#help your fellow man when the opportunity presents itself

[nsfwitchy2]

Ngl I think if I’ve learned anything in 2024 it’s that I just like…. I don’t have it in me to deal with mean, cynical people. I don’t wanna hear about it, I don’t wanna see it, I don’t wanna deal with it.

And I say this as like, a generally angry person. Like I have anger issues like nobodies business - violent, volatile anger issues. And I will admit that I too have fallen prey to meanness and cynicism in the past, it’s a very easy trap to fall into.

But like. I just don’t have it in me anymore, man. The world is already so mean and cynical on its own - it doesn’t need my help with that. Or yours, for that matter.

It does need a hell of a lot more kindness and empathy though

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Part 2 to Desperate Times Call for Filthy Fantasies

Daddy Dom!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Brat!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader

Summary: After a certain Lieutenant allowed his fantasies to run wild, there was only one thing left to do: make them a reality. Opportunity presents itself one day as your brattiness has reached new highs and he follows you into the communal bathroom and locks the door behind you both. You're all alone and now what? Seems you've bitten off more than you can chew, but you both know now that was your plan all along.

Word Count: 5.2 k

Warnings:

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ghost demanded as he stepped up to confront you, his voice sharp and harsh. You were in quite the mood today, deciding the night before that instead of pulling your usual bullshit you would be employing a new tactic to piss of your Lieutenant.

There was no way for you to have known how your superior had allowed his fantasies to run rampant through his mind, how he had been in a constant state of being turned on whenever he had to be near you now, how his cock was nearly raw from how many times he’d had to jerk it lately. No, you didn’t know any of that, but it definitely helped your newest little scheme.

“I’m not doing anything,” you said, not even bothering to look into the face of the man trying to reprimand you as you again moved away back to what you were doing.

You should have just been running drills before rifle practice, but instead of simply getting to it and doing it in silence, every time Ghost passed near you a suggestive noise slipped out of your mouth. Moaning, panting, humming; all those beautiful noises of what you would sound like as you climaxed just loud enough that he alone could hear.

It took every ounce of his strength to subdue the aching bulge consistently being made to grow in his pants, threatening to tent the fabric out and display his true feelings about the entire situation and every minute that passed it became almost impossible to quell. Goddamn him for indulging his imagination because now he had to deal with this shit and it made him furious that there was nothing he could do to fix it. Well, not yet.

Making another round to supervise his subordinates, he again passed by you and again was met with a closed-lipped moan as he got within earshot. You looked up as you finished your bit of vocal acting and locked eyes with him in an unmistakable act of defiance which he took the bate of.

“Dammit, I said stop,” he ordered, but again you brushed him off.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s it,” he growled, “I’m not playing games anymore private. You want to get reprimanded again?”

You shrugged. “Fine. What will it be this time, sir? Five hundred push ups or shall I run until the sun sets. Just make up your mind quick so I can get this started.”

Fucking bitch, he thought. “Push ups, now. And if I see your back not straight a board you are starting over. Got it?”

“Sure,” you said as you rolled your eyes and got on your hands and knees.

Not again, he could not take another second of this. Something had to be done or he was going to explode. What was your fixation with inducing his rage? Why could you simply not leave him be?

Ghost had already thought it before, but he had to wonder even more with this new development if the reason behind your actions was to get his attention, the type of attention that wasn’t so innocent. As his hand discreetly adjusted his cock inside his pants, it already throbbing against his touch, he knew he needed to find out.

It was the middle of the day when Ghost finally caught back up with you. At the far end of the base, near the Private barracks, he saw you chatting away with some of your fellow recruits. He watched silently, trying to concoct a plan to get you alone and finally nip this shit in the bud. There were plenty of things he could do: walk up and order you to his office, walk into the barracks and order everyone else out, but as he stood there brooding with what to do, you said your goodbyes and broke off from the small group.

His eyeline followed you as you walked your unsuspecting way to the communal bathrooms alone and stepped inside. This was his chance, at least it looked that way from the outside. Before he could stop himself or think of any possible ramifications of his actions, he stormed right in after you without hesitation. The moment he was inside his gaze scanned the room quick to locate you and found you standing in front of the sinks, peering at yourself in the mirror as you checked your face and hair, then moving on to readjust your breasts to sit up higher in your bra.

Your gaze shifted from the mirror once you felt that familiar pair of eyes on you and as you turned you saw the broad form of your superior officer blocking up the doorway with his impressive figure. He was silent, but then again wasn’t he always? Probably come to continue the earlier argument; good thing you were always ready to push him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you said nonchalantly with a hint of sarcasm as you finished preening without caring if he saw. “Came to powder your nose as well? Please, don’t let me stop you. I promise I won’t look if you pull off the mask.”

He was quiet, too quiet, as those brown eyes again looked thoroughly through the room. What the hell was he searching for you wondered. It took him less than a minute to finally turn his attention back to you and as he secured that intimidating gaze directly into your eyes, his hand slipped behind his back and you heard a click as the lock on the bathroom door was engaged.

Slowly you turned away from the sink, facing him as you crossed your arms just under your chest. “Care to tell me what this is about, sir?” you asked, not the least bit afraid. “Kind of suspicious the way you just locked us in here like that.”

“Don’t you fucking dare play coy with me, princess,” he growled, his voice deep and menacing as his glare drilled daggers into you through the eye holes of his mask. “We both know exactly what the fuck it is you are doing and if you think you’ll just get away with it anymore, you’re fucking wrong luv.”

The corner of your lip upturned into a smirk. “Care to actually explain what it is I am being accused of? Or would you rather I start making a scene so you get caught doing … whatever this is by keeping me trapped in here? Your choice Lieutenant.”

Christ, the way you made his body burn with an uncontrollable need to put you in your fucking place, to have you bending over backward to his whims, was both infuriating and intoxicating all at once until he did not know up from down. You were fiery and that’s exactly how liked them; the challenge of making the spicy ones come to heel was half the fun for him. And it had been quite a while since he had been able to put his skill to the test.

“Your lack of respect and piss poor attitude are getting fucking old, little girl,” he hissed, his lips curling into a snarl under the fabric of his mask. “And now you want to pull this, hmm? Can’t bitch your way out of it so you decide to make yourself look like a slag to, what? Distract me?”

“Is that what this is about?” you questioned, followed by a malicious chuckle, shaking your head; he didn’t know what he was getting himself into. “And so what if I am?”

“Excuse me?” he interjected.

“You heard me,” you stood firm. “You see, I checked and double checked, I’m still within dress code so I don’t see your fucking problem. Besides, maybe I like making you stare whenever I am around; that’s not a crime and, let’s be honest, there is nothing you can do about it.”

Was that more provocation? Because now that he had the upper hand, it would definitely come with a price. The more defiant you got the harder he became. “Oh,” he said as he took a few steps closer, his boots crunching as they crushed the debris stuck in the grooves along the bottom. “Is that so?”

You weren’t going to back down, not when you were ready to see what he was going to do about it. “If you have a personal problem with me distracting you, maybe you should look into stroking it more often instead of acting like it’s my fault.”

“That’s because it is, sweetheart, and I’m fucking sick of it.”

Large, heavy sounding steps that seemed magnified by the otherwise quiet room kept the beat as he stalked towards the object of his ire and his desire. You matched his pace only moving backwards until your shoulder blades hit the wall; there was nowhere else for you to go now.

This wasn’t like those times during trainging when others had been around to boost your confidence in your back talk, this was a new side to him that you had yet to see. No shouting, no barking orders, nothing but silent intimidation by his impressive physical form. He towered over you in an imposing fashion and shut you up real fucking quick. Looking up into his face, you noticed the look he now gave you had gone dark as the closeness had cast shadows over his eyes behind the mask, giving him a feral look that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Where’s that attitude of yours now, hmm?” Ghost questioned. “That’s what I thought. You see, I realized that I’ve been going about this all wrong, luv.”

Reaching out his arm, his hand found its target and with powerful fingers he wrapped them around your slender neck. He didn’t touch you with hesitation as if he was unsure about what his intentions were, he touched you like he fucking owned you and you could feel the heat rise in your cheeks and a throbbing between your thighs at that certainty. His grip was firm, but not painful; he wanted you to know that the control was no longer yours.

“Daddy never disciplined you when you got out of line, did he, princess? I bet he spoiled you fucking rotten and now you think you can just do whatever you want and there won’t be any fucking consequences, is that it?” He shook his head with a click of his tongue.

Through his palm, you could feel his heatbeat pounding furiously. This was the first time he had really touched you and there was a certain jolt there as his skin connected with yours. Those copper eyes sparked to life like a fire had been kindled inside him as he glared down at you.

“Too bad I am not one to let you get away with it anymore,” he stated, “no, you are about to be made to follow directions. I’ve tried and fucking tried to get through to you, but I was going about it all wrong, wasn’t I? You are challenging me because you secretly want me to put you in your fucking place, isn’t that right?”

Looking up at him through heavy lids and thick eyelashes, you didn’t need to say a word; your silence said volumes. “You want my attention,” he said, “and fuck, you are going to have it.”

On of his wide knees found your thighs and with a good bit of pressure applied he split them apart. His own thigh pushed against your sex and he found that it was warm against his leg. As he pushed in farther, his eyes caught you struggling not to let him notice the way you took your bottom lip into your mouth and bit down, clearly from something being stimulated.

“Poor little girl,” he degraded cockily in that deep, gruff voice of his, “now that I’m this close I can see how goddamn pathetic you’ve been this whole time. Pushing me to my limit just to see what I would do. What is it you need? Want a big, strong man with more experience to make you their bitch?”

Those big doe-eyes stared right back at him. “Yes,” you confirmed quietly.

Ghost nodded his head. “Fine, I’ll bite, but we do this my way. Go on then, get on your knees.”

Your eyebrows raised with the tilt of your head. “And what if I don’t?”

Something in the air changed in that moment; the tension became so thick between you both you couldn’t breathe without it filling your body to the brim as he grabbed the back collar of his shirt with both hands and slowly slipped it off his torso. That bare chest covered in a thin layer of light brown hair immediately drew your attention from his face.

You knew the man was thick, it was clear from the way his uniform hugged his curves, but you were not prepared for just how toned he was. His line of work obviously kept him supreme shape, each muscle scuplted as if he were carved from marble all the way down his torso in firm and tight ripples of skin until it reached that ‘V’ that led like an arrow down into his pants. God, you needed to know how big the appendage it was pointing to was.

Leaning his cloth-covered face in closer as if he were about to connect your mouths through the fabric, he stopped just shy of your lips, making your body squirm as the proximity of his own just out of reach felt was like a new form of torture. You may have gotten the jump-start on him long before now, made his body burn with your teasing, but he could tease even better when it came down to it. He’d have you bending over backwards to do as he said in no time.

Ghost exhaled quick and sharp through his nose, “When the fuck did I ask? I said on your knees, now.”

