#fighting until the grave. ( musings. )

[underdarken]

THE ASHES YOU LEFT. You are a born a daughter. This is the first great lie you endure, and you endure it for your family. Before you know yourself, you know you are leverage, the bargaining chip by which they might trade the fearful life of an Eastmyr commoner for the gilded, sanctified halls of the spider queen. By your goddess and your guardians, you are made for sacrifice.

You have a brother two decades your senior. Myziket is not home often, but when he is, you know what a patient, supportive bond can be. You are a withdrawn and vigilant child all the more when he leaves again. One day, he does not return. Your parents will not tell you why. You are now truly alone.

The seed of Myziket's kindness is planted nonetheless. You are age twelve when you begin to feel a new thing: rage. You are age twelve when you shred your clothes and fashion new ones from the remains. You are age twelve when you take your curls and nearly rend them from your head. ( You settle for binding them high and away. ) You are age twelve when the mirror tells you the smattering of freckling scales are darkening, toughening, noticeable beyond reckoning. You are age twelve when you call flame.

Their feeble pleas about your selfishness in doing this, as though the outliers in your identity are a conspiracy against them, are just that: feeble. Suddenly, your parents fear you. You are not a daughter. You are next to useless in their every ambitious scheme and demand. It is the first relief you have known in your life.

They must call for Vindolanax. The first time you meet him, it is years later. You are age sixteen. The time to elapse presents a new difficulty, and you are at the mercy of all that you feel and the consuming flame it tends to bring forward. Sometimes it serves you, and you are able to seize odd jobs that magic facilitates. Sometimes you feel it, steps away from irreversible disaster. You want desperately to control it with certainty, make it your armor and your gift, and not the other way around.

You come to know it is fortunate your parents are able to reach Vindolanax at all. He has not seen you since your infancy, and you know this to be true. You have no prior recollection of him. He is no mystery for long. He tells you that you have his blood in your veins, your mother his child, and share in his affinity for the arcane. He will help you to hone your skills if you will accept and travel with him.

This is what you want. This is not how you want it. You want Men./.zoberr./.anzan to be made to admit it was wrong about you, wrong to chew you up and spit you out. You want to spite your parents. You want to know your goddess's approval in place of her bloodied wrath.

You are a young fool with a spark of idealism resolutely in you. It will snuff out before long, and you will wish you had gone with him. You don't.

You stay. You work your jobs. You attain some skill. You venture farther into the wilds of the Under./.dark. You are age nineteen when you meet your first love. Even now, you do not have the heart to think of her name, but once, you could think of nothing else.

You are contracted to recover lost cargo and meet during the task. The journey is long, grueling, six months of unforeseen complications and expedition casualties. By the time its end approaches, the two of you are exhausted in every way but no less enamored with each other.

She does not survive the trip home.

You are inconsolable. You do not know how to speak of or show it. You don't. You return to the stifling house shared with your parents, but you learn the art of disappearance as Myziket did. You are gone more than you are there. You are busy more than you are idle. You are surviving. You must.

You are age twenty-two. You are a ragged wound waiting to tear fully open. The noblewoman is all too happy to do it for you. Your existence has been a shadow of someone like hers, her station alone designed to preserve the status quo. You should know better. She whispers promises of security, safety. Indefinite control of your gifts. She deceives you by delivering, the truth sprinkled in the lie. Another sorcerer in her employ begins to train you. You are afforded the facade of ease and respect by association. You are showered in her attentions and affections.

You pay her in the cinders of her rivals. You are now a condensed inferno. She wields you as a swordsman does a blade. Lie by comfortable lie, you let her until the inconvenience of your needs and wants wear at the foundation of your arrangement. You angle for your freedom and severance. She will grant it without prejudice, she says, if you complete one final task for her. You must get rid of her sister.

You are age twenty-eight. You stand in the mezzanine, watching the party. You are on the precipice of an unknown future. You are a mess of nerves and panic. You should have left then and tried again later. You don't. The flame intended for the sister catches and catches, the building and everyone in it. You do not stay for the outcome. You know you have blown all hopes of discretion and secrecy.

You lie low to regain your wits. You hear the story of a commoner's treachery on the streets. You know it is time to leave the city that raised and caged you. You can never return.

You are as fortunate to find Vindolanax as your parents were. You are numb when you arrive. He takes you into his many homes. You begin to know the other side of your family, hidden in these remote spaces. It is a quiet change of pace that allows you to sit with your life's worth of grief and rage. Your grandfather - for that is who he is, you realize - is a balm when you bluster and a support when you break. He offers to you again the wisdom you once declined. You accept. You wish you listened before.

You safeguard his sanctuaries and lairs from the ill intent of others. This is the most honest work you have done. Even feeling the ghost of the dagger in your back, you are nearly content here. Nearly is not the same as wholly.

Season bleeds into season, year into year. You are seventy-four. You begin your trial runs to the surface. You know on your next attempt, you will not return to the familiar shadows below. Your grandfather senses you are ready to move on. He encourages you to find your brother among the coastal cities.

You reel with the knowledge Myziket lives after all this time. Any sorrow you harbor for this departure melts away in hopes of a reunion in its place. When you go, you do not look back.

Maintaining communication with Vindolanax and now Myziket, you make your home and mercenary livelihood in the Gate. Your specialties are artifact location and reclamation, and bounty collection. You keep busy. You keep clients as contacts. You get paid. You are away from the city as often as you are within it.

You are one-hundred-and-twenty-four - and there is a strange airship on the horizon.

[tower0fhera]

TAG DUMP : prince eliezer parzival hyrule II of zelda II : the adventure of link ( original character )

⸻  ELIEZER  :  in character   ✦ this cannot continue / become as gods ˎˊ˗

⸻  ELIEZER  :  answered   ✦ gimme your best & i’ll show you scum where you belong  ˎˊ˗

⸻  ELIEZER  :  visage   ✦  birth of a wish ; death of a sin .   ˎˊ˗

⸻  ELIEZER  :  about   ✦ our ancestors had to fight to survive ; just so we could have a chance of a life . ˎˊ˗

⸻  ELIEZER  :  dash games  ✦ i’m living in a grave but i haven’t quit !  ˎˊ˗

⸻  ELIEZER  :  muse  ✦ how can it be that even though they see my plight ; everyone is blind !  ˎˊ˗

⸻  ELIEZER  :  dash comm.  ✦ night is day & day is night in a world that lost it’s mind  ˎˊ˗

⸻  ELIEZER  :  aesthetics  ✦  unto a bug ; a needle …  a needle …   ˎˊ˗

⸻  ELIEZER  :  music   ✦  dead mans dreams ; filled with screaming pain .  ˎˊ˗

⸻  ELIEZER  :  clothing  ✦  you whine & whine until you die & rot away ! ˎˊ˗

⸻  ELIEZER  :  drabble  ✦ the world has gone insane & parasites are eating at my brain    ˎˊ˗

⸻  ELIEZER  :  crack  ✦  i did it for the vine  ˎˊ˗

⸻  ELIEZER  :  desires  ✦  i’m taking back whats mine ; it's what i feel is right …  ˎˊ˗

[trashmouth-richie]

eddie x reader

a follow up to this prompt by @rebelfell

2.6k

tw: angst, smut, minors fuck off pls teasing? is that a trigger idk.

“we need to talk.” the conversation we’ve been waiting for after you catch your best friend getting head finally unfolds

“We need to talk.”

Your blood ran cold, ice in your veins it was practically prickling your skin. The heat on your cheeks bloomed and your gut quaked at the sight of him, covered. 

Play dumb! It’ll work! 

“I , m-mean, now?— like right now? You have cum- company! a guest— we can talk later, yeah?” 

The stuttering, calmly hands and the sweat gathered under your arms— you were a one woman walking circus, missing the clown nose.  

“Why are you being so weird?” He leans into your doorframe, tattooed arms cross over his broad and glistening chest. 

The flush still in his cheeks almost brought you to your knees, but it was the single flick of his tongue on his lips that had you melting and wishing he had licked your lips instead. Fuck.

“… besides, you already interrupted my guest, so she left—”

Your ears perk up at the mention of said whore leaving your apartment, and your eyelashes bat open, “she left? Why?” 

Eddie huffs and puts his tongue in his cheek like he can’t believe you’re being so stupid. 

“Cut the shit, okay? Will you just be an adult for a second?” 

The smile on your lips falls and you take a step back towards your bed setting your keys down on the nightstand. The silence is anything but quiet. The energy was chaotic and shooting like daggers much like Eddie’s eyes into yours.

“Well?” he asks dramatically, raising his eyebrows to try to get you to speak.  

Play dumb— it’s working! 

“Well what?” you muse innocently. 

“What the fuck was that?” Eddie spits, any softness he brought into this situation had fizzled—dead at the door. 

“I—”

“Forget how to knock?” 

“No—”

“Suuuure, you just thought you’d what? Barge in, ignoring our code?” 

“I didn’t—-there was no hot water! You forgot to pay the water bill!”

“That’s not how water bills work.”

You stand stunned— mouth open to argue but nothing will even come out.

“It’s the water heater for this shitheap building that’s out— if you don’t believe that I paid the bill—call the water company yourself.” 

“…oh.” your voice is small, quiet almost unheard. 

“Wow, really great apology.” 

“Oh relax! Just call her back and explain it was a mistake, who cares? She shouldn’t be so uptight.” 

Eddie is fuming, blood rushing to his head as he tries not to yell out right. But fuck you were being so difficult.

“Ya know… I didn’t say shit when you had Harrington tied to your bed posts and you couldn’t undo the knots— did I? Nope—not a fucking word, I just cut him loose and acted like nothing ever happened!”

You wince, who knew knots were that hard to unlace?

“That was different!” 

“Or the multiple times I caught the fuckin’ Chief slipping out of your room at 5 AM? I even bummed him a cigarette for his morning coffee!” 

Your jaw hung to the floor, you didn’t know Eddie had any idea that you’d been sleeping with Hopper. 

“So? What—we’re just airing out dirty laundry now?” you could be venomous too, your rattle sounding off ready to strike. 

“How many months did you try gettin’ into Mary’s pants before you dumped her because she’s married to Jesus Christ her Lord & Savior? Her name is Mary for fucks sake! Not hard!”

His face pulls to anger, “don’t be a bitch!” 

“And where’s Gareth? Never see him around anymore, maybe it’s because you ran over his d—.” 

“That was an accident! I honked and he never moved!” 

“He was deaf Eddie!” you yell back into his face, “or! How about the time I had to pick you up from the Hideout because you got so drunk you pissed your pants?” 

“That was YOU!” 

The two of you were standing nose to nose, shouting accusing each other of shit that didn’t even matter. Eddie had your back and you’d have his until the end. Cradle to the grave. 

But this was different, you weren’t fighting like siblings or friends, you were both screaming as if you were in pain. 

He’s the first to move, shaking his head and turning towards the door. when he speaks his voice is low, angry.

“When my door is shut don’t open it—turn your ass around and fuck off, got it?” 

His words split your skin, vining through your body like sharp thorns. The hot spill of tears were welling in your eyes. 

“Sorry to bother you, asshole— won’t happen again.”

He’s on the opposite side when you slam your door in his face. The rain brewed and stewed and finally was ready to fall from the clouds in your eyes. 

Why were you acting like this? 

Grabbing your keys you set to leave again, needing an escape so he couldn’t hear your wailing cries. But again— when you opened the door, he was still standing there, only this time he looked pissed. 

“Move.”

He brushes you off as if he didn’t even hear you, “enough.”

“Eddie, get out of the way!” 

“Do you know how many nights I listened to you fake it for this fuckheads?” How long 

I’ve waited for you to admit it?” 

He shuts your door behind him as he pushes his way inside. 

“Admit what?”

“C’mon, baby— we haven’t been friends for a long time, not really.” 

You’re confused and on the verge of tears, “what?!”

Eddie presses forward, head tilted down at you.

 “Those douchebags you bring here can’t handle you the way I know you need…coming home to see their boots by the front door makes me absolutely despise you.”

“Who gives a shit? I trip over skanky high heels sometimes too.”

You were missing the point he was trying to make, way over your head. 

“Never satisfied when they leave…that little vibrator in the top drawer is not as quiet as you think it is.”

You were throbbing, aching… how did he know? 

He inches forward, and you double back towards the door.

“I—”

“Pretty little moans on your lips just minutes after they leave…‘m not stupid sweetheart, I know you do it on purpose— parading around the apartment in your little shorts, never wearing a bra… you’re a tease.” 

He wasn’t right. He couldn’t be! Right?

“I hate you, Eddie.” 

He stalks forward like a predator eyeing its prey, a stupid smirk on his face. 

