words in. This is happening. This is happening. This is happening, his brain supplied helpfully. His body stepped in to painfully remind him that it was completely and totally on board.

Grif glared up at him. "Come on, dude. Throw me a bone here.”

Simmons swallowed. Grif was proposing it, so it was fine, right? Or the algorithm made it okay for Grif to propose it. And for him to accept it, if he was understanding it correctly. "Me...me too. I guess.”

Grif nodded in satisfaction, and squirmed on the floor for a bit longer before settling on an apparently slightly more comfortable position. "So, obviously neither of us are happy about it or anything. But I -- we -- gotta do it, man."

"Right, okay.” Simmons paused. “Do what exactly?"

Visions swam in his mind of what Grif could say. What he wanted Grif to say. Correction: what the temple wanted him to want Grif to say. Obviously.

"Uh, the bare fucking minimum. Also, losing your virginity like this would be pretty awful, so. Win-win."

"Win-win," Simmons echoed, voice cracking slightly.

He was going to touch Grif, and they were going to get off. Together. Grif was going to touch him and he wanted him to. He could admit that, right? It was the temple, after all.

"Okay," he said, heart in his throat.

"Okay," Grif repeated, and it was so anxiously giddy, Simmons felt himself grimace. It wasn't Grif's fault. It wasn't Grif at all actually, so Simmons might as well make it easier.

He knelt down next to Grif. "Uh." What came next, exactly? He made an aborted motion towards Grif's chest. “Should I...?”

Grif reached out and pulled Simmons on top of him by his undersuit.

The effect was immediate. "Oh god," Simmons breathed, eyes squeezed shut. He could smell Grif's sweat. Only two layers of undersuit separated his suddenly embarrassingly hard dick from Grif's leg.

Grif let out a pained sound before his hand landed on the back of Simmons' head, sifting through his hair in a way that would have been soothing under literally any other circumstance. He reflexively bucked against Grif instead, scalp tingling from Grif's fleeting touch.

When Grif pushed back, he felt hardness against his hip and moaned. Actually moaned, like a horny teenager. Jesus Christ. The sound of it rang out disgustingly in the almost silence.

Almost, because of Grif's loud breathing, which Simmons had attributed to Grif's general state of health until he actually listened to it. He'd never made anyone respond like Grif, not in almost thirty years of living. It's the temple, his mind whispered at him, as he hitched a thigh between Grif's legs, craving another breath, another sigh, another anything at all.

"Fuck," Grif choked out, chest vibrating against Simmons. He slid his hand down to rest on Simmons' neck. The heat of it felt like jumping into a hot tub on a cold day, scalding water that made his skin break out in goosebumps.

He clenched his jaw tightly to suppress a new wave of noises from escaping into the room.

And now he sounded like a duct taped hostage. How incredibly sexy. The temple was a miracle worker if Grif’s libido survived all of that intact.

Wait, why did he even need to sound sexy? Simmons shook his head, planted his hands on either side of Grif, and pushed up and away for better leverage. It was so much easier to remember how things stood from here. They had been forced into this, Grif was the least intimidating person he knew, and so if it had to happen, who better? Just two guys helping each other out in their time of need, totally casual and mutually rewarding. So what if Simmons could still feel everything: Grif's fingers digging into his wrist and Grif’s stomach expanding outward to brush against his arms and Grif’s dick grinding on his leg, gradually making his undersuit wet? That was fine. He was just the most convenient option.

Simmons closed his eyes and concentrated on the steady, agonizing slide of pleasure until it began to lead to a rhythm that made his mind go hazy. Below him, Grif kept taking in long, shuddering breaths. It was the perfect spot, perfect pressure, more euphoric than any jerk-off session.

And then Grif did the worst possible thing. An unforgivable thing. He started fucking talking.

"Holy shit, Simmons," Grif whispered frantically, bringing him completely out of the moment. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit." Simmons felt Grif's hands on his hips, patting him as if to convince himself that Simmons was actually there.

"Simmons, ah --" His breath hitched and he arched up, hands gripping tightly. "That's good, so good, it's perfect -- you're perfect --"

Simmons jerked forward roughly enough to move both of them a good foot across the floor. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.

"Simmons? Do you like it?" Grif babbled beneath him. "Does it feel okay, or good, or --"

"Shut up," Simmons said tightly as he pressed down against Grif's leg. He desperately fixated on Grif's Adam's apple, ears prickling. It wasn't Grif. It wasn't him. It felt so good, though, hearing his name that way.

From Grif. His mind stuttered and came to a halt.