Taking a step back, you were given just enough space to move. He was impassible, like a wall made of stone, and there was nothing else for you to do other than lower yourself to the ground before his form. It was like standing at the base of a sycamore tree, gazing up the long thick trunk that seemed to go on forever.

Pointing a finger to the buckle on his belt, he growled. “Undo it.”

Fumbling a bit as you tripped over your unsteady fingers, you did as he said and with a tinkling of metal hitting metal it swung open to hang loosely from the belt loops.

His slacks hung about his waist and he grabbed your hand to shove it inside the confines of his pants, going until he placed it on cock pulsing inside his underwear. “Take it out.”

Good God, what your hand wrapped around made your eyes widen and as you moved his boxer briefs down and out of your way, you could see why. Now that it was free, his thick cock stood at full attention: the tip swollen and already beaded with precum, the veins running the length of it pulsing with his rapid heartbeat making it twitch towards you. It was huge, matching the bulk of the man before you.

Ghost pushed you back so that you were sitting on your heels as he stroked his hand along the shaft a few times just so the shock of it being touched wouldn’t send him over the edge too quickly as he put you to work. “Open your mouth, princess. Let’s give those lips something to do other than bitch.”

His free hand found the back of your head as you sat up on your knees with your mouth agape and he laced his stocky digits through your hair. With a solid push on your skull your head moved forward into him until you had no choice but to take the tip of his cock inside your lips. That beast of a man was easing you into what was to come and you knew it; no man as experienced as him was going to go easy on you for long. The moment you made contact with his cock’s head he grunted and you could feel his it throb into the roof of your mouth.

“Goddammit, babygirl,” he groaned, his grip on your hair getting stronger as he pushed you down further onto his shaft.

Fuck, that impressive girth was almost too much for your tiny orifice to take in all at once and you had to use your hand for compensation at the base or risk choking, but that did not stop you from doing your best to give him exactly what he wanted; you were consumed with the feeling as you were sure if you did a good enough job he would take care of you.

The saltiness of his precum filled the walls of your mouth as with each flick of your tongue around the head of his cock added more moisture to the inside of your lips. Tears stung your eyes as you breathed through your nose, trying your best not to gag from the sheer volume of cock being shoved into your mouth and down your throat, but you couldn’t stop.

“Look up at me,” he commanded as he caught sight of the beads of liquid slipping down the sides of your cheeks; he needed an unhindered view. “That’s it. I want those eyes on mine while I fuck that pretty mouth.”

The more you sucked, the more his hips began thrusting smoothly against your lips until he was fucking your mouth with his hand still on the back of your head to keep you from pulling away. “Ah my little whore, mouth taking cock like it’s your job. That’s all you’re good for isn’t it? Isn’t it?”

You moaned, the vibration from your vocal chords reaching his tip. He grunted as his hips bucked harder against your face, smashing his abdominals into your nose. “Such a dirt bitch, trying to talk with your mouth full.”

His thrusts into your throat became more desperate the more you sucked as that familiar warmth gathered itself in his belly, threatening to tear through him soon. You never let your gaze falter, no matter how hard he hit your gag reflex, even that teary look in your eye as you struggled to take him; all together it was not helping. He would need to cool down if he wanted to play with you more; no sense in coming yet when you had more holes for him to explore.

Putting his hands on your shoulders, he pushed you off him and pulled out of your mouth. A bit of spit and precum dribble out and down from the corner of your lips and you wiped it away with the back of your hand as he pulled you to your feet.

No one made looking a face-fucked wreck more beautiful.

Rough hands found your belt buckle and hooked it so that he could jerk you forward into him as his surprisingly nimble fingertips unclasped it and let it hand. The bottom hem of your t-shirt was still tucked neatly inside your pants and Ghost’s huge, veined hands yanked it out before he plunged up and under all the way, through the bottom of your bra as well, until he got to your breasts. That supple and warm flesh in his grasp made his whole body seize with pleasure.

Shit, you were so fucking warm and soft and pliable under his hard grip.

Ghost’s mitts cupped the bulk of your tits as his thumbs pinched the skin of your nipples against the side of his pointer fingers so that he could massage them. Your lips parted, steadily quickening breaths filled up the space between the both of you at the stimulation from his calloused palms mixed with the intensity of his gaze and it left you spiraling.

All at once your shirt was being ripped off over the top of your head before your back was slammed into the wall by the force of Ghost shoving himself into you. Even your form-fitting shirt did not prepare the Lieutenant for the glory of what was hidden underneath and with hungry eyes he flipped the bottom of his skull mask up to his nose to release his mouth quickly. Wet, feverish lips lock onto one of your breast as he leaned his head against your chest, while the other he toyed with still in his hand.

Goddammit it was even better than he imagined, the feeling of those perky tits between his lips. He was in heaven as he sucked and sucked, securing your nipple between the pad of his tongue and the roof of his mouth to get the best seal. Your hand cradled the sides of his head as he went to work, sucking and pulling as you writhed with your pussy against his thigh.

Once satisfied with his work on the first, he switched to the other; can’t leave that one out. The same amount of attention was given to that one as well, which only made your want to grind against him more overwhelming as the wetness between your legs soaked through your panties. He groaned into your chest at how much he enjoyed being smothered against those endowed assets and you nearly came from the beautiful sound alone.

Pleased with his handiwork, he released you only to move on to your neck. The way he bit and sucked, you knew he wanted to mark you and even though you’d have a fucking hell of a time hiding the hickies tomorrow, you didn’t care. Everywhere he went he sent electric shocks across your body and it was more than worth whatever trouble it would cause later.

“Take of your pants, now,” he ordered with a firm growl into the nape of your neck.

The authority in his thickly accented voice hit just right and as he backed off so you could move, you slipped your fingers into the waistband and pulled both your panties and those camo bottoms off your lower half. You were almost positive you heard your superior whimper as he caught sight of your pretty little cunt with its trimmed bit of hair just on top.

Waiting was not an option; he needed to be inside of you now. Where would he take you against? There were a few options, but as he quickly scanned the room a devilish idea struck him as perfect. With a tight grip on your arm he pulled you the few feet back over to the sinks, the large mirror perched just behind it. “Bend over right here, on your stomach,” he barked.

He didn’t wait for you to comply and pushed your upper body over so that your torso was pressed up against the cold countertop. Shoving his boot between your feet, he moved your legs apart, widening your hips and making you back arch so that he would be able to reach your entrance. The curve of your ass was accentuated by the position and he ran a heavy hand across the length of it before giving it a swift smack.

“Mmmm,” he hummed as it jiggled with the reverb from his hand.

That monstrous cock was throbbing against your backside as Ghost inclined over you back to clasp your jaw in his hand, pulling your head into place to face the mirror. “Here’s the deal, sweetheart. If you want me to let you come, then you are gonna fucking watch me fuck you silly. Your eyes move away from that mirror and I stop. You don’t want me to stop. Understand?”

“Yes,” you nodded into his palm.

His grip tightened. “Yes, what?”

You placed your gaze straight ahead. Just as much as he needed to shove all of his aching cock into you, you needed it just as bad. You had waited long enough for this: weeks and weeks of pushing him to his limit in an attempt to have him take you rough and without apology and now you were right at the brink; nothing was going to stop you now.

“Yes, sir.”

That was it, without another sound he stood back up and clenched his abdominal muscles while his strong fingers dug into the meat of your hips as he made sure he was aligned with your entrance. One strong thrust and his phallus ripped into you deep until he reached the base, bottoming out as you cried out.

Your fingertips dug into the hard surface of the countertop as you were filled out to the brim, your walls struggling to accommodate such an impressive object. Shit, you had never been this full before and it took you a minute to adjust.

“N-nh… ah…” Ghost groaned from behind and you watched him in the mirror as he staggered where he stood. “Fucking hell princess, your so tight…oh, f-fuck.”

A roll of your hips into him send shock waves of ecstasy through his pelvis and his head fell forward as he tried to calm himself enough that he didn’t blow his load right then and there just from that initial contact. All the fantasizing he did that night in the shower had nothing on this and he cursed himself for not trying to get in your pants sooner.

Getting himself under control, he began to thrust recklessly in and out of you with a force that shook made your breast sway. His fingers clawed into your flesh, leaving angry, red marks of where he had been that could would still be felt tomorrow. Those full lips twisted into a smirk as he bucked up against your hips, his testicles hitting your pulsing clit to make you twitch and your and your head fall forward.

“What the fuck did I say?” he grumbled as he removed his hand from your hip to grab a fistful of hair and wrench your head back up as he kept pace. “Eyes up.”

Your reflection stared back at the both of you, Ghost’s imposing figure with his chiseled abdominal muscles contracting and releasing with each thrust as his hips plowed you from behind. Ghost noticed how beautifully your cheeks flushed bright red as he continued to fill you up completely, each of his thrusts going completely in you down to the very base,. With the pressure of your orgasm building steadily your eyes took on a dreamy, dazed look as he hit that sensitive bundle of nerves within you time and again with a steady stream of moans that filled the air.

There was something so primal about watching himself fuck you into oblivion.

His amber eyes caught yours in the mirror and he smirked. “Fucking hell baby, you are a picture wrapped around my cock like this,” he groaned, his strokes becoming more sloppy, the slapping sounds of your overly wet cunt getting louder and louder.

The longer he went the more his sanity waned until there was not a single thought left except for the animalistic need to rut into you until he came. You could see the change wash over his face and through his eyes and it only thrilled you more as he became like a predator ready to catch his prey.

“Close,” you found yourself mewling.

One of his bulked arms secured itself around your middle as Ghost pulled you up until your back was flush against his sturdy chest, changing the angle of his thrusts inside you. He had to hold you up by your waist as you stood on the balls of your feet, but it was worth it as this new angle allowed him to reach a free hand down your abdomen to your clit where he could rub circles around that sensitive bundle.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he teased, desperately clinging to you as he too was about to spill and wanting you to go with him, “ do it then. Come for me little girl, I want you to coat my dick with your juices. Let me feel those fucking walls flutter.”

The way this beast of a man was wrapped around you, his arms laced across your body like an organic body harness that accentuated your curves as you wore him. You were completely at his mercy, his size was just so that he could do with you as he pleased and you would have no say whatsoever. And yet here was furiously pounding into you harder and harder as his fingers stroked your clit; he was doing his upmost to get you off and to be treated so well by someone who could break you was euphoric.

Reaching behind your head, you wrapped your arms around his neck to cling to the muscles in his back as your nails dug in. “Fuck… fuck…mm…mmmh…” you stuttered as that warmth in the base of your stomach was almost at its peak.

“That’s it, come on,” he coaxed, keeping his movements steady.

He pumped with everything in him and that was it; with a shudder your rocketed through you fiery hot, making your body writhe in his grasp. God, it wouldn’t stop, second after second it just kept coming just as strong. Ghost did not let up either and soon you were crying from the over-stimulation.

A few more thrusts and he was following right behind, a roar ripping through his chest as he compressed your torso with a strength that made it hard to breathe. “Goddammit, baby,” his muscles strained as he rode out his orgasm to its end as he painted your insides milky white.