“No— No I don’t think you do. I think you’re so fucking wound up about me, jealous... It’s alright, I get it. I bury myself in bitches so you’ll get out of my head.”

He takes a ragged breath, his eyes pitch dark, and your back hits the door, he closes in around you, his arms on either side of your head. 

“I fucking hate you, princess. I hate that it doesn’t work.. you’ve made me jealous for too fucking long.”

Your body was screaming, angel and devil on your shoulder dancing and holding hands rooting you on. 

“H-how long?”

His hand falls to your chin, pulling down your bottom lip.

“Senior year. Hellfire. You laughed at one of Jeff’s stupid fucking jokes and my blood ran cold. I wanted you to look at me like you looked at him. That was just the first time I realized I wanted you.”

You shudder, fingers running along his chest, playing with the chain on his neck, “why not say anything?”

“Didn’t wanna ruin this.” 

His lips nearly touch yours, he’s leaning in so close. And you don’t pull away. 

“I think it’s pretty clear that our friendship is over, Eddie. I fucking hate you.” 

“I hate you, too sweetheart.” 

The tension is thick, spinning with bated breath and sexual desire. 

“So, we hate each other?”

“Yep.” Eddie muses, angling your chin so he can see your neck. 

“…and we aren’t friends?” 

He nods silently, pressing his nose to your cheek, “seems to be that way.” 

“You’ve ruined everything.”

“Good,” he all but whispers into your ear. 

“..a perfectly good pair of underwear.” 

His breath hitches in his throat, and he licks his lips. “Can’t have that.” 

“No, not at all,” you tease, thumbing at your waistband and letting your shorts hit the floor.

He steps back to examine you with wide eyes, letting them narrow as he bites his lip, looking you dead in the eyes. 

“I’m gonna fuck you exactly how you need to be fucked.” 

Pulling him back into you by his chain necklace you ask centimeters from his lips, tasting the heat from his mouth, “what are you waiting for?” 

He takes a deep breath, hovering his mouth over yours, “nothing, not anymore.”

His tongue hits you first, electric like an eel on your lips, his breath hot as fire. You moan out when his hands grip your ass, pulling you into him with such force you could have toppled over. 

Eddie is loud too. Groaning with each swipe of your tongue against his. 

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long, baby.” 

His dick is pressed into your middle, hard and kicking up as your hands reach into his hair, pulling you closer to him as if he were a rope and you were climbing a mountain. 

He pulls you away from the door to get a quick slap to your ass. Rough and hard and you’re mewling, his rings stinging your skin. 

Your lips close to his ear you whisper “Eddie… please.”

He pulls away after leaving a mark on your neck. 

“You don’t have to beg, I’ll give you whatever you need, however many times you want it, honey.”

His fingers dip into your waistband around your hips as he slides your panties down to your thighs.  “Let me see that cunt, show me what I did to you.” 

You step out of your panties and he lowers himself to the floor on bent knees. “Jesus Christ, look how pretty she is, ‘m gonna eat this pussy till you cum all over my face.” 

You nod dumbly, body on fire from his words, the lust of having his hands touch you in places he never had, places you dreamt he would, has your mind spinning. 

His bangs tickle your inner thighs, breath fanning on your clit, thumbs spreading you open. He sucks in a breath, whistling low.

A single flick of his tongue— that’s all it takes for your eyes to roll, for your back to bend in an arch like you were being exorcized of hell’s worst demons. Your fingernails scratching into the door trying to anchor yourself from grinding on his face until his nose broke. 

He spits, watching it drip down to your cunt, “don’t ask me to stop.” 

Diving in, his tongue is everywhere. Lapping you up, sucking your clit into his mouth. Swirling around like you would while eating an ice cream cone. Your chest heaves and your thighs tremble as he hooks one over his shoulder pressing into him and he gently pushes it back into place, his eyes never leaving your body. 

When it happens again, he shoves it down with force, nipping at one of your thighs, his lips shiny and wet he groans, “keep ‘em put.” 

The tip of his middle finger pushes into you, and you squeak out a gasp, leaning forward off the door to take a look at him, and he nearly laughs, “jesus, you’re tight sweetheart, gonna need to work you up a bit.” 

He smiles before attaching his mouth to your thigh, sucking a bruise as he fucks you with his fingers, adding a second that’s easier than the first. Your body rolls with his motions, pushing back against him and you know your orgasm is about to snap.

His tongue replaces his fingers and the heat in your stomach releases, untying the white knot and spilling over his lips as you scream out his name. 

“Thatta girl, fuck look at you, Christ.” 

Your eyes open, a strange drunk feeling taking over, as if you were high on a cloud and falling gracefully back to the earth. Opening to see the blackened eyes of the guy you’ve called your best friend for years, and if you would have known his tongue could do that, maybe you would have ruined this friendship a lot sooner.

“Fuck off Munson,” you mutter, out of breath as your foot gently sets on the ground.

“What?” he laughs.

“Just keeping the fact that you eat pussy better than the devil all to yourself huh? Selfish.”

His face splits into a grin laced with evil as he stands, licking his lips, “that’s not all I can do.” 

He’s on you in a flash, hoising you up into his arms, and using the other to hastily shove his boxers down. “Can’t go back after this.” 

“Oh this is the tipping point? Fucking is gonna ruin it not you just making going down on me?” 

He rolls his eyes as he lines himself up with you, “what happened to that sweet girl I used to chase in the trailer park, huh?” 

You reach around your legs and grab his thick cock and lightly sink down onto it the head barely pushing past your puffy lips, “fuck…met a boy who grew up and started selling weed out of his van, kind of an asshole, really big dick though.”

He thrusts up into you so hard you nearly see black, vision spotty from pleasure alone, you whine his name and he practically comes undone.

“Don’t.. shit… don’t do that, I won’t last. Those noises haunt me… been wanting to hear them.”

He holds you tight and fucks you slowly, dragging his cock at a ridiculously slow speed. Groaning when you suck him in deep, biting his neck. 

���There it is, the noise that started this whole mess.” 

He grins into you stupidly, “I’m glad you’re perverted plan worked, you little hussy.” 

His hips move faster and your both whining, accompanied by the slapping of skin on skin. “Water heaters’ been out since last week, ‘m not stupid babe, you’re the one who called and asked.” 

“Whoops— oh my goddd,” you squeal before you're panting like a dog and clawing his arms with your nails, he was splitting you wide open and you were near to tears. 

The tears finally fall when Eddie bottoms out in your cunt, filling you up, grunting your name as he rests his forehead to your shoulder— completely spent. 

His lips kiss your collar bone and you twirl a curl away from his face exhausted around his softening length. 

“Princess,” he breathes, kissing life back into himself with the sweat from your skin, “if you wanted to fuck, you should have told me sooner, could have saved us a week of cold showers, y’know?” 

You kissed his lips, letting him set you down on the bed so you could both lay back in a lazy post sex high, surrounded by your blankets. 

“Well maybe you should have fixed it sooner, you are the maintenance manager of the building.”  

Eddie grins and pins you onto the mattress, his hair falling into your face, his thumb sweeping over your cheeks to catch a rogue eyelash, “come with me to fix it?” 

“Hmm..” fingers moving his hair behind his ear, “you gonna wear that slutty stained white tank top?” 

“Slutty? Why, gonna seduce me in the boiler room?” his lips move down your neck and you whimper. 

“Maybe…” you tease tickling his underarm, “so if I wouldn’t have barged into your room… what else would you have done?” 

Eddie only smiles, thinking of his plan to “break” the air conditioner and hide your hoodies and blankets so you’d have to come to him for warmth. 

“Let’s just say, you would have ended up as my girl one way or another.” 

steve tied up in readers room

taglist: @likedovesinthewnd @dashingdeb16 @joejoequinnquinn @min-geniusx @ho3forfakeguys @taintedcigs @b-irock @queenimmadolla @serasvictoria @the-unforgivenn @curlyjoequinn @munsonlore @eiightysixbaby @munsonburn3r

[mncxbe]

EYES DON'T LIE

𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡𝒂/𝒏: the new chapter hello?? i loved it so much. tbh i never know how to write fyodor but oof i just had to. anyway, hope you like it. cw: mild angst, fyodor being a softie, bsd spoilers

It's been weeks since you last saw those deep, violet eyes, weeks since Fyodor was taken, once again, to a far away place. was he back in Russia again? or maybe he was still in Japan, hiding in one of his safehouses, or maybe this time he was actually dead. he never told you anything before leaving, so you're left wondering and during those cold, sleepless nights that's all you have: your haunting thoughts.

despite your worry, you miss him dearly. you miss threading your fingers through his raven hair at night, listening to him talk about little nothings– his cold fingertips tracing patterns on your skin. "you know i love you, right?" you'd ask and he'd smile, ruffling your hair. "i know, myshka. and i do too" if he knows you love him, why does he always leave you behind like this?

worry consumes you, your mind firing images of his body laying in some makeshift grave at the side of the road, of Nikolai showing up at your doorstep, telling you that your lover wasn't coming back. you try your best to push these thoughts away, to lock them somewhere in an imaginary drawer in the back of your mind but they keep coming back. especially at night

fighting back tears, you roll over to the side and gaze out the window, searching for a distraction, but the painfully empty side of the bed next to you serves as a cruel reminder of your predicament. you turn to the other side, pulling your knees up to your chest and reaching for the pillow that served as his replacement during the past few weeks. the material feels soft against your skin as you bury your face in it and inhale deeply. there's only a faint trace of his scent left, but it's enough to bring back all the memories you have together, so you hug the pillow closer to your chest, holding onto it as if it's your lifeline and you cry and cry and cry.

you don't even realize that you fell asleep until the sound of your bedroom door sliding open wakes you from your slumber. you stir, propping yourself up on your elbow as your eyes flutter open. it's hard to see anything through the darkness of the room, but you manage to make out the contour of a person at your doorstep. "um... hello?" you ask warily, shifting closer to the edge of the mattress. but all your worries slip away when you recognize the voice of the man before you.

"that's an awful reaction to waking up to a man inside your room, myshka" the person muses, stepping into the sliver of light that seeped inside the bedroom through the window. despite your hazy vision, you can make out some of the man's features– the thin line of his lips, the arch of his brow and those piercing violet eyes you'd recognize in a thousand lives. Fyodor, he's back.

"fedya..." you say weakly, too stunned by his sudden appearance to muster up anything else. for a moment, it occured to you that you were dreaming, but the pressure in your skull and the stinging feeling in the back of your throat serve as proof that you're wide awake. you watch him slowly making his way towards the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sits next to you.

with a deft hand, Fyodor brushes the stray strands of hair from your face, tucking them behind your ear. "i missed you, my love" he smiles and you know the voice belongs to him but you have the feeling something changed.

his touch feels strange, foreign, his fingers are more calloused and he seems... taller? the clothes he's wearing are different too but they somehow fit him perfectly. a cold shiver runs down your spin and you feign away from his touch, clutching the duvet.

a twinge of pain flashes across Fyodor's features at your reaction. of course, you didn't know yet. he never confided in you about his ability. still, he hoped that you'd simply be happy to see him. "myshka..." he sighs, reaching for your hand and giving it a light, reassuring squeeze "it's me"

you're left dumbfounded by his words. how can it be him? that's not his body, not his scent, not his touch. "but... how?" you ask in that same strained voice and Fyodor's heart sinks. you're hurting, he can tell, you need time to adjust to this new discovery but he wasn't going to give that to you. he's been away for far too long and he was too selfish of a man to deny himself your comfort.

"my dear, i want you to trust me. i'll tell you everything tomorrow, but let's just rest tonight" he reassures you, discarding his black cloak on the floor before joining you in bed, his arms wrapping around your waist. you try to scoot away from his foreign embrace but he doesn't let you, shushing you with a chaste kiss to your temple. "don't run away from me. we've been apart for too long" he pleads and you comply, despite the nagging feeling of uncertainty.

your drowsiness is long gone now and you simply lay in his arms, trying to understand what's going on. your heart is telling you that this is Fyodor, but your rational mind has a hard time piecing together the puzzle. this body doesn't belong to him– he feels different, but it's somehow still him.

he's always warned you that you'll go through some weird things if you date him, but this certainly isn't something you expected. still, you're too worn out by countless sleepless nights and worries to think about this now, so you close your eyes, relaxing your body and mind.

as time passes, you ease into his embrace, finding solace in his closeness. in the dark of the night, you are once again listening to his velvety voice. he whispers apologies and i love you s, his hands carefully caressing your body and you're more and more convinced that it's truly him. if you think about it, though justified, your initial aversion was silly.

so what if he has a different body? it's still your Fyodor. you trust that he'll tell you everything tomorrow and you'll finally be able to put those agonizing weeks behind and go back to your life together. alas, hope. good days are about to come.