The lazy back-and-forth that had been so mind-numbingly good before was now woefully inadequate. He felt impatient with need. It burned him from the inside out, and he leaned into it.

“Okay.” Grif’s voice broke and wavered. Simmons jumped slightly at the sensation of Grif’s fingers running against his stitches. It was a weirdly gentle gesture. “Good.”

Simmons sniffed loudly as the pressure mounted under his skin. Grif’s irritating, insistent touch made him want to scream. Why were his eyes watering?

And then, Grif’s soft, shaking fingers slid away and upward to stroke his cheek, less delicate than clumsy. He could look up; it would be easy enough. Grif swallowed hard, the Adam's apple slid downward, and Simmons felt his stare, but kept holding on and away, grinding down hard and fast and panting. He was close, so close, fuck.

If Grif would just stop talking, they could finish getting off and forget this ever happened. But Grif had never listened to Simmons, not once in all their years together.

"You -- your face -- Simmons," Grif stuttered, and it was wobbly and wanting and full of unspeakable things. Grif pushed up hard and let out a startled sound from deep in his throat before falling limp, chest heaving.

"Goddamnit, Grif," Simmons gasped. "I'm gonna -- gonna --" He went taut as he shuddered into climax. "Nnnngh."

He let himself lay on top of Grif for a moment and tried to catch his breath. He had never even hugged Grif before, and now he felt like he was falling into a chasm, dark and terrifying.

He needed to get up.

"Uh, Grif, about the temple," he started haltingly, before he lost his nerve. "It causes --"

A rumbling snore interrupted him.

Simmons sighed and shifted slightly over to Grif’s side. There was come drying in his undersuit and Grif shouldn't have this much pressure on his bruises. But he was warm, and there was nowhere else to go. Also, sex with another person had been a lot more tiring than Simmons had thought it would be.

For awhile, he lay in a state of sleepy semi-panic. Should he get up? Would Grif think it was weird that he hadn’t gotten up earlier? Who cared what Grif thought anyway? Did he care? The algorithm had clearly been all wrong -- it had made two people who couldn't even procreate fuck, hadn't it? So neither of them should care about any of it, least of all some post-coital napping.

But what if Grif did?

"Shut up," he murmured to himself as he concentrated on Grif's even breathing. Eventually, he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Simmons woke to bright light flooding behind his eyelids.

"Oh look, Freckles, we have found more best friends laying down together in the dark!" Caboose's helmet stared down at them, framed by fluorescent light. "Santa says you can come out now."

Simmons pulled away from Grif so fast, his head hit the floor. "Caboose! Uh..." He looked up from the ground and groaned when he saw pink armor.

"Heyyyyy, guys! I can't believe it! I mean, I can believe it -- well, we all can, really --"

"Fuck. Off. Everyone," Grif's flat, tired voice came from behind Simmons. Simmons sat up abruptly and discreetly checked himself for decency. Somehow, Grif had found the time to put his own helmet back on. "I'm trying to sleep."

"Fine, Mister Grumpy Pants," Donut pouted. "And here I'd thought you'd be a little more happy." He stared meaningfully at Simmons before following Caboose down the hall, leaving Simmons scrambling to catch the door before it closed.

He cleared his throat as Grif made his way back behind his canned food wall. "Do you, uh, want to talk about it?"

"Did you or did you not hear me the first time, Dick?" Grif said, voice devoid of anything beyond irritation.

"Oh, thank god." Simmons grabbed his armor and fled, propping the long-forgotten broom handle in the doorway on his way out.

Simmons never directly tells Grif about the temple. He knows Grif knows when he joins Simmons at the lunch table the next day and says, "Fucking Santa and fucking Tucker," and they leave it at that.

When Donut and Tucker come in and ask for a million details, Grif threatens to gut them with the Grif Shot, and Simmons is infinitely grateful. It’s honestly better than any other conversation they could have mustered up on their own.

Simmons is also infinitely grateful that Grif doesn’t bring up his terrible sex noises or his pathetic almost-tears.

No one mentions the algorithm at all.

Simmons sees Grif in the showers later and locks eyes with the wall until he leaves. No one says anything to anyone, really, since most of the room's got their own horror stories and the scars to prove it. Thank god he has his own quarters. He has no desire to see anyone else out of armor for the foreseeable future.

That night, he jacks off and thinks of Grif's voice, just to see. Simmons, you're so good, Grif-in-his-mind says, you're perfect. He thinks of how Grif's open face might have looked, his gasps, all the things the temple made him do.

It fucking sucks.

#dexter grif #dick simmons #rvb #grimmons #red vs blue #fanfic

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