“Is this what you fucking wanted, princess?” he groaned into your ear, your body twitching together as you could barely stand up anymore.

You swallowed hard. “Yes, sir,” you said quietly.

You could see him grinning from ear to ear as you peaked back into the glass. “Good girl,” he praised.

Turning your chin with a slight touch of his fingers, he met your lips with his own. Breathlessly he captured and recaptured your lips as he stayed locked inside you. He tasted like the smoke from his cigarettes, but the way his soft, full lips felt against your own made up for it entirely.

“And you know, if you decide to be good for me from now on I will keep fucking you nice and proper just like this,” he groaned against your mouth as he finally broke the kiss.

You gave him one last quick peck on his mouth. “What if I don’t?” you questioned mischievously.

“Then I’ll be sure that your fucked so thoroughly that you won’t have the energy to pull that shit for the rest of the week,” he said firmly as he released you from his grasp.

Well, that didn’t sound like a punishment at all. Perhaps you’d have to put that to the test later. Right now you had to figure how you were going to get through the rest of the day with your sanity while coated in the scent of your Lieutenant.

Tag list: @rilamon, @karagd13-blog , @crucifiedbitch, @m-carriaga2021 , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @morbidmary , @liv4thewin , @dazaiscum

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Hi Frosty! Congratulations on your 200 followers 🥳 Very well deserved!

I didn't have anything specific in mind, so I'm going to do my request a little differently (if you're not a fan of this, feel free to ignore). I'll give you three things. You can write whatever you want, but it must contain all three!

1. Fireflies

2. Peanut butter

3. A goodnight kiss

For clones, you can choose from Fives, Wolffe, Tup, or Thorn. It could be fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, suggestive or not. It's up to you! Oh, and with a female reader, please!

I can't wait to see what you come up with 💚

Much love!

@the-bad-batch-baroness

Holidays in Hyperspace [Tup x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: Having been friends for quite some time, Tup has grown incredibly fond of you and your company, and has been wondering how to take things to the next step. A unique opportunity presents itself when the 501st helps Ahsoka put together a party to liven things up and celebrate one of the many galactic holidays while on a long journey through hyperspace; Tup chooses the night of the party to make his affections clear. Will he pull it off without his (well-meaning) brothers meddling with his plans? 2nd Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader (save for a costume). Fluff fic. Friends to lovers. Some fixing of each other's clothes costumes. Mando’a. Very minimal Star Wars and real-world swearing. Fictional and in-universe holidays. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. This fic doubles as a submission for @pinahallowsevecloneparty (permission was given by the requester); prompt sentence(s) for that event are in orange. 

Word count: 6,593

It was an early Taungsday morning, the Resolute flagship deep in the thralls of hyperspace. 

Though you should be used to it at this point in the war, you would occasionally find yourself struggling with the extended hyperspace journeys. The longer they were, these trips were capable of warping one’s internal sense of time without local day-night cycles to take one’s cues from. The unaccustomed and inexperienced had a much harder time dealing with these drawn-out travel periods, often oversleeping or undersleeping. 

Those who had grown wiser in time advised that if you were finding it difficult to sleep, it was best to find something productive to do until you were sufficiently worn out. So, around 03:30, you shuffled yourself down to one of the unofficial social centers—disused meeting or war rooms that had been converted to more inviting spaces-—and wondered who you would find. 

More often than not, you could expect to brush elbows with your fellow crew members, as well as the boys of bravest blue, troopers of the 501st Legion of the GAR.

In your time among the Resolute’s crew, you created more than a few unexpected friendships with the Clone soldiers, all of which you cherish deeply. 

Captain Rex, longtime leader of the 501st and right hand man to both General Skywalker and Commander Tano, often kept his mind sharp by devising battle strategies and studying intel on the Separatists. You’ve provided company (and caf) while he puzzles out new methods and attack algorithms with the limited downtime he has a handful of times in the past. He’s always been appreciative of how attentive you are as he painstakingly explains tricky terminology or tactics. Admirable ARCs such as Fives and Jesse enjoyed an easy conversation while working to keep their gear in perfect working order. They liked having someone to trade little jokes, someone to playfully pester with all the questions they had on galactic pop culture. 

And once you had the approval of the legion’s oldest soldiers, the affections of Torrent Company’s youngest weren’t far behind. They made regular efforts to invite you to join them at the long tables within the commissary time and time again. Generously shared their space with you because they knew you were kind and nothing but respectful, and that you could tolerate most of their boredom-borne antics. (As well as counting on you to talk them out of the riskier ones.)

You haven’t had the chance to confirm it with anyone, but you’re beginning to suspect you're one of their favorite crew members, too. 

As you step into one of these converted social centers, you find General Skywalker’s padawan and most of Torrent Company inside, the room in total disarray. Alerted by the door’s hydraulics hissing open, several turn to see who it is and greet you in excitement. Crates full of colorful bits and bobs are piled in the middle of the room, and the tables have been pushed against the interior walls to give everyone space to work. 

“Hey, come join us!” someone calls in a lively voice from the back of the group. “We were just helping Commander Tano choose some decorations!”

Interest piqued, you join the cluster in the center of the room to see what all the fuss is about. Clutching a datapad, the young Togruta is scrolling down a long file, face set in an expression of deep concentration. Loosely circled around her, the Clones waiting patiently take the opportunity to trade a few more greetings with you once you’ve drawn closer, choosing to stand beside a trooper with his hair styled in a topknot. 

“Hey there, Tup.”

Tup’s word of welcome is slightly teasing, but all in good humor. 

“Well good morning. Couldn’t sleep, burc’ya?”

Friend. 

You’ve picked up enough Mando’a in your time to recognize the word, sleepless as you are. Out of Torrent’s youngest soldiers, you and Tup are probably the best acquainted. It’s probably been a good few months since you’ve gotten to know one another properly after a few unfortunate trips to the medbay around the same time. 

He had sprained his ankle during a field exercise on the planet the Resolute had been stationed over at the time, and needed to pay the health center a visit. Just to make sure the injury wasn’t something more serious than what a bit of bacta and rest could take care of. You, on the other hand, found yourself catching your cabin-mate’s stubborn fever, so you went to see if there was something you could get to lessen the amount of time you would find yourself out of commission. No such luck. 

His kind demeanor and even kinder smile made your ailment more bearable when it became more severe, for a time. Tup was sure to visit you every day until you made a full recovery. You’ve been close ever since. 

“Something like that…” you reply with a mild chuckle. “What are we choosing decorations for, exactly?”

“Commander Tano was telling us about different, minor galactic holidays just a moment ago.” 

Your interest piques again. You knew of big ones, like Boonta Eve, named such in the honor of Boonta Hestilic Shad’ruu, a Hutt who ascended to godhood in Hutt lore. And the Wookie holiday, Life Day, that’s spread in popularity in recent years. But much like sleep, the knowledge of any minor holidays eluded you. 

“Oh? Anything interesting?”

Dogma, listening nearby, offers an example. “There’s the Weequay holy season called the Month of Plenty. Honors a lunar god.” It apparently involves open skylights in temples dedicated to the deity Quay on Sriluur to aid with tracking the moon’s position.

Ahsoka, continuing to comb through the file, explains why she’s trying to plan for a small party when you ask what brought this up. “Around this time of year, when I was a youngling, Masters at the Jedi Temple would teach us about the different cultural holidays around the galaxy. To help us expand our minds and form compassion for other lifeforms. I… started feeling a little homesick for the Temple once I remembered.” There’s a few that have looked promising so far, but there’s simply not enough time to prepare for some of them. 

Jesse, playfully elbowing Fives next to him, pipes up next. “That’s when we suggested we could find a holiday to celebrate before our next mission! It could be fun for everyone.” There had to be something that didn’t take a lot of planning or effort. Glancing at the datapad, he suggests one he sees at random. “Like… What about the Day of Breath, Commander?”

Ahsoka studies the information on the holiday for a moment, then shrugs. “Day of Breath is for celebrating the day someone was born. I can’t think of anyone who we could celebrate in the next two days before we’re out of hyperspace…” 

Fives strokes his goatee in thought before nodding in your direction. “The day she was born wasn’t that long ago. Maybe we could do a belated celebration of her’s?” There’s a murmur of agreement around you, as well as apologies from those who hadn’t realized or forgotten. 

“Wait,” Hardcase calls over his brothers’ voices, “what about this one?” He singles out a holiday listed in the middle of the screen just before Ahsoka scrolled on, one that’s celebrated around this time of the standard year.

The Night of Guises and Gourds. 

“That’s an odd name.” Ahsoka remarks. Regardless of the strange name, she thinks the holiday holds promise.

It entailed colorful decorations, the creation and gifting of simple, sugary snacks, and costumes. There weren’t many strict or rigid traditions for celebrants to observe, either. Following the end of many galactic harvest seasons, this marked a time to honor the departed, and revere the creatures and concepts of lesser—and sometimes frightening—understandings. (The padawan laughed seeing the Force listed as one of the examples of poorly understood subjects by the document.) Reading deeper into what caught Hardcase’s eye about the costumes explained that these clever guises had drawn inspiration from galactic folklore and mythos long ago, and expanded to iconic figures from pop culture in more recent years. 

And, they could be homemade. 

“What do you think, Commander? Could probably find things laying around the ship, same as the decorations.”

Ahsoka nods in agreement with Hardcase, grinning. 

“I think I already know where to look.” 

“We can get a start on the decorations while you’re gone,” you offer, knowing it would take time to rifle through everything collected. It would be doing Ahsoka a huge favor as well. 

“You wouldn’t mind supervising?” Ahsoka double-checks, handing over the datapad. You’d need it to best judge what decor crammed in the boxes in the middle of the room will fit the theme of the party while Fives and Jesse volunteer to go search with her. 

You smile, certain. “No, not at all! There’s enough of us here to get a good start.” Like the majority of the GAR, Torrent Company was full of hard-working men who had a talent for making the most monotonous of tasks an enjoyable experience. 

The padawan nods appreciatively. “Thanks. Dogma, would you mind helping her?”

Dogma meets Tup’s eye, and a strange expression crosses his face. He was never known to question or turn down orders, so to the surprise of both you and Ahsoka, Dogma attempts to shift responsibility. “I’m afraid I… h-have a headache. I should go see Kix for it, Commander. Perhaps Tup can help her in my stead?” Feigning an ache in his right temple, Dogma momentarily cradles the side of his head in hopes of better selling the lie. 

Concerned, Ahsoka apologizes for not noticing earlier. “I’m sorry, I had no idea. Go get taken care of. Have Kix let me know if it gets any worse.” She waits once Dogma has quietly excused himself from the room, oblivious to the subtle glances the troopers cast in one another’s direction before turning her attention to your friend standing beside you. 