[shoccolatine]

their reactions if MC was fatally wounded by wanderers and passed away

⚘pairings: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader

⚘tags: sfw, gender-neutral MC, established relationship, loss and grief, ANGST, alcohol consumption (in xavier's part), very slight chapter 7/8 spoilers (in rafayel's part)

⚘a/n: sorry xavier's is shorter, i'm still figuring out his character! also can you tell i have a bias um hehe,,,

╰┈➤ ❝ XAVIER. ❞

is devastated by the news, and blames himself for not being there as their hunting partner to protect them and keep them safe

he drowns his grief in liquor at The Nest—the bartender worries for his sudden habit, but xavier's lips are locked tight, and so he doesn't pry. the best he can do is cut him off before his veins are more alcohol than blood

he also takes it out on the wanderers he fights from then on, hoping that the next one's throat he slits is the one who took his precious MC away from him

on calmer days, he brings flowers to their grave whenever he's able—he'll sit and chat about everything and nothing in the hopes that somehow, somewhere, they're still listening

╰┈➤ ❝ ZAYNE. ❞

would be in the ER doing everything he can to save them

....but it's not enough

the guilt of their life slipping through his fingers weighs heavy on him. but he never lets it show

he already spends a lot of time at work, but after they pass, he throws himself fully into his job

he's even more clinical and impersonal than ever and fully embodies the "cold and distant dr. zayne" title everyone else thought of him (everyone but MC)

he doesn't allow himself to get close to anyone anymore—after all, the ones he opens his heart to always get taken away from him

he keeps himself busy 24/7. if he allows even a moment's break, he starts thinking, and thinking is bad

his already frequent nightmares worsen, and he finds himself pulling even more all-nighters than usual to avoid them

bonus extra angsty alternate ending: his lack of sleep and inner anguish affect him to the point of messing up a delicate surgery. he resigns that same day.

╰┈➤ ❝ RAFAYEL. ❞

thomas is unable to contact him for days. texts and voicemails remain unanswered, deadlines are fast approaching with no updates... but, isn't this normal behaviour from the antisocial artist?

it's not until finding out about MC's passing a week later that thomas realizes he should have been more persistent with rafayel. but would it have even mattered? when rafayel is in a mood, it's near impossible to find/reach him, nevermind pull him out of it

weeks pass with still no word, and thomas regrets his last conversation with rafayel—pressing him to finish his latest painting, with an eager buyer already waiting

thomas does his best to manage cancelling rafayel's many interview and art show invitations without stirring up concerns. rafayel is already known to be dodgy with such things, though, which thankfully buys him some time

rafayel is finally spotted some time later on the beach just off his home studio, drenched to his bones and wandering aimlessly barefoot along the coast

he hasn't touched a paintbrush in ages, and has completely forgotten the inspiration for his last unfinished piece

he's spent nearly the entire time in the sea. the rocking of the waves and the rush of his heartbeat in his ears keep him distracted more than painting ever could

his muse is gone, and with it his flame. he spent all this time to find them... just to lose them again. his poor heart just can't bear it

one day he leaves one last cryptic message to thomas, dons his scales once more, and returns to the sea forever

[sonicasura]

Raising Skully

Some ideas around Kaiju No 8.5 Skully. This includes both versions which will be marked with either a 🌺 for Hoshina or a 🐞 for Kafka. Please enjoy!

Skully can eat normal human food as their baby teeth is sharp enough to chew the stuff but also digest it with no issue. They really like peanut butter, fish, apples and chicken the most. Skully also requires twice the amount of food a normal human child needs. (Rip Kafka's wallet.)

The baby kaiju's biology is quite different from their parent. It's more than just a chubby gecko like tail. Skully converts any waste material into a sludge that they can spit out as a self defense mechanism. Their diet affects how corrosive or sticky the stuff is and at worst can weaken the hardness of even the toughest kaiju hide.

Skully showed this ability once when a spider spooked them. The room was temporarily quarantined afterwards until the sizzling puddle was cleaned up. Both sides might've preferred changing diapers than deal with acidic sludge.

🌺 Whenever Hoshina has to go on missions or leave base, Okonogi is in charge of Skully. The baby is surprising well-behaved in the monitoring room as they sleep or watch her work. Skully however will run out to Hoshina if they sense he's in terrible danger. Or how No. 10 got a sludge bomb to the face.

Skully's fortitude is a 2.8 but will raise to a frightening 7.5 if enraged. They only enter this stage should their respective parent be in grave danger. Horn nubs sharpening, back spines elongating, finally their eyes glowing a hazardous green are signs of 'combat mode' activating. Skully has the ability to enhance those they cling onto and even form a barrier once in 'combat state'. They however fall asleep after 3 minutes from exhaustion.

🐞 Kafka tends to shift into Kaiju form whenever tending to Skully. He's more open to expressing his inhuman instincts such as licking, purring, and chittering back at his whelp. If Reno or Kikoru sees him doing this than they won't say a word.

Skully loves art especially finger painting. Best to keep an eye on them and lock up any materials such as ink. The 3rd Division woke up to all of their walls covered in childish drawings over night.

🌺 Hoshina once mused over the idea of having Skully lead him to his 'mama'. Teaching them the word and pointing at a Kaiju No.8's picture. It was shoved aside by Okonogi who thought it was a little too insane.

Skully aids Hoshina in his fight with No. 10. Trying to clean up the blood off his face by licking it would later grant them the ability to take a human form. (Their saliva has minor healing agents.) A visage that looks like a mix between Hoshina and Kafka.

🐞 The Monster Sweepers help babysit Skully when needed. It usually happens if training ends up being off base or a mission were to happen. They even gotten modified baby clothes and toys for Skully.

Kafka immediately calms in the presence of his whelp. Even the most intense rage will die with a soft chirp from Skully. Don't dare try to harm the baby when Kafka's around or else. (Same goes for Hoshina after awhile.)

First words are said at the two week threshold. Skully will call Kafka 'mama' and Hoshina 'papa' whenever possible. (The former secretly cries in joy.) Skully also calls those they don't like or doesn't trust 'Bada'.

Learns to walk on two feet in a week. (It definitely was recorded.) Skully prefers to roam on all fours and half the reason being they can stick to walls like a gecko better that way. They still remain a very fast mobile disaster either way.

I'll be drawing Skully soon so stay tune for that.

@drmarune @popipopipopipopipo000 @renard-dartigue @discoknack

[dabi-drift]

Abyss Razor x Reader (Mashle: Magic and Muscles):

Abyss doesn’t know why you want him, but maybe it's his turn to be happy. He's at an age he shouldn’t have reached, yet you're right here beside him. He can't give you his words as easily as he gave you his heart, but words become memories, and memories fade. His heart can't be forgotten, and he won't take it back.

He didn’t know that he could love someone when no-one ever loved him, but not all love is equal. And if it's meant for you, you can feel it.

He's inclined towards those with impaired vision. He feels guilty, but if you can't see him, maybe you'll stay. It feels like you've been with him since the cradle, and you can only part at the grave. He's too in love to let you leave him.

But you don't have to see something to be afraid of it, and you don't have to be afraid of what you see. It's a tool, not a curse, and it's a blessing if it protects him.

"You use every advantage you have in a fight, and if you can stop their magic, I don't have to worry so much!"

His opinion of himself isn't his own, but he's used to words born of iniquity. The people who broke him cast him to the earth, but you're trying to bring him back to Eden. He's not who they think he is. He's just him.

He's kind, he's humble, and he honours every promise he makes. He walks you to your room when school ends. He disparages himself and his use. He tries so hard to impress you, and he'll open every door for you until you insist that you can do it, and he's lost a way to be useful.

Please open the door for him. He'll cry.

He deserves a kiss for every day he's drawn breath. Surprise him. Fluster him. He's so brave, even when he cries - even when the ground feels like home and his skin doesn’t feel like his. And sometimes he wants to run from himself, but he won't leave you behind. He knows that, in his absence, you won't be taken by cruel rumours. He'd just miss you.

Sometimes your wife is a man.

He loves in words as yet unknown, and words of his own design. He could live as a poet, if you'd be his muse. Because every word is second-hand, every expression of love already written, and somehow it's not enough.

[sunnysgraves]

[SUNNY GRAVES. 30. CIS FEMALE. SHE/HER] is here! They’ve lived in Asbury Park for [20 YEARS] and are originally from [POINT PLEASANT, WEST VIRGINIA]. They are a [TOUR GUIDE/EMPLOYEE AT PARANORMAL BOOKS & CURIOSITIES/THE PARANORMAL MUSEUM] and in their downtime love [HORROR MOVIES] and [WITCHCRAFT]. They look a lot like [OLIVIA COOKE] and live in [MEADOWLARK APARTMENTS]. The song that makes people think of them the most is [ANDROMEDA BY WEYES BLOOD].

☾ playlist. ☾ pinterest. ☾ muse. ☾ connections.

━━ ⟢ i. the basics  full name → sunny louise graves birthday → 06/02/1994 big three → gemini sun, pisces moon, scorpio rising height → 5'5" sexual orientation → bisexual  mbti → infj hometown → point pleasant, west virginia

━━ ⟢ i. personality tidbits  - has that complex anxious avoidant attachment style - when she senses someones pulling back she's like swerve  - dropping hints like she's the queen of ghosting - she can be very all or nothing in regards to that so like you may get a text from her once every other week or she'll bomb you with them all at once in a span of five minutes - is a great friend but she's intense so she's not for everyone - always assumes everyone's mad at her  - her hometown is where mothman was famously cited, and yeah she makes that a personality trait - she practices witchcraft and has an altar to the deities she worships - though i feel as if she's still pretty skeptic if she believes in ghosts she kinda cancels out proof even if it's right in front of her face. her logical side of her brain kind of kicks in and clears it out. she can be pretty self motivated, even if its unbeknownst to herself. - playlists are her love language - finds comfort in meditation instead of going fucking insane, sometimes both - always falls for emotionally unavailable people, a lot of times her bosses 😭 - very into metaphysics like tarot, astrology, etc  - loves horror movies and probably watches at least one a day (probably while she's eating dinner ngl)  

━━ ⟢ i. go deeper tw: alcohol, drug use, abuse, suicide - m o m m y i s s u e s 🥳 - sunny grew up in a tumultuous household with her parents always fighting and money was always tight - it wasn't until she was 10 that she moved to asbury park where she was hopeful things would improve since her father landed a better job, but things quickly deteriorated - as she got older her mom developed bad habits with drugs, and her father coped with alcohol  - as a byproduct she was kind of abandoned emotionally, and didn't really have anyone to turn to - her mom was self medicating a larger problem under the surface, and sunny had the misfortune of walking in on her mom trying on several occasions to take her own life - as a result she couldn't focus in school or, would hyper focus on the wrong things and daydream instead of listening in her classes - got the rep of not only the new kid, but the weird new kid - and as things usually happen, one day when her guard was down because her mom appeared to be doing better, so she decided to go hang out at a friend's house after school one day.  - when she returned home later than normal, she walked around her house looking for her mom. to her disbelief, she found her mom hanging from the shower curtain rod, and was in denial that her mom was really gone since she'd always caught it in time before.  - hours later her father found sunny holding her mom up talking to her limp body about how she made a friend at school finally.  - when the emts arrived on scene trying to load her mom onto the stretcher, sunny wouldn't allow them to take her mom away from her until her dad had to physically pick her up and carry her away  - she blamed herself for not being there for her mom sooner - she hasn't ever really dealt with her mother's death, i think in a way she tried to acquaint herself closely with death instead. she would buy ouija boards trying to contact her mother from the other side. hire psychic mediums, go to palm readers, anything for a sign from her mom  - whew that was fun! thank you for sticking around if you made it this far into this dumpster fire 

━━ ⟢ i. connections  - literally anything and everything  - people she's once passed on the street and projected romantic fantasies on, friends, friends of a friend, cousins, exes, ex hookups, ex situationships, enemies, neighbors, old co-workers, old classmates, old classmates that used to bully her etc etc gimme gimme gimme 

[beevean]

Dracula and Rosaly accepting Hector in a world that doesn't, and protecting him from commoners who mistrust him. However, Dracula cared about what Hector was - a powerful cursed human who could learn the most forbidden of dark arts, while Rosaly cared about who Hector was - a mysterious yet kind and helpful person.

Dracula denying Hector's humanity to allow him to live among demons, and convincing him he is one. Rosaly appreciating Hector's humanity, but ignoring his dark past.

Dracula filling Hector's head with notions about how God hates his own creations and won't be there to help him (he will :) ) and how power is the one thing that matters. Rosaly being a full, devoted Christian that believes in the strength of mankind so much that she manages to convince Hector as well.