There’s something slightly odd about those smiles coming from them when Tup says he’d be happy to help however you need while you set up for the party, but you try to pay it little mind. Maybe it’s just some form of Clone humor. You’ve seen plenty of it since joining the crew, and you’re sure to see more while you spend the next few days preparing for the Guises and Gourds party. 

Word of the party spreads quicker than anticipated. 

Plans to decorate one social center turned into multiple, before quickly changing to taking over the main cafeteria after late-meal in order to accommodate everyone interested in attending. As the volunteer team grows, problems disappear almost as quickly as they show up. 

An hour ago there wasn’t enough bunting to decorate the main snack and drink tables. Now there’s enough to line the walls of the commissary in an unbroken loop. A majority of the decorating will have to take place the day of the party, leaving plenty of time that can be devoted to figuring out the fun foodstuffs and costumes. 

Torrent Company continues to do most of the legwork, the troopers trading their armor for aprons as they work to make enough sugar cookies to feed an army, and then some. They’ve gotten a good head start while you have been busy with your respective tasks around the flagship. By your estimation, they must’ve made fifty trays or more so far, leaving some plain while others were decorated with icing and sprinkles.

You plan to join them once you’ve spent a little time off your feet. So snacking on a sample cookie given to you by Hardcase, you’ve taken to thumbing through a list of last-minute costume ideas on your datapad, looking for inspiration for the few who haven’t found something to wear. 

“Mm. That’s a really good cookie.”

Someone from the back of the kitchen tells Hardcase that it’s probably Tup who deserves the credit for the batch of cookies he gave you a sample of. “He figured out how to make ‘em really soft before he and Fives started experimenting on another recipe together.” Hardcase then laughs, adding, “Neither of them will tell us what it is, or accept any offers to help.”

That doesn’t come as much of a surprise to you. Since Tup joined the ranks of the 501st, he’s adopted a few mannerisms and formed close friendships with many of his brothers, namely Dogma, Hardcase, Jesse, Fives and the captain. Out of all of them, and apart from you, Tup’s perhaps closest with Fives. 

“Ooh, I bet Jesse hates that.” you reply with a mirthful grin.

Jesse, among the oldest of the company, had a sense of humor that often meshed well with that of his younger brothers’, leading him to keep a closer eye on them in an inadvertent manner. 

Sure enough, as he slides another tray laden with cookies out of the industrial ovens before setting them aside to cool, Jesse calls to Fives and Tup as they continue to work with their backs to the rest of the kitchen. Whatever it is they’re working on, they’re doing a splendid job of keeping it secret. 

“Are you sure you don’t want more help, Tup?”

“No, no, we got it.” Tup insists, likely not for the first time. “Don’t you still need to find a costume?”

Jesse laughs sheepishly, grateful for the reminder. “Oh damn, nearly forgot.” He’d been busy helping Captain Rex with official matters while most of Torrent had the opportunity to pick out their costumes.

Feeling bad he had missed out on that fun, you came prepared and put together a list of potential costume suggestions you thought he might like with the help of his brothers. “I gotcha covered, Jesse.” You invite him to grab something to sit on and pull up a spot beside you, pulling up those notes from the planning session. 

“Got some ideas for me, mesh’la?” He takes the ideas everyone had brainstormed, grinning like a nexu. 

You warn him with a playful roll of your eyes. “I had a little help from your brothers. So if you don’t like any of them, don’t be hasty to blame me.” 

“What’re you dressing up as?”

Consulting the short list, there was a ‘headless horseman’ suggestion that had been wisely scribbled out; that sounded like he was just begging to be haunted by Jango’s pissed-off spirit. Better safe than sorry. 

“A siren. It took a tiny bit of convincing from Tup.” you say. 

It had been the strangest thing. You had only mentioned it off-handedly, just a passing sort of comment while looking through the costume material Ahsoka had gathered up, finding a large bolt of shimmery sequin fabric in your favorite color. Like, a really large bolt; enough to make an elaborate (but probably very itchy) dress or two. It helped that it had a vaguely scale-like look to it as you showed the others. 

“Heh. Someone could make a really handsome merman using some of this. Whaddya think, boys?”

Tup hadn’t found a costume yet and was seemingly eager to get the process over with, so he jumped on your suggestion. While doing so, he dug out a bolt in a complimentary color to the sequins and offered it out to you. 

“Sounds good to me. Oh look! Maybe you could take some of this silk and use it with the sequins to make yourself a siren, burc’ya! You’d look really great.”

You agreed after a short moment of thought, hearing how sincerely he meant it. Tup would never purposely steer you wrong. Now the two of you would have a similar costume theme for the Guises and Gourds party.

It was hard for Jesse to contain his smile next to you. “Tup as a merman. And you’re matching with him? Sounds like you’ll be having a lot of fun.” Turning back to the list, he looked over everyone one last time before making a selection. 

“If no one’s taken the king’s costume, I’ll use it.”

“Sounds good then; I’ll ask Ahsoka since she’s keeping track of everything.” Taking back the datapad, you send a short message to Ahsoka, who confirms the costume is still up for grabs just a few minutes later. “Say, any idea if the captain’s able to make it to the party, or does he still think he’s gonna be busy?”

“No idea,” Jesse replies glumly. “Didn’t have a chance to ask.”

“That’s okay.” you say, trying to remain optimistic. 

There’s still time to find out, and no shortage of tasks to do before the night of the party.

The day of the party, not long before late-meal, you and Tup agree to meet up to take care of any alterations needed before getting ready for the Night of Guises and Gourds. 

It’s not going as smoothly as you hoped. For whatever reason, Tup’s hands are shaking like an under-caffeinated Corrie while he helps you strengthen the stitching holding the slippery folds of silk together. More than once, while wearing the skirt fashioned in place of an awkward and constricting mono-fin, the needle he’s holding has grazed you while piercing through the elastic waistband. 

“Ow.”

“S-sorry,” Tup apologizes with a stammer, checking for blood where he poked you.  

By the mercy of the Force, he finds none. 

“Just a couple more stitches. Unless, you’d rather not risk my help?”

With an assuring nod, you tell him to go ahead and finish. “It’s okay Tup. Just feeling nervous about the party?”

“Maybe a little,” he confesses, concentrating harder on making these last stitches as painless as possible. 

Tup’s grateful you’re not Force-sensitive like Commander Tano or General Skywalker right about now. Otherwise you might be able to sense, even hear, how fast his pulse pounds in the shell of his ear. How his heart races, skipping a beat when you say his name. The flush of fire that builds in his face when he thinks of you in fondness and in friendship; it burns hotter day by day. How could he be so lucky to have you for a friend? What cosmic force did he have to thank for putting someone so wholly kind and sweet in his life? 

And was he going to be able to pull this off tonight? 

If he didn’t… When would he get another chance? Before he plucked up the nerve again, someone else could come along. Maybe another, less cautious brother. Or rather than risking romantisms with someone only born and bred to die, you’d play it safe and date a fellow crewmate. Maybe… maybe he had you all wrong and you weren’t the sort interested in dating. 

Other than honest, loyal companionship, what could he even bring to a relationship? 

Tup honestly wasn’t sure. But blast it, he wanted to try. 

Stitching finished without further incident, Tup puts the sewing supplies aside. “That should do it. Give ‘er a spin, let’s see how I did.” 

Humoring him, you start slowly, performing little half-spins. You want to make sure the thread survives a warm-up, first. The fabric sways like grass reeds in the wind, silk swinging against sequin. Building up to higher speeds, bigger movements, the layered skirt now ripples and snaps like wind-battered masts on seafaring ships of old. Slowing again, the movement becomes hypnotic, almost mesmerizing. 

As you are now, you look fit for the sea with the long, layered skirt and borrowed bodysuit to give your upper body a slightly more ‘streamlined’ feeling. Your hair has been styled, careful hair gel application giving you a slightly damp, tidal-swept appearance. With more of Tup’s help, you would complete the look and truly fit the part of a siren for your guise. A bit of makeup here and there and a few faux pearls should be enough. 

He’s grateful this part doesn’t require a steady hand worthy of a surgeon; daubing brushfuls of shimmering eyeshadows into the scale stencil you’ve made comes a lot easier than grasping a thin needle. Creating patches of these false scales around your eyes, your neck, and the back of your hands takes no time at all. Everything gets sealed with a setting spray and given time to dry. 

You’ll leave adding any pearls for last. Now helping Tup, you take the same portion of fishnet stocking you sacrificed for a stencil and start at the collarbone and shoulders. Knowing it’s going to tickle, Tup asks you to save applying makeup on his face for last. 

Working quickly, you move the brush and stencil down a portion of his arms, and he begins to regret the amount of glitter building on his skin. 

“There’s so much glitter,” Tup remarks with a soft grimace. “We’re gonna be finding this stuff for years after tonight.” 

You chuckle sympathetically and try to keep the lilt in your voice playful. “You decided to be a shirtless merman, remember? I can add less scales than we initially planned, but you should make your peace with it now, Tup.” He only shrugs, fiddling with an errant strand of thread from his sequin pants while you brush in the scales. With the completion of his upper arms, all that’s left to work on is his face. 

The brush, combined with a feather-light touch proves rather ticklish for your friend. 

“Hold still, silly,” you chide him after his head ducks to the side once more. “Hard to do this when you’re squirmy.” You’re prepared to cup his face if necessary, just to make sure the facial pattern doesn’t become misaligned or smudged. He'll need a do-over otherwise. Taking him gingerly by the jaw for the moment, you guide Tup’s head where you need him and try to pick up where you left off. 

“Please look at me…”

Tup complies with your request, eager to follow instruction. The pair of you so close together like this, his soulful eyes are practically amber in the ambient light, wholly focused on you. Each time you need to lean in a little closer, carefully brushing in scale after scale, Tup’s smile seems to brighten. 

Look at you? Be this close to you? He’d be all too happy to do so. 

Once you’re finished, taking extra care to protect the scales with the setting spray, you surprise him with one final addition for his costume. Knowing you’ll have extra, you string together a row of the pearl beads meant to be finishing touches to your own costume with some of the thread from earlier and carefully wrap it around the base of his topknot. This way, it looks like his dark, curly hair has been secured by a string of pearls. 

You take a second to find a pocket mirror so he can see the final product before the two of you set off to join his brothers for a hurried late-meal. He admires your work for a moment before telling you he loves it in a soft, awed voice and helps you gather your things. 

“Mirdala, - ! I never would have thought of that.” 

The two of you walk down to the commissary together and find they’re serving stew tonight—something that provokes an excited “Hell yeah, soup!” from the back of the hall—before you have a chance to discreetly confer with your datapad under the table and find the meaning of the words. 

You find one means 'clever', but unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to properly make out the second word at the time. 

But that wouldn’t matter soon enough.

In all your time aboard the Jedi cruiser as a longtime member of the crew, you can’t remember a time you’ve seen the main mess hall this lively. Tech-savvy Clones compiled a setlist and mood lighting for tonight to really complete the atmosphere, giving the space a playful vibe. 

You’ve had a chance to sample some of the snacks, along with probably one of the best glasses of punch you’ve enjoyed in a long time. 

And the costumes! You’re relieved there’s no costume contest put in place for this Guises and Gourds party because it really takes the pressure off of those who feel their entry is in some way conditional. Attendees can come just as they are, if that’s what they desire, or, if plans change. 

Letting down her lekku for the night, Ahsoka traded her typical attire for a comfortable poncho set, only keeping the headdress and beaded markings of a padawan learner. You, Tup and the rest of Torrent Company couldn’t remember a time you’d seen her so relaxed, other than when she was meditating. Well, maybe relaxed isn’t the word for it. Happy is probably more appropriate. Carefree. 

Ahsoka gets to put her responsibilities behind her and act more like others her age, just for tonight. She’s been bouncing between groups of soldiers since the start of the party, complimenting everyone on their costumes, enjoying the food and the music. 

Around the same time she’s made it over to you and “your” little portion of Torrent friends, the 501st’s medic cuts his way through the crowd, surprising everyone. 

“Kix! You made it!” 

He had been expected to oversee the medbay tonight, but more than likely he cashed in a few favors in order to make an appearance. “Thought I’d see what all the fuss was about. Sorry I missed…” Kix trailed off, gesturing to the decorations and a few of his brother’s costumes. “All this. But you guys look great! What’s everyone supposed to be?” Going around in a circle, everyone explains their costume, or lack thereof. 

Dogma decided on a vampire costume because of its simplicity, settling for a red cape to accent his Republic blacks, though he wasn’t a fan of the false fangs. He wore them only for pictures, since they made it hard to talk. Fives had tried to pull off a lycanthrope look, but the adhesive was dodgy and he ended up looking like a Wookie with a very unfortunate case of mange. He had to settle for borrowing a non-Clone’s medical coat to dress up as a “Sexy Doctor” reminiscent of those medical holodramas. A glorious-looking king for all of fifteen minutes, Jesse successfully demoted himself to a fancy prince after he convinced Captain Rex to take the crown offered to him. Hardcase had wandered off to go talk to the captain about something shortly after and hadn’t yet returned, but he opted not to go in costume due to decision fatigue. He would much rather eliminate any stressors that would take away from the fun of spending time with his brothers. 

Tup explained he was a merman when Kix questioned if he wasn’t cold being shirtless, proudly showing off the shimming patches of scales and the string of pearls nestled in his hair. He gestured to you next before his brother got the chance to ask, obviously excited.

“And she’s a siren; similar theme!” 

Kix nodded to show his approval. “Rather impressive you two. And what about you, Commander? What’s your costume?”

Ahsoka shrugged. “Oh, I don’t have a costume.” 

“Your poncho has a hood,” you point out, carefully raising the blueish white pocket of fabric over her head when she asks. “There! Now you can be a ghost.” 

She gives you a beaming smile, grateful for your help. “Thanks! And thanks so much for all the help you’ve put into the party. Means a lot.” 

Her smile is returned with one of your own. 

“Any time, Ahsoka.” 

Before setting off to mingle with the other attendees once more, she leaves you with a kind embrace and a reminder to enjoy the rest of the party. Everyone else, she playfully instructs to behave. 

Kix assures her that they will. “It’s not every day we get to celebrate a holiday in hyperspace. Right, Tup?” He gently nudges the end of his elbow into the brother beside him currently looking a little lost in thought. Surprised, Tup turns to look at the medic, unsure what was asked. 

“Hmm?”

“You okay, Tup? You seem distracted.”

Assuring his brother, Tup tries to wave Kix’s concerns away. “Yeah, yeah- I’m fine. Just remembered that I forgot something for the party in our bunkroom. Erm, more than one thing, actually…” 

Without a moment of hesitation, or even knowing what it is that he’s forgotten, you offer to go with him. Surprisingly, none of his other brothers offer to lend a helping hand. That’s not like them at all. Each one of them merely smiles and says “Alright, we’ll see you two later.” before Tup disposes of your empty punch glass and leads the two of you out of the crowded mess hall. The lengthy corridors of the venator feel so empty by comparison, quieter than you ever remember them being. 

Tup’s pace down to his bunkroom is hurried, which you chalk up to distance. While the bunkroom isn’t too far away from the party, you still have a bit of ground to cover together. You expect to return to the party before long, unless whatever it is Tup forgot ended up being something heavy, or unwieldy. 

“Are you sure we don’t need your brothers’ help?”

“I’m sure. They keep offering, but I don’t need the help of my vode for this.” Tup replies cryptically. 

You find his answer a little strange, but you’ll know what he means soon enough. 

Opening the bunkroom door, Tup seems surprised that there’s no light on inside when the hydraulics quickly whip the door back. They were on when he left to help you fix your costume, and none of his brothers told him they had turned off the light, either. Nothing too weird about that, they must’ve just forgotten to mention it, excited about the Night of Guises and Gourds party. 

He’ll just turn on the light and- nothing. Was there a problem with the panel? Depressing the usual buttons a few times has no results on the room, save for turning the dim ‘sleeping’ light overhead on and off instead of the primaries. 

Great. More problems for the maintenance crew to sort out. 

Shaking his head, Tup suggests you both just forget it for now and go figure out where the stuff ended up. What you came for had originally been left by the door, but it looked like someone forgot why it was there and put everything away. It was likely going to be by his bunk or along the back wall, both of which were further back from the door. 

Guiding you through the semi-darkness, he takes your hand to help you navigate the room. 

It’s tidier than you expected, the only ‘mess’ to be seen are a few open foot lockers stacked at the foot of each bunk. “Watch your step. Wouldn’t want you to trip over anything.” As you venture deeper, the radius of the dim sleeping light fails to adequately light the way around, meaning in no time at all you’d be stumbling blindly without your friend’s help. 

You tighten the stitching of your interlocked fingers, an anchor of safety. In return, Tup squeezes your hand reassuringly; a promise you’ll be okay while your eyes adjust to the dark.

Coming up to the back of the room, Tup tells you to wait off to the side, offering to find a decent light-source for you so you have an easier time helping him ‘find’ everything. 

But he won’t be finding anything; this is all part of his plan. Removing the mattresses from the frame of the bunk, he lays each on the floor in front of you, throwing down a couple of spare pillows for good measure. Inviting you to get comfortable, he collects the box of rations and a small holo-projector previously hidden under the lower mattress. 

Humming to life, the projector begins to play a pre-selected recording once Tup has set it on the floor. 

Slowly, tiny spots of blue light wink into existence and fill the air around you, lazily drifting on a far-away breeze. In the bottom of the projection, thin stalks of tall grass sway and ripple, wave-like. This must have been recorded in a forest clearing, or grasslands of some kind. In it is a ‘sparkle’ of fireflies, climbing and bumbling through the air in a fascinating spectacle. 

It becomes pretty apparent what he’s trying to do. In your lifetime, you’ve seen more than enough holo-dramas and read just as many romance novels to puzzle out where this is going. Tup, your very good friend, has put together a picnic in the middle of hyperspace to the best of his ability in order to ask you a very important kind of question. 

“Tup… Is this what I think it is?”

By way of answering, Tup takes the hinged lid of the ration box and swings it back to show you what’s inside. Nestled in a crumpled layer of parchment paper lay peanut butter cookies, still looking just as soft and gooey from when they were baked. It’s an offering to share, or maybe a gift to you. 

Moving closer, he puts the box between you, waiting with bated breath and a nervous smile after you take the first cookie and break off a mouthful to sample. “Oh, Maker,” you moan near-sinfully after the first bite. “These are even better than the other cookies.” It’s decadent; rich and buttery smooth all at once. A lot of care must have been put into getting the recipe down for you. These had to be what he and Fives were working on in the kitchen the other day. 

“You made these for me?”

Tup nods, finding his voice. “I did. I wanted to make tonight special. Well, m-more special than it already was.”  Throat bobbing, he swallows down his nervousness with a bite of his own hard work, chewing slowly to think of something more to say. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now… But I couldn’t find the right time to say it. Or the right thing to do.”

Half-eaten cookie in hand, he gestures to the holographic fireflies. “I wanted to take you stargazing. But we see stars all the time, especially in hyperspace. So Hardcase suggested fireflies instead. I-I dunno where he found the idea; I was running out of time.” 

“Well, even if he can be a tad… distractible, ‘Case is full of lots of good ideas. And fireflies are pretty.” you reply, breaking off another portion of your first cookie. “What were you running out of time for?”

In the dim light, he shrugs his shoulders, full lips set in a slight pout. “It doesn’t really matter, I guess. There was so much more I wanted to do and I only had a few days to do it.” The fact he did it at all was an accomplishment, too. It would probably be best to tell you that another time. 

Best not to spoil the moment when you move aside the repurposed cache full of cookies and slide closer to him, all with that sweet look on your face he grew so fond of. It didn’t matter that it had been half a year or less since getting to know you. Tup had grown so enamored with you for your kindness and a rare, genuine nature to you that he knew he’d be willing to risk making his heart vulnerable to you.

His brothers had his back. You practically had his heart; he just hoped to make it official. 

Trying to put himself at ease, Tup finds your hand and merely holds it for a time. Committing to memory as much as he can. The weight of your hand, the length of each digit. Where your hands are soft, or rough with the evidence of a storied life. How comforting it is to feel you squeeze his hand and rub your thumb over every scarred knuckle with the kind of tenderness he was never really afforded as a young cadet, or even as a tubie. 

He’s courageous, and competent, and capable of so many things… except finding the bravery in himself to utter three little words. 

“I… I want you to be more than just my friend. More than a vod’ika, too.” Tup tries explaining, using the Mando’a word that means more than just ‘sibling’, but also ‘dear friend’; both of which are always meant as endearing terms. He’s grateful you’re clever enough to read between the lines and know what his tongue cannot bring itself to tell. 

Utilizing your knowledge of the ungendered language, you search for the next closest words as you move to cradle the back of Tup’s head, smiling encouragingly. 

“What do you want me to be?” you ask. “Gar…?”

Voice soft, almost breathless, Tup answers your prompting. He sits forward. You do the same. 

“Mirdala cyar’ika.”  

Drawing him close, warm, silken lips take that first of shared gestures quickly—testing, even tempting deeper waters. Each of you face this depth, deciding to press on together. Warmth consumes the two of you as you each grow bolder, going forward with more confidence in swimming further out from safe harbors. Out of reach from the white caps of the cresting waves, together you take pause, seeming to recall where you are. 

For a moment, you felt almost adrift. Heads light, and the silk from your skirt pooling between you, slipping with every moment, had given you both the feeling that you were somewhere else. Somewhere lightyears beyond the Resolute racing through a hyperspace lane, bigger than this dim bunkroom and the middle of a projection of little, living stars swimming in an ocean made of oxygen. 

Basking in this euphoria, both of you first lean against the other, arms laced tight and catching your breath. Neither want to let go. Not when there’s a thousand unspoken I love you-s to perform, and a thousand more ways that are far more unique. 