Dracula caring so much about Hector's life that he organized an expedition to find him again, although only not to waste his powers, and ready to punish him in case he had betrayed him. Rosaly caring so much about Hector's life that she searched for him when he ran away from home and was nearly dying after fighting Isaac, because she was seriously concerned for his wellbeing.

He, the mighty Dark Lord, stayed in the castle and sent Isaac. She, a normal young woman, ventured into the forest all by herself.

They both indirectly died because they wanted Hector with them this much.

Rosaly's sole presence dispelling Dracula's curse, his nefarious influence from beyond the grave. Hector musing that he was going to die together with Dracula, until Rosaly saved his life.

Hector being the best General on Dracula's side. Hector being a common househusband to Rosaly. Both of them cherish him, but in such different ways.

Hector being used as a tool and ordered around by Dracula no matter what he thought. Hector being free to be whoever he wants to with Rosaly.

Hector giving his life for them without hesitation. Hector serving Dracula out of gratitude for being allowed to live. Hector saying that he would give his life for Rosaly "without forgiveness or atonement", and technically doing so when he goes on a revenge quest for her.

Hector being ready to let himself die after betraying Dracula, even musing the irony of dying together. Hector being ready to let himself die after avenging Rosaly, because he felt he had no reason to live anymore.

Hector attempting to pay Rosaly with what little he has, his belt, because he can't conceive someone being kind to him without reason - Dracula requested his services in exchange for being allowed to live, after all.

Hector clutching Rosaly's ribbon as he thinks one last time about Dracula.

Hector dressing with his old Devil Forgemaster uniform in the game, the one given to him by Dracula and complete with the crest, but completing it wrapping Rosaly's ribbon to his waist.

Hector rejecting the notion that his old Master was right about humans and judging them, because Rosaly showed him what humanity is actually made of.

[your-divine-ribs]

Ice Cold Part 26

Words: 3k words

Ice Cold Masterlist Main Masterlist

Van stepped out of the darkness of the alleyway, advancing on me slowly until the shadows fell away and I could see all of him. His lips were curved into a sly smile, his pale blue irises made almost black by the darkness of his pupils. They burnt into me with a fire that made my heart pound and my frame tremble.

"You've been a bad girl Lyla," he said, his voice low, tinged with something dark and sultry.

I pressed myself up against the brickwork, watching as he edged closer. My heart was hammering in my chest, my body wired with lustful desire. He came to a stop just inches from me, towering over me.

"You know it's pointless trying to resist me," he mused, reaching out a hand to the back of my head, his fingers winding through my hair.

I swallowed, hard, my chest feeling tight, and I looked up at him. The fingers of his other hand found my jaw and his grip tightened slowly as he dipped his head down low, his lips brushing my neck as he whispered into my ear. "Don't fight it... it'll be so much better if you don't..."

"I... I..." I began, not sure what I wanted to say but feeling the need to let something out.

He pulled away but only just, his forehead pressed against mine, his warm breath fanning over my face. "What is it, huh? Do you want me to make you feel something? Is that it?"

"Yes..." my voice came out timid and breathy.

"I'll make you feel something alright. I'll fuck you so hard..."

My body was ablaze, the ache between my thighs so strong it was almost painful. I wanted him to take me, to own me, to push my body to its limits and then maybe beyond.

"Please..." I breathed...

The harsh sound of my alarm clock wrenched me from the depths of sleep. I sat bolt upright, disentangling myself from the bed sheets which felt damp with my perspiration.

Frustration wracked every fibre of my being which was still burning with desire as the sordid dream lingered. I sank back down on to my pillow, my fingers trailing down my body, pulling up my silk slip and sliding under the lace of my panties, desperate to soothe the craving that consumed me.

Minutes later I was writhing on the bed, lost in the sensations as I neared my climax, visions of Van thrusting into me as he pinned me roughly against the wall in my mind's eye.

"Fuck..." I groaned, my body finally going slack as I reached my peak but not my fulfilment.

I lay there looking up at the ceiling for a moment, letting my breathing return to its normal pace, then I rolled over, my hand caressing the bedsheets that covered the empty space beside me. I'd lived alone for years and had always favoured my own company, but for the first time my bed felt bigger and starker than normal. Lonely. I felt emptier than ever as I slipped out from between the covers, making for the shower.

The cemetery was quiet, with just a few mourners scattered amongst the rows of graves, paying their respects. My dad's plot was at the far end of a row, and I saw his black marble headstone coming into view as I trudged through the long, damp grass.

This part of the cemetery was unkempt, the grass was long overdue cutting and a lot of the headstones bore dried, long-dead flowers, a testament to the long-dead inhabitants that dwelled beneath them. It was no surprise really, fifteen years was a long time for any relative or friend to feel the need to still visit so regularly. Time had a way of healing even the most grief-stricken of hearts. My own visits had become less frequent in the years since I'd started working at the agency. Even more so since I'd starting tracking Van, I thought guiltily.

I needn't have worried though. As usual my dad's grave was pristine, the marble catching the sunlight like it had been lovingly polished. Laying across the base was a single white rose. I smiled to myself as I reached down and picked it up, my fingertips brushing the velvety petals.

I'd come to think of white roses as a symbol of my dad. Every time I came to tend to his grave I'd find one, and it had been that way for as long as I could remember. I never visited the cemetery with my mother and I never had done, even throughout my childhood. The cemetery was so close to my family home that I'd not needed chaperoning. It used to be my sanctuary anyhow, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

I could picture my mother now, kneeling on the ground, laying the flower gently down, tears falling to the grass below where they settled like dew drops. I replaced the rose and stepped away.

The empty feeling that had haunted me since I'd awoken that morning persisted throughout the day and into the evening. As night drew in I started packing a small bag for my London trip. It was only a two day assignment for now, but Charles' words echoed in my head about him having me transferred there. Nine months ago I would have been delighted, moving away from the city I'd grown up in, immersing myself in the hustle and bustle of capital life. It wasn't like I'd made any lasting bonds in my adult life that would be wrenched apart by a move, even my own mother wouldn't miss me. But something was changing. A yearning I'd never felt before. A need to belong to someone and to mean something to somebody.

I picked up my toiletry bag and slung it in the case, zipping it up. I was getting picked up by a taxi in the morning which was taking me to the train station so I wasn't facing a long drive. I didn't need a clear head.

I'd been ordered to steer clear of anything to do with Van's investigation, but of course the agency weren't aware of the stack of files that I'd gathered personally on the case. I grabbed a pile of paperwork off the desk in my spare room and then headed into the kitchen, reaching for a bottle of red wine on the counter, but then going for the vodka instead, pouring out a sizeable amount. I didn't usually make a habit of drinking sprits neat, but desperate times called for desperate measures and I needed something to take the edge off.

The bitter liquid scorched my throat as I knocked it back, making me shudder, but I poured another straight away nevertheless, upending that one in the same fashion. I caught sight of my reflection in the glass door of the microwave and scrunched my eyes shut, not wanting to see. I looked like a ghost, a shell of myself.

You can't go on like this Lyla...

The night was cold and bitter and I shivered as I stepped out on to the balcony from my bedroom, the inky blackness enveloping me. I realised that I'd left my glass inside so drank directly from the bottle, huge gulps, no longer caring, the vodka burning a fiery path down to my belly, warming me through. I slumped down on to the bench, leafing through photos and statements, taking mouthful after mouthful until I'd drained half the bottle.

I supposed I must have looked a pathetic sight sitting there, eyes red-rimmed, drinking alone, tragically lamenting a lost love that never even was.

Poor Lyla, all alone and no one to love her, what a fucking tragedy.

A brisk wind whipped up suddenly, sending the papers spinning in a whirlwind to the floor, but one photo sailed into the air and over the balcony, getting snagged on the outer railings. I stood up quickly, stumbling, crossing over to the railings and looking down. I was only on the seventh floor, not that high, but probably enough to kill me if I fell. But I didn't plan on falling.

I felt impulsive, reckless, the alcohol taken hold of my senses, and I boosted myself up, stretching one leg over the railings and then the other, holding on and leaning myself out, letting the wind catch my body like a sail. If I could just manoeuvre myself to the side I could reach the photo.

My phone erupted into life in the back pocket of my jeans. I could answer it, but it'd be risky. I'd have to hold on with one hand... fuck it...

"Hello?" The slur in my voice was pronounced, and I held the phone firmly in one hand, the other gripping the cold metal tightly.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Van! What are you... SHIT!"

My foot slipped as I tried to find purchase on the outside of the balcony and I lurched to the side. The shock injected a little sobriety into me, making me suddenly realise how risky this was in my inebriated state.

"Stop fucking around right now! Get yourself off that balcony!"

It took me a few seconds for my brain to process the fact that if Van was warning me it meant that he could actually see me. I twisted my head around, peering into the night.

"I'm not gonna tell you again Lyla!" His voice was practically a growl now. He sounded furious.

"W... wait... hold on..." I managed, plunging my phone into my back jeans pocket to enable me the use of both my hands to pull myself back up and over to safety. I paused before I did, watching the photo flap in the wind, and then it carried away, borne into the air until it fluttered out of sight.

As my leg stretched over the railings and my foot found solid ground my whole body slumped over and I collapsed with relief on to the floor, drawing a quick breath before I was scrabbling for my phone in my pocket.

"Van... are you okay? What's happened? They said you were on your own now! What's going on? And where the hell are you?" The words tumbled out in a frantic fashion and I couldn't hold them back. I felt a tightness in my chest, a sob building, but I swallowed it down.

"I'm always close by... you know that. And I'm fine... I'm okay," his voice sounded weary, heavy. I gripped the phone tightly, pressing it to my ear, heard him let out a deep sigh. "I'm not calling to talk about me anyway. You're upset. What's happened?"

YOU happened.

I wanted to say it. I wanted to tell him that I was falling apart, that my need for him was ingrained in every part of me, but I didn't. I held back.

"Nothing's happened. They believed my story, every single word. They didn't even question it. No punishment, nothing." My voice sounded bitter despite my true feelings. "I suppose you could say I got away with murder."

"I told you... you don't need to feel guilty for what you did..."

"I don't!" I blurted. "And that's just the thing. I don't feel guilty at all. I keep re-playing it in my head and I'm starting to feel fucking good about it!"

Van was quiet for a moment, and I hauled my body upright, leaning against the brickwork of my apartment, hugging my knees to my chest, hiding in the shadows. His voice was low and even when he spoke.

"That's how revenge feels. It does feel good... it feels damn fucking good..." I thought I could hear the smile in his words, a dark kind of satisfaction that I was starting to understand. "You think I do what I do because I get off on hurting people? I know that's what they say about me. They think I'm a monster... and I am... if someone wrongs me... or you."

His words sunk in and I let them meander around inside my head. It was hard enough to try and make sense of his fierce protectiveness of me as it was without the added complication of half a bottle of vodka.

"Why me?" I said, speaking carefully to try to keep the slur in my words at bay. "You always talk about me like you know me... I know there's a connection there. I feel it too... but why?"

My question was met with silence, but it didn't deter me. I continued, carelessly now, desperate to know more.

"I don't know how much longer I can do this for. Are you going to keep me in the dark forever? I keep going over and over old case files, and I know something's wrong. There's missing information, stories that don't ring true. There's even stuff around my own dad's death that I don't have security clearance to view! It just doesn't make sense. It was supposed to be an open and shut case!"

"You've got to stop this right now!" Van's voice came sharp and urgent down the line. "I mean it. If you keep digging into this someone's going to notice. You don't know who you can trust. Promise me that you'll stop."

"But I can't... how can I just stop?"

"I'm fucking warning you! It wasn't a request. You have no idea what you're dealing with here." His words sounded angry, but there was underlying desperation there.

"Then tell me for gods sake!" I cried with enough force that my voice echoed out into the night.

I slid my back up against the wall, staggering slightly to the side as I got unsteadily to my feet. I didn't care if Van knew I was falling apart anymore. Why try to hide it? I swiped the vodka off the bench and took another swallow, looking out into the darkness, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

"Where are you?" I sobbed quietly.

"Lyla baby... listen to me..." His words were soft now, a gentleness that stilled me, taking me by surprise. "I just need time. I'm close... so close to uncovering something, and it goes way deeper than just you and me and your dad. I need you to trust me on this, okay? Just for a little longer. Do you think you can do that?"

This time he wasn't commanding me, there was no threat or warning behind his words. He was asking me... pleading with me even.

It should have been an absurd request, putting my trust in this man who should have been a mortal enemy, but I knew I would do it. There was no need to contemplate my answer. Even with the knowledge of all the heinous things that he'd done and was probably yet to do before all of this was over, something made me unquestioningly put my faith in him.