“We can tell your brothers whenever you’re ready. This little bit of… ‘star gazing’ was a great idea… Thank you, ner cyare.”

Before the end of the night, it would not matter that he ended up missing the rest of the party with his brothers; Tup could now say with full confidence that his new favorite holiday was the Night of Guises and Gourds. 

Not when you could say the same thing. 

Thank you for making a fun request for this little event, Steph, and for allowing me to double-dip by fitting this into Pina's Monster/Halloween AU by making this a costume party. This ended up longer than I expected but it was so, so much fun to write; I hope you enjoyed! 🩷

Fic taglist: @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636

[Masterlist] [TCW Masterlist] [Taglist] [Requests: OPEN]

[kittyofalltrades]

Rejected. (Comfort fic)

Yea I'm not sure what this is beside Frankie being sweet. So read on lol.

Words:1384

No beta we die like Tom

Rating: General Audience

You stared at the phone in your hand around the tears that were starting to form. It was a rejection message. You’d gotten bold on a night out and given your number to a man and excitedly spent the week texting him until you’d gone on a date. You’d have a lot of fun even going back to his apartment to make out and be a bit handsy before you returned home. His kisses had left you flustered and giggling like an idiot, which he hadn’t seemed to approve of but you’d pushed forward.

“How are we gonna get anything done with you giggling like that,” he’d asked exasperated. But you’d pushed on and things had gone well. Or so you’d thought. The message could be summed up as a “it’s not you it’s me but we can still be friends” type deal. You almost laughed as you reread the words, and slipped the phone in your pocket. You couldn’t let this distract you from your day when you had work that needed doing. Frankie strolled into the bar to see his friend and favorite bartender looking utterly downtrodden. He wanted to go ask her what was wrong but he was worried it would come off as creepy. Instead he beelined to the table with the boys. They seemed a little somber themselves and that concerned him.

“Who died?” he asked in a joking tone. “Your girl is sad. We watched her go from all smiles to sad in the span of three text messages,” Benny answered softly.

Frankie sputtered out that she wasn’t his girl but he was curious what had caused her to be upset. “Does anybody know what the texts said?”

“Why don’t you go ask her?” Will offered.

“Rumor has it she went on a date last night. Looks like it didn’t go well,” Santiago added matter of factly.

Those words made Frankie’s heart drop. He’d been waiting for a chance to ask her out, but an opportunity never presented itself. It hurt to hear that he’d missed his shot. Well maybe not missed it fully if she was at the bar looking upset. 

“Okay I’ll go talk to her,” he said firmly. He swiped Benny’s shot and downed it before straightening and heading to the bar to talk to her. 

A nervous throat clearing made you look up from the glass you were polishing for the third time. You quickly sat it down and looked up to meet the deep coffee eyes for Frankie. Frankie you think might like you, but when he did make a move you gave up. Frankie of the sweet shy smiles and tender looks. 

“What’s up Frankie?” you asked, trying your hardest to be perky. But perky fell flat and you could tell the second a frown creased his lips.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” Frankie asked softly. 

The word pumpkin drew a small giggle out of you. “You know you’re the only one that has the stones to call me pumpkin right?” 

“Well since you haven’t hit me, I figured it was okay.”

“I guess it is. So what's up? Need more drinks for the boys?,” you asked, trying to deflect the question. You really didn’t want to talk about your night. Almost as if reading your mind Frankie sat on the nearest barstool and gave you a soft nod. You paused wondering if you really should tell him, but there was no point in hiding it. Not when Santiago was likely to find out and tell the rest of the miscreants leading back to Frankie anyway. 

“Fine.” You huffed out a sigh and threw your towel down. “I went on a date. I thought it went well. Except the giggling, but apparently he didn’t think so. He sent me a long heartfelt message that was supposed to make me feel better or something I guess. But I almost wish he’d just ghosted me.”

“Can I see the text?”

You frowned but passed the phone over for him to read the text that managed to make you feel bad for being upset, but also royally pissed you off. One of your fellow bartenders telling you that you shouldn’t be upset either hadn’t helped your feelings in the slightest.

So look… I hate having to do this but I gotta be honest about my feelings…I think we’re very different people and I don’t see this working out between us. I just don’t think the vibes were there, we just have very different interests and very different energy. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot I like about you, but the awkwardness was felt on my end a few times last night. I think you’re great I really do, we just don’t vibe like I had hoped. I hope you understand.

“Well that was incredibly reasonable and polite,” Frankie started. He stopped talking as soon as your face fell further. “But it was rude to do it after one date, connections aren’t instant. You have to actually form them like me and you.”

“Me and you?” you asked softly.

“And honestly you’re an angel, you’re sweet, smart, funny, drop dead beautiful. I wish I’d asked you out sooner. I just wish he hadn’t had a chance to hurt you first though,” Frankie prattled on. “I mean he hasn’t had the chance to properly get to know you and your quirks. How can he do that after one date? Like the way you giggle when you’re nervous, or fidgeting while you think, or that cute little hair twirl you do. You’re amazing and beautiful and you deserve the world and every good thing in it….”

You just watched him in shock, he’d said he liked you among other things. When Frankie paused in his tirade of how wonderful you were you leaned across the bar and grabbed his collar. With a hard yank you brought your lips to his pressing a lingering kiss on his plush lips. You pulled away with a giggle when a roaring cheer went up from his friends. You looked at Frankie with his eyes still closed and lips parted and giggled again.

“Are you laughing at me?” He asked softly as he finally recovered. 

“Not at you… a good kiss makes me giggle. He didn’t like that either,” you said with a shrug.

“Yeah he’s a fucking idiot.” Frankie reached out and cupped your cheek again and gave you a soft smile. “Can I take you out tomorrow night pumpkin?”

“Only if you promise to kiss me like that again,” you answered and tipped your face up in invitation. 

Frankie kissed you more slowly, taking his time to make sure you were lost in it before he pulled away. When his lips left yours, you instantly started to giggle making him smile widely. He liked that his kiss provoked that reaction and he hated that somebody else got to experience it. But now that he knew it was an option he was going to kiss you every chance he got. He leaned forward and pressed another kiss to your lips and smiled when you giggled again. 

“Tomorrow then,” he said softly before releasing your face. 

“Tomorrow,” you agreed. 

Tomorrow you had a date with someone who thought you giggling during a kiss was cute. A man that wouldn’t text you a rejection he’d at least call. Once Frankie returned to the table with his friends victorious you picked up your phone and drafted a message back to your date from last night.

It’s okay, I completely understand. And I think we are different people. I hope you find what you’re looking for and thanks to you I just did. I found the man that thinks it’s sweet when I giggle after a kiss. Have a nice life and I hope you find somebody that is as good to you as I would have been.

With the message sent you waited for text bubbles to form before blocking him, no need for flimsy excuses when you had a man that thought you were perfect. You gave Frankie a finger wave that made him blush and his friends hoot with glee before turning back to the tasks at hand. You were gonna have a helluva date with him, you were going to see to it.

[thursdaygarbageday]

### The Hoops of DestinyOnce upon a time in the vibrant town of State College, Pennsylvania, nestled within the sprawling campus of Penn State University, lived a man named Michael Christian. Michael was not just any ordinary person; he was a retired NBA player who had spent his youth soaring through the air on the hardwood courts of glory. Now at the age of 50, he found himself seeking something deeper—his true self.

Michael had always loved the game, but the fame and fortune had taken their toll. He often reminisced about his early days, when his laughter echoed through arenas, and fans adored him for both his talent and his humor. His favorite quotes often came back to him: “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take… and the ones you take while wearing mismatched socks!”

After retiring from basketball, Michael returned to Penn State to finish his degree in psychology, hoping to uncover the essence of who he was beyond the game. Alongside his studies, he became a part-time coach for the women's basketball team, guiding young players with wisdom and humor. One day, while practicing fundamentals, he told his team, "Remember, playing ball is like reading a book. If you don't pay attention, you’ll end up on the bench… or worse, in a pop quiz!"

As the weeks turned into months, Michael began to find joy in the smaller moments: enjoying late-night pizza with teammates, sharing laughs over absurd TikTok videos, and even taking up meditation to embrace mindfulness. One evening, while walking past the iconic Nittany Lion shrine, he paused and reflected on how far he had come. He realized that true success lies not just in accolades but in self-acceptance and inner peace.

One day, an unexpected opportunity presented itself. A mysterious flyer appeared on campus advertising “Fantastic Tail Rides”—an apparent blend of exercise, excitement, and a sprinkle of magical realism. The event promised participants an unforgettable experience riding mythical creatures across breathtaking landscapes. Intrigued and ready to step out of his comfort zone, Michael decided to join.

On the day of the ride, he met fellow participants—a eclectic group of students and locals. They gathered around a magnificent unicorn named Cumulus, who was as friendly as he was colorful. As they mounted their steeds, Michael quipped, “If I fall off, at least I’m not hitting the ground—this unicorn has got my back!” Laughter erupted among the group as they soared into the sky, feeling the wind whip through their hair.

As they journeyed over Penn State’s lush valleys and shimmering lakes, Michael felt a profound sense of freedom. The majestic view reminded him of the beauty of life beyond basketball. In that moment, he understood that he had been chasing a different kind of victory: one that involved personal growth and connection.

Upon returning to solid ground, exhilarated and alive, Michael gathered his newfound friends and shared a heartfelt lesson: “Life is like a game of basketball. You can't always control the outcome, but you can choose to enjoy every play, laugh at your mistakes, and celebrate the joys.”

Years later, as he looked back on his journey, Michael embraced his legacy—not just as an athlete but as a mentor and friend who inspired others to chase their dreams. His heart swelled with pride when he received messages from former players who credited him with helping them discover their passions.

And so, in the golden years of his life, Michael Christian continued to spread joy with his jokes, reminding everyone around him that laughter, kindness, and the pursuit of true self are the most valuable plays in the game of life.

As he always said, “In the end, it's not about the ring on your finger but the friends in your heart and the laughs that echo along the way!” With every chuckle shared, Michael proved that adventure truly knows no age and that sometimes, the most fantastic rides are those that lead back to oneself.

[prettytragcdies]

Adrianna had done her best to be as supportive of Ethan's career as she possibly could be. She admired and respected the fact that he was willing to put his life on the line and help other people on a daily basis more than he would ever know, but by the same token, it also scared her to the point where she simply didn't feel strong enough to handle it anymore. She couldn't take the thought of one of his fellow firemen knocking on their front door one night with the news that her husband had given his life in the line of duty. Maybe it made her weak, but she was still a work in progress. Maybe one day she'd finally overcome her fears, but she wasn't going to ask him to wait around for who even knew how long while she tried. It wasn't fair to either one of them. "You're… Why would you be proud of me?" She purposely moved right on past his request for her promise, unsure whether she could honestly give one to him or not right then. Regardless, the fact that he was standing there comforting her when she was the one who had ultimately caused all of this only made things worse. It made her feel more guilty and confused, yet that was a truth she'd never admit to him out loud. Blue eyes shut tightly for a few seconds, only opening again as their hands met and fingers intertwined. "Thank you." Adrianna's smile was small yet genuine, grateful for the words that had just come out of Ethan's mouth about her abilities as a mother. He didn't have to say them, but it was obvious he meant them, and the encouragement truly did help, even if a quiet voice in the back of her mind was berating her for letting such a charming, selfless man slip right through her fingers. He deserved better than this. He deserved better than her. "Think you might call me if you decide you need some help decorating your new place?" Yeah, probably not, but she needed to end things on a much happier and lighthearted note than they'd first started out on, so she took the opportunity as soon as it presented itself to her.

as hard as this whole thing was , ethan understood all of it. the reason they were splitting up was a combination of many things. one of them being the dangers of his career. being a firefighter was one thing , but being in the rescue squad brought on a whole extra amount of potential challenges. her fears were valid. but, for him, it wasn't enough to hang up his turnout coat and helmet forever.

he was good at his job. he has saved many lives. it was not surprising he was already moving up the chain of command. not that leadership was something he truly wanted so quickly , it was just how things worked out.

❛ I know. but that is fine. and honestly , I don't have any amount of resentment towards you. I don't want you to feel guilty. promise me you don't, okay? If anything, I am proud of you. ❜ ethan told her, a genuine smile finally appears on his lips as he grabs one of her hands with his that wasn't holding his truck keys.

❛ Thank you. But I have to also give credit where it is due. I know it isn't easy for you. But you are a good mother too. You may not think so, but you are caring and attentive. They love you so much. But now? You have bigger fish to fry in you business. And I am excited to watch you and your company flourish. ❜

[uvobreakmylegs]

Catch and Release

Long fic with over 9k words in which the reader is a bodyguard working for the Nostrades and is present at the events of Yorknew. Events in the Yorknew arc have also been altered

Warnings: kidnapping, threats of violence, degradation, kink talk, mentions of death, the reader makes some not very good choices

To say that it was nerve-wracking to be sitting in such close proximity of one of the Phantom Troupe would be a massive understatement. You, along with the other remaining bodyguards of the Nostrade family, had witnessed this man – the one Melody had heard being addressed as 'Uvogin' – slaughter an entire group of mafia bodyguards and four of the Shadow Beasts completely on his own.

And now that same man was sitting next to you in the backseat of the car, the only thing keeping him in place being Kurapika's chains.

Luckily, though, his attention wasn't on you.

“Hey, driver. You think these chains can hold me?” Uvogin sneered at Kurapika, “if you don't kill me now, you'll regret it later.”

“Shut up.”

It seemed that you and Melody had the same idea to keep quiet and avoid attracting attention to yourselves, as you both kept your mouths shut and avoided eye contact. You didn't feel safe in that car. With either of those men. Even though he was on the same side as you, Kurapika had been out of control earlier, and with how much clear hatred he had for the cannibalistic murderer sat next to you, you worried that he would snap and endanger everyone again. Hopefully Melody would be able to calm him down if it came to that.

“Don't you understand? This is a golden opportunity,” he continued to taunt.

“Stop wasting time and just-”

The chains around him tightened and you could hear him grunting in pain.

“I told you to shut up!” Kurapika yelled, as he went as far as to turn around in his seat to glare at his captive, ignoring Melody's pleas for him to watch the road.

Uvogin was clearly taken aback by Kurapika's abilities, struggling against the hold of the chains as best he could in his weakened state. He had been shot at point blank range with a anti-tank cannon, and now it was chains that were doing him in.

You silently prayed Kurapika's hold on him would remain tight; it would be so easy for this giant to lean over and take a bite out of your head. You happened to have the binoculars at the exact moment he did that to one of the Shadow Beasts, and of all the things you had witnessed tonight, that had been among the most disturbing. Either Kurapika's chains were able to keep his movements restricted enough, or Uvogin just hadn't thought to do that yet.

The death-glares were still being exchanged between the two men with Melody becoming increasingly insistent for Kurapika to keep his eyes on the road. Not wanting the car to crash, you were about to try and get Kurapika's attention back on the road as well when Dalzollene suddenly called.

“Kurapika, floor it! It's a tail!” your boss's voice sounded over the phone.

“A tail? But who-”

You all seemed to have the same thought, using gyo to look over Uvogin. A needle stuck out of his thigh, a thin nen thread leading past your face and out the window.

“Shit,” you hissed, pulling the needle out and tossing it through the window as you rolled the glass down. It vanished into the night as Kurapika sped up. It had to have been the rest of the Phantom Troupe following.

You stayed twisted in your seat, looking back at a car that was following. It would be hard to lose them in the desert, and it seemed unlikely that your group would be able to make it to the city to ditch them.

Then, though you had a hard time making it out, you saw something fall onto the hood of that car, and it suddenly began to move about like no one was controlling it. The headlights behind Dalzollene's car completely vanished after that brief commotion, and after a few moments, it seemed as though they had been stopped.

“I don't think they're following us anymore,” you said. One could hope, at least.

“Not sure why they stopped, though,” you added.

“It doesn't matter,” Kurapika said.

Surprisingly, Uvogin had been quiet the whole time. When you turned back around and glanced over at him, he was staring blankly at the ceiling of the car, his anger from mere moments before seemingly dissipated.

“This is our chance to hurry back to the city,” Dalzollene spoke again.

“Roger that,” Kurapika answered.

“We'll switch the location to pattern C,” Melody said. She then looked back to you.

“We don't want muscles here putting up a fight. You can do that, right?”

“Of course,” you answered.

Now was not the time to lose your composure; right now, you needed to prove that you did have value as a hunter working for the Nostrade family.

Bringing up your arm and holding your palm so it was facing up, you focused your nen, and a small anemone bloomed in the center of your hand. You turned to face Uvogin, who was looking at you now, an eyebrow raised in question as he looked at the flower made of nen in your hand. You blew softly at the flower, causing the petals to flutter off and into his direction.

“The fuck is that supposed-”

Uvogin couldn't get any more than that out before the petals hit him, vanishing as your nen entered his system and forced him into a deep sleep. He slumped forward, and you were finally able to relax slightly, now that you didn't have to fear immediate death from a man who proved he could kill without the use of his arms or legs.

“Don't relax just yet,” Melody chided, “we still need to get him into a secure location.”

You nodded.

“Right. Sorry.”

You felt better when he awoke next. For one thing, you weren't stuck with him in a tiny, confined space, instead standing to the right of Dalzollene and having more than just Kurapika and Melody with you, as the entirety of the remaining hunters were surrounding him. It also helped that he had been completely strapped down to the metal table that took up the majority of the room, various restraints and wires around his neck and limbs keeping him secured.

Though with the way those bonds seemed to be straining against his muscles, you had to wonder if they'd be as effective if he didn't have the drugs that Dalzollene had pumped into him earlier.

He looked about the room after waking up, taking in all of you that surrounded him. His gaze seemed to linger slightly longer on Kurapika, you noted.

“Do you understand what's happening here?” Dalzollene asked, “where did you put the stolen merchandise?”

Uvogin seemed unconcerned, sighing a bit as he glanced at the hunters around him.

“What time is it?” he asked.

He spotted you, and asked “how long have I been asleep?”

You kept your mouth shut, instead looking over to Dalzollene, who seemed to have grown angry with Uvogin's nonchalance about the situation. Pulling his sword forward, Dalzollene readied himself for a strike.

“It seems that you don't grasp your current situation,” he growled, “I'm asking the questions here!”

He thrust the sword downwards, intending to stab the spider in the leg.

Uvogin's aura flared, and the tip of the sword broke off as it struck him. The piece of metal went flying into a breaker box on the other side of the room, lodging itself deep inside of it.

The noise echoed in the room briefly, and then silence overtook it. To think that even with those drugs in his system, Uvogin still kept his composure and was still able to use his nen so freely. He stayed quiet, looking blankly at the ceiling again. This man truly was something else.

He looked to Squala.

“Let's make a deal.”

“What?”

You hadn't even realized you had said that aloud until he looked over at you in response.

“I'll spare your lives, so let me up now,” he said to you.

“Huh? Wh-what is he saying?” Squala asked, looking to Melody, “is he insane?”

Although you and the rest stayed quiet, you were certain that sentiment was shared by most of your fellow bodyguards.

“He's serious. I think,” Melody answered.

It was easy to write this man off as just being insane, but when you thought about it more, it wasn't like that: the Shadow Beasts, nen masters who were more powerful than you could ever hope to be, had been so easily disposed of by this man. If he could take care of them within a matter of minutes, the rest of you didn't stand a chance. And he knew this. He was literally only making this offer because it would be less of a hassle for him.

Strange to think that this was likely Uvogin being charitable.

“Let me make something clear: We're after the auction merchandise that was stored underground,” Uvogin explained, “if you guys don't know where it is, I have no business with you.”

A beat of silence passed as everyone took in his words, broken by Basho as he began to talk, clearly annoyed by Uvogin's words.

“Wait a moment,” Melody said, interrupting him.

“You didn't steal the merchandise?” she asked Uvogin.

“The safe was empty when we arrived. The Shadow Beasts had already taken it all. I guess they didn't bother telling grunts like you.”

His words stung a bit, forcing you to acknowledge just how low the Nostrades were on the mafia social ladder, but to you, it didn't seem that he was trying to pick a fight or get a rise out of anyone. He was simply explaining the situation and calling it as he saw it: you and the others were insignificant, and even after going as far to kidnap and drug him, he saw all of you as being so little of a threat that he was willing to forget about it.

You didn't need Melody to tell you that he was telling the truth.

Squala was sent into a mild panic at the realization that Uvogin wasn't bluffing, and the way the spider smirked at that panic made everyone tense.

And then his gaze went to you.

“Everyone makes mistakes. We haven't stolen anything yet,” he said, and then looked back to Dalzollene, “so take these off, and pretend you didn't see anything.

“If you do that, you get to live.”

His words sent a chill down every spine in the room, and despite your best efforts to stop it, your hands began to tremble, forcing you to clench your fists so hard that your nails dug into the palms of your hands.

Everyone seemed to be in a similar state as you.

Everyone, except Kurapika.

“What about the guests?” he asked.

“Guests?”

“The guests who were in the auction hall. Some of our colleagues were there.”

It was a terrible thing to admit, but in the midst of everything that had happened that evening, you'd managed to forget about the hunters who had gone to the auction. They were likely dead. And Kurapika had to have known that.

Another thing you had managed to forget was Kurapika's reckless behavior from earlier. Perhaps you should have been impressed that he had kept his composure for this long. But if there had been any chance of your boss deciding to take Uvogin's deal in exchange for your lives, you could just feel that Kurapika was about to put an end to that.