"Okay," I said quietly, setting the bottle back down on the bench and stepping across to the balcony until I came to a stop at the railings, looking out into the night. "But I need to see you... they've finally taken me off the case and they're sending me to London, but they're hunting you down. You do realise that they don't even want to arrest you now don't you? Every agent has been given the order to shoot you on sight."

"I know," he replied, nonchalant. "You don't need to worry about me. I can look after myself."

"I don't doubt it, but I still worry. Since I heard about it I've not stopped worrying. I don't want you to get hurt. I..."

I paused, the words clinging to the tip of my tongue, but they danced off before I could stop them.

"I don't want you to die. I don't know what I'd do without you..."

I heard the sound of distant sirens across the city, cutting through night. I imagined Van out there, on his own, a hunted man.

A quiet throaty chuckle came down the line.

"What's so funny?" I said quickly, bewildered.

"I'm just thinking how much things have changed. It's not so long ago that you were hell-bent on killing me yourself!"

I couldn't help the smile that emerged on my lips from the sheer irony of the situation. "Yeah well... a lot's happened since then..."

"It certainly has," he agreed. "I kinda miss it in a way... our little stand-offs. You were so determined, you were definitely gonna be the one to take me down! You know you look pretty hot when you're murderous!"

My smile spread at the totally unexpected change in the conversation. This playfulness was a side of Van that I'd not experienced before.

"And you used to bloody terrify me!" I admitted. "I never knew what I was going to get with you. I didn't know whether you wanted to kill me..." I licked my lips, lowered my voice. "Or fuck me..."

Van let out a deep exhale and when he spoke his voice was rich and deep, sending warmth through me. "I've never wanted to kill you, you know that. I've always wanted to fuck you though..."

"But you haven't..."

"Not yet..."

The sirens were louder now, only streets away, but I didn't want to end the call.

"I... I dreamt about you last night," I said hurriedly, knowing our time was short, always snatched away from us.

"Oh really? Well you won't have to dream for much longer... I can promise you that...."

I suddenly heard the sound of car brakes screeching, the sirens not only drifting across the city, but clearly through the phone too. They were close... much too close.

"FUCK..." I heard him hiss under his breath.

"Van? What's happening?" I cried.

There was a scuffling sound, heavy footsteps, a car door slamming, then the sound of tyres screeching on tarmac.

The line went dead.

[tansu-bomb]

Long post: Musings on AOS2 Ep3&4

Part 1: Yeong

The yearning of a young bride as her husband erects both physical & mental barriers between them.

Yeong sees how Uk has come through for her everytime she was in need. She is already moved by how Uk has cared for her with tenderness all night. And now, she sees him fight not just her mother but an entire establishment. She also senses that — despite Uk’s constant insistence that whatever he’s done is for his benefit and not hers — he isn’t entirely unaffected by her.

And so, as she is excited about spending a lifetime ahead with him, a nascent hope springs in her heart that longs for his unconditional affection. She wants to be chosen regardless of her divine powers or superior warrior skills or insanely good looks or rich/powerful family background.

She has a hunch that it was Uk that turned the lamp off at the Unanimous Assembly….that he took her home regardless of the proof he sought. When Uk is subsequently elated at the proof of her divine powers and says “I’m glad I brought you home”, her hunch is proven right.

And while “our-baby-is-the-evidence” was yet another one of her crazy, whimsical, on-the-spot solves, she is already quite comfortable with the idea of it becoming a reality. When he says “you’re surely not thinking of us getting intimate and making a baby”, it gives her a perfect opening to probe. When he flusters & blushes at her advances, her hunch - that he likes her - is getting further proven right.

Here she pretty much says “I really like you. Do you like me? I am hoping that you do.” Her eyes reveal her desire as her gaze lingers on his lips. He’s lost in her but forces himself to look away, pulls his guards up, and vehemently denies.

The rejection pains her but she doesn’t buy his lies. But the jerk that he decides to be — puts much-needed-for-his-sanity physical distance between them and says he can help fabricate some evidence for their marriage if only she stops hoping that he’d like her / give her his heart.

This hurts her more but she still doesn’t buy his lies or won’t take NO for an answer or will allow him to push her away. When she’s had enough of his bullshit, she shuts him up with a kiss. It’s basically a challenge “but I still like you. I dare you to feel nothing for me. If we create a witness, this is how we’ll do it”.

Uk is completely frustrated at this point coz she’s eroding boundaries rather swiftly. She’s kissing him, she’s talking about marital life and kids — all these are dreams he once dreamt with another woman. With her gone, and with no purpose to his bleak existence, he is willing to embrace death. And here’s his new wife pushing him towards life. So he erects physical barriers too.

He doesn’t enter her space when she’s conscious. He doesn’t let her enter his space either and pretends to not care for her. Then he stops going home altogether — especially as his mother & father figures urge him to let go of the past & give life with his new-wife a fair chance. All through this, she’s waiting, pining, completely missing him, loosing her apetite over him, and pushing open barrier after barrier only to not find him on the other side.

Despite his continuous rejections, she tries to piece together more information about him & Naksu from his friends/family, is puzzled at why noone seems to buy their marriage idea, is actively & persistently seeking avenues to reach out to him (like wanting to give him a status update on her regaining her memories/powers), and is trying to understand why he abandoned her.

Finally, she does understand why when he frantically rushes in hoping he’d meet Naksu & is super disappointed and angry that its her. She has known that he has a tragic past but didn’t know the depth of it all until now. Her heart begins to breaks into pieces as she realizes that it’s Naksu he still loves & yearns for….that he most cares about everything associated with Naksu - her stone grave, her memories, her jade, her reputation….that she is so secondary in his life and given how he continues to worship Naksu, she realizes there isn’t anything to look forward to in her marital life.

He not just rejects her coldly again but he reiterates that she’s just a tool for him — now with a new benefit unlocked where his selfish-ass can use her to relay his dead-lover’s memories back to him. Despite how heartbroken and jealous she is about his dead first-wife, she doesn’t resent him for loving another so ardently. If Naksu’s grave is important to him, she’ll spend the entire day fixing it. If he craves Naksu’s memories, she’ll keep the jade and endure the memories even if unpleasant for her to rewitness their love story. If Naksu’s reputation is contiunally being maligned, she’ll go along with her husband’s plan and fake-die so he/Naksu can be at peace. Even if she’s burning with jealousy, she’ll take home honey biscuits just like Naksu once did. And if he yearns for Naksu, she’ll unconditionally offer the comfort of her arms even if it breaks her heart that he doesn’t see her.

Despite their nasty fight & him still not returning home, what gives her hope through it all is Uk’s unspoken and spoken gestures — the way he lit up the forest path with fireflies and how he shadowed her to keep her from harm’s way, the way he wanted to look at her regardless of who she dressed up for, calling her pretty, calling her precious, calling her his wife.

These breadcrumbs & bugs are enough for her to gather courage and starts making inroads again — “Is it okay if I wore your family jewels? Is it okay to tell everyone that doesn’t believe in our marriage that we get along well? Is it okay to boast that you lit up a path with fireflies for me?”she asks to understand what boundaries he wants to keep / loose.

That he likes her a teensy bit is enough for her — for now atleast — and she positively glows & blushes at that. She’s really an innoncent, wide-eyed young wife yearning to make space for herself in her husband’s life. A space she well understands by now that she’ll need to share with his dead first-wife.

[impalafullofbees]

I made seven sonnets about one-sided radiostatic because I guess I’m very deeply entrenched in this fandom now. This is my first ever post on this site, I’ve been on it for approximately two minutes now so if I mess up the tagging or whatever, just tell me please.

Anyway-

Sonnet 1

It all started when Vox sat in his tower

Quite bored, couch-sitting with Val and Velvette

He sat there contemplating Alastor’s power

Determined to have him in his clutches yet.

“There has to be a way,” his fury erupted,

“To topple his throne, get him here, make him pay.”

Val and Vel ignored him uninterrupted

These outbursts were common, the same day by day.

He rounded on them with a terrible groan.

“Listen to me, I need to defeat him.

But he has friends, I need friends of my own.

Let’s plot, scheme, plan something not on a whim.”

Vel looked up finally, sighing she says,

“You work on waves, so does he. Disrupt his.”

Sonnet 2

Vox posture relaxed, he was taken aback,

Their contributions were few and far between.

His obsession and his verbal attacks

They encouraged not and did not intervene.

But this was a plan, and not a half-bad one

He mused, pacing, thanking Vel as he went.

He had to start planning and get that plan done

With Alastor gone, he would be content.

But how to disrupt the Radio Demon

And kick him off of his own radio waves?

He would be stopped before he could even begin

Fighting head-on would be making his grave.

Then he stopped pacing, revelation struck

With a signal-blocking device, Al would be stuck!

Sonnet 3

Vox rushed his room, plugged his head in with glee

To make a device both subtle and strong

Until too late, Alastor shouldn’t see

This half-planned device that could do no wrong

Surely Vel and Val still sat grateful

That Vox’s obsession was turned to his work

To make a device that could be so fateful

They relaxed finally, still bored, jobs shirked.

But Vox was still tense as he worked without tire

Building programs, deleting, scrapping it all

Every click of the keyboard had passion of fire

Perfection was key, no wrong big or small.

Finally, after hours of hard toil,

It was done, complete, his work long-last assoiled.

Sonnet 4

Now to enact his plan most effective

He sent off a drone to infiltrate the hotel

It would, with luck, complete his objective,

Do what has failed prior for all of Hell.

He cackled with mirth as he set the drone free,

It had quite the girth as it sailed red skies

Precious cargo aboard, worth all can see.

Vox watched it from earth with stars in his eye.

It attached, like a fly, to the hotel wall

Its camera eye glinted as it drilled way inside

Then scuttled, a spider, scurrying down the hall

Sneakily slithered, snakelike, to where Alastor did reside.

Finally it breached, the mighty little bug,

Alastor’s room. It buried in a rug.

Sonnet 5

They waited, Bug and Vox, for Alastor

Anticipation nearly swallowed them whole.

But he came, cane clicking, as Bug ticked and whirred

It was quiet, Vox made sure to control.

Alastor stopped, his smile frozen in place

While both Bug and Vox stayed frozen in seats.

Did he notice Bug, which invaded his space?

Or would Vox’s mission be long-last complete?

Then he looked down to where Bug was hidden.

Vox’s brain-child, his brain-egg he freely exposed

To Alastor’s brain-sperm of thought, unbidden

They made Bug jointly, their joining predisposed.

He looked at the floor and gave a soft hum

And he plucked Bug between his forefinger and thumb.

Sonnet 6

“Why hello Vox, I am aware, my old friend,

Your spying, that’s old, that, I can allow,

But my room is a reach you cannot extend.

Arrive prompt, and by prompt I mean now.”

Bug chittered, scared, as Vox nervously sweat.

They were caught, no escape, their plan had failed.

Vox teleported there, his match had been met

Saw poor Bug trapped in Al’s grasp and he paled.

“I just want to talk, no harm meant I swear.

You know spying, for me, often crosses lines.

There were limits? I was not made aware.

I can go now, leave you and your confines.”

“No, you wanted to talk, let’s talk right here. ”

“I should leave, I’ve invaded your space, that’s clear.”

Sonnet 7

Then, with no hesitation, he dropped Bug

Who made a “ting” on the hard wood floor

For Alastor had moved the soft, plush rug

Crushed Vox’s work underfoot, destroyed forevermore.

It was a threat, that much was made glaring

No time to mourn, now Vox had to think fast-

Why would they talk? They made an odd pairing-

To cover his lie and escape un-harrassed

So quickly he blurted what came to mind

“I’m in love with you, I don’t want to fight.”

Alastor laughed loud, then rudely declined

On his heel turned, left, and turned out the light.

And Vox was left sitting, alone, in the room

Sonnets are about love, but this one is gloom.

[wanderinginksplot]

Refuge Chapter Six

Continued slow-burn Delta Squad x fem!reader fic

Now that you've made your decision, the real work begins.

Word Count: 4,700

Warnings: Mild suspicions, explosions, mentions of theft and pickpocketing

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

Training

“And certain you are of this choice?” Master Yoda asked you, his voice grave.

You hesitated, unwilling to lie. Were you certain? No, not entirely. But despite your lack of confidence, this was the right decision. You knew that much. Your gut - maybe the Force, maybe just instinct - was drawing you toward Delta Squad, and you knew better than to go against a feeling that strong.

“This is the correct choice,” you answered eventually, deciding on simple honesty.

Yoda's eyes - disproportionately large and disconcertingly insightful - were locked on you for a heart-pounding moment before he nodded slowly. "Agree with you, I do. As does the Council."

That took a moment to filter past the roaring in your ears, but the kind nods and gentle smiles from the Council behind the diminutive Jedi master helped you understand.

"Thank you," you said, fighting back a wince at the tremors you could hear in your own voice.

"It will not be a simple task," Master Unduli warned. "We will not send you into the field without any training."

"Training?" you repeated, frowning at the unexpected revelation.  

"Yes, training." Master Windu's tone was firm. "At the very least, we will teach you to recognize when you're using the Force. Beyond that, you'll get training on how to infiltrate an area, basic combat abilities, weapons training, and as much information about Separatist battle plans and tactics as we can manage."

"And how long will that take?" you asked carefully, striving not to sound ungrateful.

“Likely a few weeks,” Master Unduli calculated. “Delta Squad will complete their next mission alone. You will not accompany them until the following mission.”

“A few weeks,” you mused. It was a shorter span of time than you had expected, but you still had some questions. “I’m sorry, Masters, but that seems like an extremely short amount of time. Am I going to be able to learn everything I need to know by then?”

“It will be a lot of work,” Master Windu warned, his brows lowered into a foreboding line. “You must be prepared for that.”

“The reason your training will not last longer is that we are not teaching you to be a Jedi,” Master Unduli explained. “You will learn some control exercises, but you only need to use them when your emotions begin to get the best of you. You will practice controlling your emotions and recognizing when you are beginning to lose that control. You will learn the basics of working in a combat situation, as well as the expectations of working with the GAR.”

You nodded, but Yoda spoke next. “Warn you, we must. Instructed, Delta Squad has been. If signs of betrayal they see, inform us they will. Watching, we will be.”

“I understand,” you agreed. “When do I start?”

“Today.”

“I’m sorry?” you said politely to Master Yoda. You had heard some of the younglings in the Temple talk about the tiny green Jedi, and all of it was done in tones of awe. He, apparently, was one of the most powerful Jedi to have ever lived… and he had lived for a great deal longer than it would seem. It paid to be polite, even if you were taken fully aback by the answer he had given you. 

“One of the instructors, Master Vildon Haze, is going to begin training you in control techniques,” Master Unduli told you. “This afternoon, your instruction will be undertaken by an expert in the criminal underworld of the galaxy, Master Tera Sinube.”

“So, control over my feelings and learning about the criminal underworld,” you summarized. “Are those going to be the two main things I focus on?”

“Consider this your first lesson,” Master Windu said, not unkindly. “Trust that we know the correct path for you. Save your questions for the things that really matter.”

You bowed your head slightly, trying to decide whether that was something you were able to accept as a good idea. You had always overflowed with questions, doing your best to learn about everything and everyone around you - it was what had helped you survive the Separatists as long as you had. The idea of trying to change that facet of yourself was… uncomfortable.

No, not change, you amended internally. Just bite back. Push it down for a little while as you trained in the Jedi temple. They were not asking you to become a Jedi. As soon as you learned what you needed to know to function alongside Delta Squad, you would be on your own once more and could ask every question that came into your head.

With that in mind, you nodded. “Yes, Masters.”

—

"How do you think the jetii will go about training her?" Scorch asked in a rare quiet moment.

"That really what you're thinking about right now?" Fixer bit out, checking his blaster for damage. 

Scorch shrugged. "What else should I be thinking about?"

Boss stared at him, inclining his head to indicate the current situation. "Finding a way out of this cave would be a good place to start."

"I have a way: a thermal detonator, some explosive tape, and a reckless disregard for life." With that, Scorch finished rigging the improvised blasting system and patted the rock wall beside it. He knew better than to risk patting the system itself. "There you go. Done in less than two minutes and I was able to think about the newest Delta at the same time. Try to act like you aren't impressed."

"I'm not impressed," Sev snapped. "You're the reason we're stuck here in the first place."

It was true, but Scorch didn't let that bother him. Anyone could have thrown a thermal detonator that had a forgotten piece of blasting tape stuck to it. It was just bad luck that the combined explosion had been strong enough to start a rock slide that trapped Delta Squad in a cave.

"Look on the bright side," Scorch suggested. "At least there aren't any enemies out there."

Sev scoffed, but Boss looked at the entrance of the cave, hidden behind a messy spill of rocks. He activated his HUD’s heat sensor with a twitch of his cheek and performed a brief search for living organisms outside. He gave a short nod. 

"Scorch is right: if there are wets out there, they're either dead or dying."

"Just wait until this hits 'em," Scorch agreed, indicating his work on the perimeter of the slide. “Speaking of, take cover.”

Sev wordlessly led the retreat toward the back of the cavern. He had been front and center for most of Scorch’s exploits since… well, since Kamino. Boss and Fixer had been present for more than a few, but their pace was too slow. It told Scorch they didn’t understand what was about to happen, not really. 

Ah, well. They’d find out soon enough. Scorch moved to the closest possible spot that could still be deemed safe, broadcasted a short countdown in the inter-HUD comm channel, and activated the detonator. 

The resulting explosion was stunning, even to the person who had set the charges.

A blinding flash and a deafening roar did their best to destroy two of Scorch’s senses, but the wave broke against the muffling plastoid of his helmet. When the dust settled, there was an open space where the previously blocked entrance to the cave had been. 

“Mission accomplished,” Scorch announced, rising from his protective crouch.

Fixer was cursing into the squad comm channel while Sev growled something foul in Mando’a. Boss strove for a milder tone. “Scorch, you think you might have overshot the parameters of the assignment?”

Scorch turned, arms open wide as he indicated the space around him and over his head. “You said you wanted it clear, Boss. I got it clear. Besides, didn’t the Sarge always teach us that commandos go above and beyond? Or… wait. That might have been the holos of propaganda they show to the natties. But at least we have a clear exit.”

Boss snorted at Scorch’s rambling. As he passed by, taking point as always, Scorch saw his helmet tip back as he admired the results of the demolition job. Or, at least, that’s what he should have been doing. There was room for all of them to leave the cave side-by-side (disregarding the rubble, of course), and the new opening was tall enough to pilot a LAATi through if they had brought one. Honestly, the cave probably wouldn’t last much longer with so much of its structure gone, but it was still standing now. 

Scorch gave himself a pat on the back for that.

“I’m still waiting on an answer,” he reminded the others, trailing behind them. They had left the cave while Scorch admired his own work, leaving him to huck his slightly-lighter pack over his shoulder and hustle after them. “What do you think the jetii are doing to train her?”

“Hopefully some basic weapons drills,” Boss replied absently, checking for enemies before he led Delta around a corner.

“Like a jetii knows anything about any weapon other than a lightsaber,” Sev told him, voice sour. “What else do they do to train? They’re probably teaching her a bunch of mystical osik.”

“Watch your tone, oh-seven,” Fixer warned.

Boss’s voice was carefully bland when he responded, ignoring Fixer entirely. “Do you have a problem with me letting someone new join Delta Squad, Sev?”

“She’s not joining us, she’s tagging along,” Sev said.

“You’re the one who said she could keep up with us,” Fixer reminded him. 

“Yeah, as a civilian,” Sev emphasized. “But she isn’t gonna be coming as a civvie. If she’s trained by the jetii, she’ll be considered part of the GAR.”

Boss was still wearing his helmet, but it was clear from his tone that he was frowning, unable to see the problem. “And..?”

“And, GAR personnel are all considered expendable,” Sev bit out. “She won’t be protected. She’ll have to come along on all of our missions. And we know what kind of missions we get sent on.”

“Kandosii'la ones?” Scorch suggested.

Sev’s frosty silence said that he didn’t agree with Scorch’s upbeat assessment. “Dangerous ones. Ones where a civvie might be able to wait in the ship or be kept out of the action, but a GAR staff member would be expected to pitch in and keep up. And no month of training is enough for her to do that, especially when that training is being done by the jetii.”

“We’ll just have to keep her safe,” Fixer decreed. “We decided she could be helpful, didn’t we? That hasn’t changed just because her status might.”

“It changes more than you think,” Sev bit out. “We barely got outta that back there. How do you think an untrained civvie would have done? They send us on the missions that can’t be done by standard troopers, and now they want someone with no augmentations to help. And how is she going to help us at all? She did well enough on her planet, but that place was a hundred years behind the rest of the galaxy. She’ll be out of her depth every day, especially with us. She doesn’t have any useful skills other than being ignored.”

Silence fell in the inter-HUD chat as the members of Delta Squad considered that point… though, of course, they disguised it as concentration on picking their way back through the complex network of caves that led back to where they had left the ship. Sev wasn’t known for making long and passionate speeches about anything. The fact that he was doing it now about a civilian who may or may not be considered half a Jedi was concerning. 

They had nearly reached the ship by the time Boss spoke. “For whatever reason, the GAR and the jetii decided that she would work well with us. Civvie or not, skilled or not, she’s part of the squad now.”

The quiet was oppressive until Scorch decided to break it with his favorite weapon: a joke. “Don’t worry, Sev. Worst case, we’ll just send her back to the Triple Zero and forget she ever existed.”

Sev didn’t answer out loud, but the rest of Delta Squad saw the slight, doubtful shake of his head.

—

Your time at the Jedi Temple passed much the way you had assumed it would. As the members of the Council had told you, your training consisted mostly of time spent learning to control your emotions and to do basic surveillance. 

Master Haze was normally assigned to work with the younglings of the Jedi Temple. The Iktotchi female was particularly skilled with children, but she was able to adapt her teaching style to one that you responded to quite well. You felt like you were improving rapidly on controlling your emotional response to everything that had happened. With her guidance, you had confronted your two major sources of emotional turmoil: your grief about the past and your fear about the future.

Master Sinube was an elderly male Jedi. You weren't familiar with his species and it felt rude to ask. In any case, he was often overlooked by others. Whether it was because of his age or his tendency to ramble, Master Sinube was constantly underestimated by those around him. Under his tutelage, you learned to see beyond sight, to listen instead of simply hear, and to don an unremarkable aura like a cloak.

Eventually, you added a third piece of training, done in the form of lessons with Jedi Master Quinlan Vos. 

Master Vos was another expert in the criminal underworld. While Master Sinube specialized in the peoples of Coruscant, Master Vos had a more generalized skill set. More importantly, he was still actively going undercover and knew the intricacies of how the war had impacted crime. 

Realistically, you were underprepared for war. You had gone from never having left your home to preparing for galaxy-wide travel, all in a very short span of time. If you had the choice, you would elect for more training, but - as the Masters reminded you - you would resume training between missions, every time you were on Coruscant. For now, you had gained an understanding of the way things worked. That didn’t feel like it would be enough, but the hope was that any gaps would be covered by your connection to the Force. 

In any case, you were far beyond where you had been when you first arrived at the Jedi Temple. You had formed connections with the Jedi, learned to balance your emotions with your new-found abilities, and learned how to navigate through the underworld you would find on all too many planets through the galaxy. Did you feel ready? No. But the Jedi Masters constantly assured you that you were ready, and that would have to be good enough. 

Finally, you were called into the Council’s chambers. There were several Masters missing. That wasn’t unusual - the demands of war took them all away from Coruscant, though some more often than others - but some of the faces you had relied on seeing were gone. A blue, flickering version of Master Unduli hovered just over her customary chair, but Master Windu wasn’t present even in hologram form. Still, you had gotten familiar with some of the other masters over your time at the Temple and weren’t completely lost in the group.

“You have made excellent progress over the past few weeks,” Master Fisto told you, a broad grin stretched across his face. “How do you feel?”

You straightened your shoulders, trying to project confidence as you matched Master Fisto’s smile. “I know I have a great deal left to learn, but I feel I’m much better off than when I first arrived. Thank you all for helping me.”

The typical Jedi bow felt odd and alien still, but you gave a deep nod to show your respect to the gathered Masters and were happy to see them respond in kind. 

“We must have some proof of your abilities before we send you into the field,” Master Secura warned. “It would be irresponsible of us to order an untested civilian into danger without knowing that you can look after yourself.”

“I understand,” you agreed easily. “What do you want me to do?”

The other Masters glanced at Master Yoda. The diminutive being beamed at you. “A special mission, we have for you…”

—

Fixer bit back a sigh as he watched Scorch crane his head around, trying to look in every direction at once. Delta Squad had been on Coruscant before, but it had been a different quadrant and, apparently, Scorch thought this new one was just as interesting.

Not that it would have mattered if Delta had been assigned to that very neighborhood where they had been last time. Given the cramped space and the incredible population density, even that small area had probably changed dramatically in the time since Delta had left. There were only so many beings who could occupy the same space before homeostasis became impossible.

He couldn’t really blame Scorch for studying their surroundings so eagerly… but that didn’t stop him from being irritated. “Six-Two, you’ll hurt your neck if you keep doing that.”

Scorch’s only reply was a scoff, but he did dial it back, relying on the holocams embedded in his HUD to provide him with a 360° image of the crowded street they were walking down. The buildings towered overhead, narrowing the sky to a slight flash of light between the transports caught in a line of traffic. Even here, on the top level of Coruscant, seeing the sky was a luxury reserved only for those who could pay for it. 

“I don’t know why the jetii had us run their errands,” Sev bit out, his low voice harsh over the crispness of their in-HUD comms. “Isn’t it enough we’re fighting their war?”

“Sev,” Boss warned. “Stow the attitude. It took us four minutes out of our way.”

“And you’re not even the one carrying the shuk’yc box,” Fixer added. He thought about tapping the small rectangle at his belt for emphasis, but he could feel Sev’s glare through both of their helmets and knew his brother had gotten the point.

“What are the medals for, anyway?” Scorch asked, apparently having gotten his fill of the streets of the Triple Zero. “Are we getting promoted?”

The snort could have come from anyone, but Fixer’s credits were on Sev.

“Pretty sure they’re jetii-specific,” Boss told him. “Counts out any of us verde.”

“Shame,” Scorch said carelessly. “I could use a new rank.”

“Why?” Fixer asked, unable to prevent himself from tossing out the barbed comment that had come to him. “You aren’t doing much with your current one.”

“Because I’m not being challenged,” Scorch complained.

“That isn’t true,” Sev joined in. “Just because you haven’t beaten a challenge doesn’t mean you haven’t gotten any.”

Fixer snickered as Scorch threw an elbow at the deep-voiced commando. “Har, har, Sev. If you want to see a real challenge-”

“Men,” Boss said sharply, cutting off whatever antics that may have started. “Pipe down and hurry up. We have a meeting with the jetii and I don’t want to be late.”

Delta Squad obliged, the men cutting their bickering short as they picked up the pace. Fortunately, their white armor and the intimidating shape of the commando visors helped them cut effortlessly through the crowd.

Or almost effortlessly. 

Even as the thought crossed his mind - though it was couched in the uncomfortable realization that they were designed to protect these beings and most of them were more scared of Delta Squad than they would have been of Grievous himself - a short form collided with Fixer.

He glanced down in surprise, catching sight of wide eyes and a gasping mouth under a deep hood before the being gave a hoarse yelp, ducked its head, and scurried away. 

“However much Procurement spent on the proximity sensors in your armor,” Scorch remarked, “I’m glad to know it wasn’t wasted on you, Fixer.”

Fixer rolled his eyes, grumbling at his loud-mouthed brother, and focused on their path through the city. 

“Do you think she’s done training?” Boss asked, unprompted. There was a beat of silence between them, one that stretched only a millisecond too long before Boss added, “That’s why they’ve brought us back here. It has to be.”

“You don’t think they would send her to meet us somewhere?” Sev asked.

“No.”

Scorch, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain, said, “She’s only been with them a few weeks. Maybe they brought us here for something else?”

Fixer shook his head. “We’re not important enough to be invited to meet with the Jedi Council if it doesn’t have to do with her. Do you think we’ll be invited to see her graduation ceremony?”

“She’s not a shiny leaving Kamino for the first time,” Sev told him derisively. “They won’t give her a ceremony. They probably won’t even evaluate her skills.”

“How would they, with the skills they say she has?” Boss asked.

“I would start with a basic weapons skill test.” Scorch shook his head. “Gonna guess that would be asking too much from the Jedi. Do any of them have to take tests?”

“Sort of,” Fixer told him, watching from the corner of his eye as a group of younglings appeared and started begging for credits from the people walking just ahead of Boss. Well, half of them were begging, the other half were picking pockets. They were smart enough not to try either move on the troopers. “They pass a ‘Trial’, but there’s no telling what that is. Sometimes the Jedi create it, but it’s usually something that happens to them in the field. A challenge they overcame.”

There was a curious pause after that, but Fixer kept his eyes on the surprisingly skilled younglings. Eventually, Boss huffed out half a laugh. “Didn’t know you were an expert on the Jedi, Fixer.”

Fixer shrugged. “Pays to know about the people in charge of commanding the GAR.”

He, of course, didn’t offer up the information that he had only recently become interested in the Jedi, what was expected of them, and what they were and weren’t allowed to do. Very recently.

“We’re getting close on time,” Boss commented. Fixer’s HUD chronometer told him the same thing. “Double-time, men.”

At the commandos’ increased pace, they were at the Jedi Temple before any more conversation could be had. Fixer didn’t mind. Despite their best efforts, Delta was a little late to the meeting - not by more than a few minutes, but from Boss’s impatient huffs in the repulsorlift, it was too much.

Still, when they got to the Jedi Council’s chamber, their entrance didn’t interrupt anything. The Council members were sitting in peaceful silence other than a few scattered conversations between holofigures. You were nowhere to be found.

Boss snapped a crisp salute and the rest of Delta followed his lead. “Delta Squad, reporting. Apologies for our tardiness, sirs.”

“Worry not,” General Yoda assured him. “Started, we have not.”

“Yes, we could hardly begin the proceedings without you,” General Kenobi agreed, seemingly amused by some kind of private joke. Fixer couldn’t say what was funny, but at least the Jedi didn’t seem to be laughing at them. 

“Where is she?” Scorch asked, and Fixer was relieved to see that his brother had asked it in their inter-HUD comm channel rather than aloud. “Shouldn’t she already be here?”

“Maybe she’s late, too?” Fixer suggested.

“Or she didn’t want to see Scorch’s di’kutla face again,” Sev opined.

“You two don’t want to see the punishment I cook up if you start bickering in front of the Jedi Council,” Boss warned, voice heavy with threat. 

There was no more inter-HUD communication. 

The quiet in the chamber was so intense that Fixer nearly jumped when the repulsorlift in the atrium warned of another arrival. He turned reflexively and was thankful for the cover of his helmet when he saw you hurrying into the room.

He expected you to look flustered, but your general appearance of disarray seemed to be due to excitement and… pleasure? You were wearing an odd assortment of clothing - an ill-fitting, bland-looking array of gray, brown, and dark green - though the bright yellow of your vambraces flashed through the gloom. 

As you walked forward, Fixer’s training leapt to the front of his mind. There was armor in your clothing. Not much of it, but enough to reduce the risk of being hurt. 

After you had been politely greeted by the Council, General Windu arched his brows. “And? Did you succeed?”

“I did!” you confirmed with a joyful smile, reaching toward one hip.

“Perhaps you should tell Delta Squad about your mission first?” General Secura encouraged.

“Of course,” you said, a slight hint of embarrassment dimming your happiness for only a moment. When you turned toward them, your brow creased oddly. “Why are you still wearing your helmets?”

The question hung heavy in the air for a moment before Boss broke the seal between his helmet and his body glove, pulling off his bucket and tucking it under one arm. The rest of the squad followed his example, and were rewarded with another beaming smile from you. 

 “I was given a single piece of information and sent to use it however I thought most appropriate,” you explained. Privately, Fixer thought that was a little vague, but you continued. “In this case, I was told that a group of soldiers was going to pick up some Jedi artifacts.”

General Koon leaned forward in his chair, templing his long fingers. “And what did you do with that information?”

“I tracked Delta Squad from the GAR dockyards and followed them until they picked up the artifacts. I was able to recover them from Fixer and then tailed them the rest of the way here. They never saw me.”

“Is that true?” General Windu asked Boss. “Did you or any of your men see her or otherwise suspect that something may have been wrong?”

“I had no idea,” Boss told him, a shade of respect in his tone. “Men?”

“Not a clue,” Scorch chimed easily.

Sev shook his head.

Fixer opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His stomach twisted unpleasantly. That small box - its weight nearly imperceptible - weighed heavy in the pouch at his hip. You hadn’t gotten the medallions from him, but could he make the Jedi somehow believe that you had? Maybe if he pretended he had put them in a different pouch… 

At last, he realized that he probably wouldn’t be able to lie to an entire group of Jedi. He pulled the box from his belt.

“I… still have this, though,” he admitted, trying to apologize to you with his eyes alone. Another trooper would have understood the non-verbal communication in a moment, but natties only knew what they could hear out loud. 

He held the box out to you, but you only watched him with amusement on your face. “Open it.”

Fixer pulled the box back, staring at it for a moment before he did as you said. The box opened easily, revealing an utter lack of contents.

General Windu cleared his throat. “Again. Did any of you see her or suspect something was wrong?”

Fixer shook his head slowly. “No. I- I never even felt someone touch the box.”

“Does that mean I passed?” you asked. 

“Yes,” General Yoda said, inclining his wrinkled head. His expression grew solemn the next moment. “But warn you, we must: face many more challenges on the battlefield, you will. Hmm… difficult challenges indeed.”

“I understand, Master,” you said, offering a bow to the gathered Jedi. “Thank you all for the training and allowing me this opportunity. I look forward to using what I’ve already learned and learning more every time I return to Coruscant.”

General Yoda smiled kindly. General Windu looked to Boss. “Boss, you and Delta Squad are scheduled to leave Coruscant early tomorrow morning. You’ll be accompanying the Wolfpack on a relief mission. We’ll meet for a briefing at twenty-one thirty.”

Boss saluted. “Yes, sir!”

“C’mon,” Scorch urged, cutting his salute short to tug at your arm. “Drop off those medals and we’ll find a fun way to spend our time planetside.”

---

Author's Note - Not a huge fan of this chapter, honestly, but we needed to get it out of the way to set up for the next few! Thank you to those who have been reading and leaving kind comments and waiting so patiently. I appreciate you!

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[leafkingofbirds]

Next chapter Preview: Eclipse Edition!

In honor of the total solar eclipse today, have this snippet I just finished writing! 😄

**this is still a first draft and you may find typos. But I am open to feedback & suggestions! 🥰

***

Somehow, Kieran winds up at the base of Sir Monty’s favorite tree. On his knees, his heart pounding, staring blankly at the dirt but seeing nothing. Too lost in his own mind and the troubles of his soul.

Give me peace, he begs whatever unseen force rules over life and death. Give me clarity. I must be everything Ella needs me to be.

But there is no divine intervention. Only himself, alone. As it has always been, since the death of his mother.

He would have sought his mother's grave, but the royal mausoleum is buried beneath the rubble of the destroyed Full Moon Chamber. 

Instead he has come to Sir Monty’s. The last parental figure he would ever have.

His oldest friend is gone to the tyrant’s side. Whether Oleander has betrayed Kieran or has some plan up their sleeve doesn’t matter. Oleander isn’t here to give any of their sage advice.

Dear Longclaw has her own heavy grief. Even her big heart is weighed down with the loss of not only the last of her beloved family – as abhorrent as Radiance was – but the loss of her own sense of self. It wouldn’t be fair to ask for her help, even if she was currently capable of giving it.

Ella would try to be there for him. But to go to her would be worse than dealing with it alone. Her heartless state is but more evidence of his failure and his guilt. 

“Mother,” Kieran gasps aloud without meaning to. A deep-set plea to a woman he had not set eyes upon since he was almost too young to remember and who will never answer his cries again. 

The word only opens the wound inside him, digging deeper, ripping open old wounds until they bled anew. His mother is the reason for all of this. Jack is the reason.

As if called by Kieran's very thoughts, he hears soft footsteps in the grass cautiously approach behind him. 

“So this is where you ran off to,” Jack muses. His voice is subdued. A hush has fallen over the entire place in the wake of the battle, an aura of death and defeat.

“Leave me,” Kieran growls without turning around.

Instead, the footsteps only come closer. To Kieran's shock and irritation, Jack kneels before the small square of stone at the base of the old, broken oak.

A stone marker had been installed at the base of the tree. Oleander had quietly decided upon the wordering and installed it themselves, after Kieran had irritably snapped at them “I don’t give a damn; do it yourself!” 

It was not enough to describe all that Sir Montgomery was in life, but then, no headstone would ever be able to capture the entirety of a man’s soul.

Here Rests the Most Honorable

Sir Montgomery Snow

Who Gave His Mortal Life

In Service to the Moon Court

For a long moment, Jack gazes at the headstone in silence, his expression intense and unreadable. He looks almost angry. 

Kieran braces himself to hear Jack say something vicious, and knows he won't be able to hold himself back this time if Jack speaks disrespectfully about Sir Monty before his very grave.

Then, Jack sighs deeply, hands on his thighs, and hangs his head. Kieran peers at him curiously.

“We have both suffered the loss of the most important people in our lives,” Jack says finally. He glances up at Kieran ruefully, his expression for once vulnerable and sincere. “Haven't we?”

Kieran can only glare at him. 

Jack looks back toward Monty’s headstone. “I want to say I regret what I've taken from you. But the truth is, if I had not killed Monty, he would have killed me. And I can't apologize for not allowing that to happen. Not honestly. Because I was not just fighting this battle for myself, and I owed it to those people in there that I would let nothing and no one stand in my way. No matter how noble.” 

There's a silence where Kieran considers leaping at him at closing his hands over Jack’s throat. But there isn't enough energy in him now. What would be the point? 

“But I regret the pain I have caused,” Jack says, in a way that makes Kieran think he's never apologized before in his life and it's physically painful for him. “I know that's foolish. I can't wish the past undone and know I would have changed nothing, all at the same time.”

“You wish it hadn't come to this,” Kieran manages to say, surprised at how rough his voice sounds, how close to tears. He can't even look at Jack.

“Yes.”

Kieran scoffs. “So do I.”

Not that it mattered what any of them wished. Wishes are futile things, even for Fae.

“Nothing I can say will undo the damage I've done. Believe me, I'm well aware,” Jack says bitterly. “But I want to say this anyway: I was wrong about you. I was wrong about so many things that it makes my blood boil to look back on it. About Sir Montgomery and Eisa. About the right way to fight for equality in this realm.”

“You were wrong about Ella,” Kieran reminds him snappishly.

Jack has the gall to look surprised. Then embarrassed.  “I…yes.” 

Kieran raises his brow expectantly, demanding a better answer than that. 

Jack sighs explosively and runs a hand through his hair. “I thought her addled at best, foolishly naive at worst. I thought you were like every other Fae I had ever had the misfortune of meeting, who had dazzled and enthralled an unwitting human into doing your bidding. But…you truly love her, don’t you?”

“With all that I am.” Kieran feels his hands clench into fists. “Ella has the most pure and genuine heart for others I’ve ever known a mortal to have. And a stubborn, inner strength that has never ceased to impress me. She is braver than any Fae I have ever met. That you misjudged her angers me even more than being misjudged. And that she is in my palace right now, heartless, where she should have been safe, angers me more than anything else.”

“You feel like you failed her.” It’s a statement, not a question. Jack gazes at him evenly.

“I did fail her,” Kieran snaps. “She felt she had no choice but to use the Immortality Curse, because this realm is so dangerous for mortals. I didn’t do enough to ensure she felt safe among Fae. I wasn’t able to break her curse, despite my promise that my love would be strong enough to save her. And yes, I ignored the threat of your Eclipse and the suffering you endured, as generations of Moon Court heirs have done before me. I own that mistake as wholly mine. But, Jack - it was your arrogance and prejudice didn’t want to believe Fae lives were in any way worth sparing. You came to kill us without knowing us. Without giving us even a chance.”

Jack’s brow wrinkles. “To be fair, that is exactly how mortals have been treated by Fae for the entirety of history.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

Jack looks contrite. “No. It doesn’t.”

“I'm glad we can agree on something,” Kieran mutters. 

“Perhaps that's why I was too late to save my father,” Jack muses quietly, as if to himself. “His innocent life, spent in payment for my sins. I live now only because you demand it, Kieran - else I would fall on that damned sword as penance. And I will do what I can to help fix this. But some things I can't fix. And for that…I truly am sorry.”

Kieran's eyes fill with tears, hot and angry. He can feel Jack’s gaze on him, and doesn't meet it.  His emotions war in such a furious swirling tempest he can't keep track of any of them - he doesn't even try to name them.

What strikes him, though, is how much of Jack's words mirror Kieran's own internal guilt. 

An innocent life paid the price of my arrogance.

I would fall on my sword for my failure.

Some things I can't fix.

Kieran senses himself at a fork in the road. He can do what his old self would have done - the bitter, broken, cold version that used viciousness to isolate himself and wallowed in his own misery - and rebuff Jack’s attempt to repent. Jack would live, but they would be forever strangers. Forever estranged.

Or he can be the man Ella always believed him to be. The man Kieran strives to live up to.

Kieran lets out a long sigh. “I can’t forgive you, Jack. Not yet. But I accept your apology. I believe it’s sincerely offered.”

“If nothing else, know that I am a man who means what he says.” Jack’s level gaze doesn’t waver. He shows no sign of discomfort from kneeling so long in the dirt, even though the gashes Kieran had delt to his flank are barely scabbed over. Up close, Kieran can see the disciplined way Jack holds himself. The quiet confidence of a true warrior. This has been his life's sole purpose, and Kieran realizes, just now, how broken Jack must also feel.

“We are two of a kind that way,” Kieran answers quietly.

Jack huffs a short laugh, then grows serious again. “Kieran…for what it’s worth? I’m sorry for what happened to Ella. I hope, one day, she will be restored. And on that day, I will ask her forgiveness as well.” Jack climbs to his feet and idly brushes off his knees. “I think my chances will be better if I wait until then.”

The harsh bark of a laugh that escapes Kieran's throat just then doesn't slow Jack's steps, and soon Kieran is alone again beneath this silent, doomed tree.

His laugh turns into a sob.

His hands claw the grass and hard-packed earth as if he could tear it away. Rip open the grave beneath his feet and demand it all to be different, for fate to change according to his will, for the chance to go back in time and undo his mistakes, to unravel all the terrible things that have happened.

But he’s powerless now, and his hands can no more open a hole to bury himself than they could bring back the dead. 

Kieran puts his forehead to the earth in defeat, and lets himself weep like he has not done in a hundred years.

[comatosebunny09]

Imagine Kyojuro’s birthday was also the day he passed.

A year following his demise, you visit his grave to celebrate it with him. Reminisce over saké, fighting back tears and the swell of emotions in your chest.

You didn’t have the gumption to tell your friend how you truly felt back then. How he held your heart in a vice and your voice in your throat, his kindness ever-flowing and energy infectious.

Your resolve slowly crumbled since then. You gradually fell into a pit of melancholy, nearly relinquishing your sword and abandoning the Corps.

You wander home when your bottle is empty, and fireflies dapple the sky. Your chest feels hollow; your sword is held lax between your fingers, screeching while dragging against the gravel.

When you reach your estate, you are greeted by an arctic, inky darkness that sinks its talons into your heart and drags downward. Crash into a downtrodden heap on your futon, molten tears and wounded sobs staining your bedding until sleep beckons you with her somber voice.

You awaken to muddled palettes of color swarming before you. Oranges, reds, and golds. To the savory aroma of fried dumplings and dango tinging the air. A symphony of laughter, music, and firecrackers pervade your ears. Once your vision adjusts, you fully ingest the sights with parted lips and wide eyes.

Crimson paper lanterns shiver overhead, intertwined with Japanese maple leaves. Technicolor signs glow, promising delicious confectioneries and endless entertainment. Children excitedly tug their parents towards the booths offering games, mirth coloring their pudgy cheeks.

You can’t recall how you got here; why you’re swaddled in a soft, weightless yukata, intricately-designed geta strapped to your feet. Where the silken coin bag wrapped around your wrist came from. Nothing, and no one seems recognizable. You haven’t the foggiest idea where or when you are. Just have a burning instinct to move, and you obey the call.

You try to push yourself up from the icy ground—when did you fall? Yet, a voice that often sullies your dreams dispels the cacophony of your mind, drawing your gaze to the source of it.

“Are you alright?” it asks, causing your heart to work overtime to pump blood to your extremities.

The air is punched from your lungs. Your throat fills with sand. A dizzying sensation overtakes you, soaking you to the bone. You nearly double over as he kneels before you, stretching a battle-worn hand towards you.

Time slows to a crawl. The world fades into a gentle bokeh of light around you. Nothing exists but the pair of you in this moment. Your gaze is trained on the worry hanging between his wiry brows. To every spasm of his lips. Every twitch of his jaw. Each measured rise and fall of his chest. Lingers on his proffered hand, soaking in the texture and warm-ivory glow of it.

Could it really be—no. There is no way. He died back then. You watched his life slip away as you clutched him in your arms.

Yet, there is no mistaking the homely scent of a kindled fire he exudes. No mistaking the warmth he radiates, lulling you into tranquility.

Kyo…juro?

Your voice scattered between the stalls; you can only nod, disbelief painting your countenance. Is it really you, you muse, shakily taking his hand. Your skin sparks from the contact like striking flint against steel, your heart thudding like a war drum in your esophagus.

He effortlessly hauls you onto your feet, tearing the wind from your chest. You flatten your palms against the hard press of his body to keep yourself from teetering. Feel his heart beating beneath the many folds of his yukata and each inhalation of breath.

It…feels like him. He’s real. Has to be. But…but, how?

The world seeps back in. You snatch away from him, sheepishly rubbing the nape of your neck, warmth speckling your cheeks. He regards you with eyes that simmer like liquid spilled over hot coals. Scans your face for any discomfort, raising tentative fingers to your jaw. He stops himself midway, his arm falling listlessly at his side. A grin slowly crests over his face, replacing the wariness which once resided there.

“Shall we continue, then?” Kyojuro booms, standing akimbo, confidence oozing off his skin.

His goofiness remains the same, causing fondness to creep into your belly. You muffle a chuckle behind your fist, tears of mirth springing to your eyes. The puppy-like confusion marring his features makes you laugh even harder.

You don’t know what higher power granted you such a gift. With the ability to stand by your friend again, basking in his boyish glow. On his birthday, no less. Whoever they are, you overload the heavens with praise; appreciative gaze turned skyward once your shoulders stop quaking and your cheeks ache in the aftermath.

Without a second thought, you loop your arms with Kyojuro’s, standing on tippy-toe to grace his cheek with a chaste kiss.

“Of course!” you chirp at his awestruck demeanor, a smile rounding your lips. You swiftly tug him towards the sea of festival-goers, his cheeks stained a beautiful shade of rouge in your peripheral.

And, was that steam you saw billowing from his ears just then?

Yep. It’s him alright.

[resolutepath]

FRIEND KILLER OF THE SHOGUNATE. [ G.enshin AU ]

"That's him... The Friend Killer...."

In this verse, Hatake Kakashi is a soldier of the Shogunate, working with the Tenryou Commission as part of an elite unit known only as the Anbu - short for: Ansatsu Senjutsu Tokushu Butai. As a covert operative, Kakashi deals primarily with deserters, traitors and those deemed a threat to Inazuma's survival. He caught the nickname Friend Killer after he mercilessly assassinated soldiers he had worked alongside on orders. In ways, he is the perfect shinobi, able to give up all sense of self to be a weapon of his ideals.

In terms of Kakashi's past, it will very much filter across the same. He is the sole survivor of the Hatake clan after his father ended his own life due to a failed mission. He was originally a soldier with the Tenryou Commission with a squad containing his two best friends, and ended up being the sole survivor of that group after a mission gone wrong for one and him having to kill the other for the safety of Inazuma. After that he cut himself off from everything, was recruited to The Anbu and lives in a world of isolation spare the few that try to coax some humanity back into him. He always carries a publication from Yae's publishing house on him and often visits the graves of his friends to talk about his regrets.

NOTES:

Kakashi has an electro vision and wields a catalyst that takes the form of two bells on string. He also utilises shinobi weaponry when fighting, most notably kunai knives.

There is a period of time where Kakashi willingly wields a Pyro Delusion to test their capabilities. This man does not have much regard for his life when it is put on the line against his capacity as a weapon. He did stop using when ordered to, but is still in possession of it.

Given that adding the sharingan to genshin is not something I'm keen to do without real consideration, I will say that Kakashi is simply extremely adept at mimicking moves even if he has only seen them once. Think more like an eidetic memory.

In terms, also of canon, think of G.enshin Kakashi as Kakashi if he was never made a jounin-sensei and therefore never really got out of the destructive soldier lifestyle.

While Kakashi will primarily operate in Inazuma, I absolutely think he will be sent as a covert agent abroad to get the lay of the land once Inazuma reopens. Part of a security detail for important officials sent overseas is just one option, chasing down traitors who have fled to refuge in other nations another, forced downtime another still.

He has had run ins with The Fatui and I think he's met at least two Harbingers and held his own before the fight was ended. (This is not a defeat just a held his own ground, I will not be making light of how powerful Kakashi actually is in his own canon, but also not disrupting g.enshin. The two harbingers are likely one of Dottore's segments and Tartaglia).

Kakashi was in a relationship with a local soldier turned teacher until his reputation as a Friend Killer was leaked beyond the boundaries of the Tenryou Commission and his situation worsened both in general and mentally, isolating himself from the world and considering himself more weapon than man. The break up was fraught and full of unresoved things and undisclosed things. Kakashi did spend some time submitting an application to Watatsumi Island with a stellar review about the teacher's skill due to his rebuilding his life and a kernel of care still existing. Occasionally he will check in on him but does not make his presence known. (This dynamic is plotted with min)

tba as I think of more.

AFFILIATED MUSES.

@uminosensei - Umino Iruka

@daybreakrising - Housekeeper (Thoma)

n/a ( open to discussion )