“I see. That's too bad,” said Uvogin, “we killed them. It was part of our plan-”

Kurapika punched him in the face as anger clouded his judgment again, his expression turning to one of rage has he yelled “how many lives do you think you took to carry out that plan of yours?!”

Before he could get another punch in, Basho stepped forward and pulled the younger man away, yelling at him to stop.

Uvogin didn't seem upset at all, despite the bruise on his face and the blood coming from his nose. If anything, he seemed amused.

“If the merchandise is in safe hands, we don't need him. We'll hand him over to the community,” Dalzollene said, having regained his composure during Kurapika's outburst.

Uvogin wasn't paying attention to him, but instead was still grinning up at Kurapika.

“So no deal?” he joked.

You all left the room as Dalzollene stayed behind to double-check the restraints on Uvogin, but before you could exit, he instructed you to wait for him in the next room. Kurapika, Melody and the others went down the hall to another room while you stood outside the cell door. It worried you that Dalzollene had asked you to wait, and you had a bad feeling he was going to tell you to keep watch in the room where the prisoner was being held.

“I just made sure that he was attached securely to that table, and I've put in another dose of those muscle relaxants,” Dalzollene said to you as he came out of the room, “but just to make sure he doesn't do anything, I want you to wait in there until people from the community come for him.”

God fucking dammit.

“You think he'll be able to get out even with all of that?” you asked.

“No, but I want to make certain that he can't try anything,” he answered, “we've all seen what he's capable of, and I don't want to risk him bringing down this whole building just from his shout. If he looks like he's going to do anything, I want you to knock him out again. Among those of us who are left, you and Kurapika are the only ones who can do that easily.”

He sighed.

“And with how Kurapika has been acting, I can't trust him to not do something stupid, especially if he were to be left alone with him. So that just leaves you.”

“Okay boss,” you said, nodding slowly.

“If you think you can get any information out of him, then do it,” he continued, “but overall, just keep him in line.”

Dalzollene dismissed you with a wave of his hand, heading to the desk on the other side of the room, presumably to make whatever calls he needed to the community. You could hear him muttering something under his breath, something about wishing Baise were here instead.

Going back into that room was the last thing you wanted to do – especially when you would be completely alone with him – but you forced your legs to carry you back to that door.

Uvogin's eyes were on you the second you entered that room, making a chill run through you as he looked you over. You ignored it as best you could, situating yourself next to the door and leaning against the wall.

“So you'll be keeping me company while we wait for those mafia idiots to come and get me?” Uvogin asked.

You had really been hoping that he wouldn't talk, that he would be more like he had been in the car, or after he'd woken up. Dealing with him not speaking and staring at nothing would have been easier, but it seemed like he was riled up after Kurapika's outburst, and now you were the only one left for him to take it out on. And of course, now you had no excuse to disobey Dalzollene's orders to try and get information out of him.

“Looks like it,” you answered.

“Hm. Guess I lucked out with that,” he said, “you're easier on the eyes than some of those others in your group.”

'Please just shut the fuck up,' you thought to yourself.

“What, going to give me the silent treatment? You were pretty quiet earlier, too.”

He paused, thinking of something.

“You mad about your friends, too? Did we kill someone important?”

“.... Not really. I barely knew them,” you admitted.

He let out a low whistle.

“That's cold. At least that other guy cared.”

“It is what it is,” you said.

Maybe if you just kept your answers short, he'd give up on talking to you.

But probably not.

“So then this is purely business for you?” he asked.

You said nothing, keeping your gaze on the floor.

“Is it worth losing your life over this?”

You couldn't help the way you tensed, and he chuckled at you when you when you crossed your arms over your chest. You were trying to appear nonchalant, but he saw right through it.

“It looks like the others have made their choice,” Uvogin said, “but my deal is still open for you: let me go, and I'll make sure you live.”

“I can't do that,” you answered.

“You were watching while I took out those mafia, right? You really think it's safer to side with people that weak? When I get out, you can be damn sure they won't be able to protect you.”

“If I let you out I'd need protection from them,” you snapped, “and right now I'm more scared of my boss than I am of some guy who's going to be tortured to death.”

“Hmm. Your boss, huh?” he said, looking back over to where the sword tip was still jammed into the breaker box.

“Can't say he impresses me. And you can't be anything special if a guy like that can keep you in line.”

Your eyes stayed on the floor, and you refused to react to the taunt. It wasn't like he was wrong.

“I can't help but wonder. Why the hell is someone like you involved with a mafia family?”

You stayed quiet.

“I asked you a question,” he growled.

His tone sounded dangerous, and it spurred you to reply.

“I need the money,” you said.

“What for?”

“That's private.”

He laughed.

“Well now I really want to know. What, you looking to save up for something? You got a boyfriend waiting for you back home?”

It wasn't anything like that, but you weren't about to explain yourself to him. You worried you might need to tell him something anyway. He seemed amiable enough at the moment, but it looked like his mood could change pretty fast.

“What's your name?” he asked suddenly.

“.... Why?”

“Because I want to know.”

Uvogin was the prisoner of the Nostrade family, and yet he was clearly in control of the conversation you were having as you complied with his request and told him your name.

“So how long have you been working for these idiots?”

“.....”

“Oh come on! Is it going to hurt that bad to answer a few questions? You said yourself that I'm going to be tortured to death, what's the harm in humoring a dying man?” he asked, “you think they're going to ask me about you?”

The 'you' at the end was virtually spat out, as if to cement the fact that you really meant nothing to anybody. Looking over to the camera that was in the far corner of the room, you wondered if Dalzollene could hear the two of you. If he could, he hadn't yet felt like he needed to step in. Your boss had told you to get information if you were able, but given how this was going, you weren't sure if it was possible to accomplish that.

“I... I only just started working for them,” you answered, “a lot of us were hired just for this job.”

“Just for the auction?”

“Yeah. Our boss wanted to bid on some of the items.”

“I'm guessing your boss wasn't among those that we killed,” he said.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because why would you grunts go after us if there was nobody to sign the paycheck for you? If it was just one of you with a vendetta I'd get it, but all of you? Nah. The majority of you would have run off the second you lost your reason to care.”

…. His reasoning was pretty sound, though you hated to admit it.

“So who all did die at the auction?” he asked, “just a bunch of the new hires?”

“No,” you mumbled, “only one of them was.”

Uvogin scoffed.

“Too bad for them. But I'd say they were luckier than you.”

“They were lucky?”

“Yeah. They're deaths would have been pretty quick. But none of you are going to have a that luxury when the rest of the troupe finds you.”

It would be telling him too much to mention that you were almost one of those casualties. Originally you had been assigned to go to the auction with Tocino and Ivlenkov, but Baise had approached you and asked to swap places. She said that she was curious about the auction and wanted to see it for herself. It didn't matter much to you either way, so you had agreed, taking her place outside the auction house with Linssen and Basho. It was a simple decision, and one that had saved your life while it condemned hers.

Telling him all that would be far too much.

“You've gone quiet again,” Uvogin said, “you sure we didn't kill someone you cared about?”

“I told you, this is just business for me,” you answered, “I'm surprised you care at all. I would have thought it would be the same for you.”

“Oh, it's business for me as well. But this is a job I do because I enjoy it. If I see something I want, I take it. I don't give a shit about money.

“You'd probably be happier if you didn't care as much about money.”

“Good for you; not everyone can live like that,” you said dryly.

“More people should. It would make things more interesting.”

“I'm sure it would,” you sighed.

“Don't be like that. We'll probably be stuck in here for a while before those idiots come for me, so might as well make the most of it.”

“..... You're not worried about the community getting you.”

“Why should I be?” Uvogin asked, “you saw what happened with the Shadow Beasts, right? If that's the mafia's best, what do I have to be worried about?”

“Might be different when you're in custody,” you said, “they might have someone who can get through that nen shield of yours.”

Uvogin snorted.

“Doubt it. No one can take me down.”

“Except my colleague.”

Uvogin scowled at that and glared at you. You tensed again, readying your nen in case you needed to knock him out, unsure if he would let out another earth-shattering yell or start spitting pieces of human skull at you. With the strength and power he had demonstrated, you were grateful for the drugs Dalzollene had put into him, because the more you looked at that muscled body, the more you were certain that the restraints on their own weren't enough to keep him down.

“Yeah, except for him,” he hissed, “and you. I'd say it was impressive that you two incapacitated me and managed to not die afterwards, but sneak attacks have never done much for me, and they never work twice. Neither of you will catch me off-guard again.”

“I don't think we really need to,” you answered carefully, “you're not really going to be our problem after you're collected.”

He grinned at you again.

“Feel free to believe that.”

There wasn't much you could respond to that with, so you stood there in silence. The community couldn't get here soon enough. This situation was stressing you out more than anything else you had ever been through, and this was only your second day in Yorknew. If the mafia was able to get things under control, there would still be a few more days of the auction that you'd need to participate in for Neon's sake. And that was if the rest of the Phantom Troupe didn't try anything else for the rest of the days.

If the Phantom Troupe was as tight-knit as Uvogin was making them out to be, there was a chance they would come after all of you in retaliation.

Why the hell did you get yourself mixed up in underworld business?

“Oh, that reminds me – I might die before the community comes to get me,” Uvogin said.

“What?”

“That fat bastard from the Shadow Beasts infested me with leech eggs,” he explained, “apparently they're going to hatch inside of me and when they do I'll die. You might want to help me out with that unless your boss wants to hand over my dead body to the mafia.”

“..... I saw you being shot at by an anti-tank cannon. You seriously expect me to believe that you'd be done in by baby leeches?” you asked.

“It's a bit different when something is hatched inside of you,” he said, grinning as he continued “but I guess I can't force you. It's not like it's on me if I die before I can be interrogated.”

There was no doubt it would be bad if he died before he was in community custody, and since you were the only one with him, the blame would probably fall on you.

“How long before they hatch?”

“Who knows.”

The way he said that made it seem like he was lying, and with the way he grinned, it seemed like he knew that you knew and that you couldn't do anything about it. The man's body in the picture frame at the Nostrade mansion came to mind, and if that was what Dalzollene was capable of when it came to a slip-up, who knew what would happen if you failed on this.

Pushing off of the wall, you sighed.

“I can't take out the leeches,” you said.

“But,” you continued before he could say anything else “I can slow down their hatching process.”

Holding out your hand, another flower bloomed in your palm. This time it was a lotus. Just as you had done earlier, you blew on it softly, and the petals fell off and flew towards him, vanishing as they landed on his abdomen.

He watched in silence as the petals vanished before looking back to you.

“You said you were only slowing it down?” he asked.

“Yeah. I usually only use this to slow down a bad wound from bleeding out too much,” you explained, “but it should work for this. However long it'll take for those leeches to hatch, it'll take twice as long now. So if you only had 24 hours, it's now 48. That should be long enough for whatever the community does to you.”

“Hmm. You did something different in the car,” he mused, “what nen type do you have? Conjuration?”

You didn't answer, not wanting to tell him any more about your nen ability.

“So I'm right?”

“.....”

“C'mon, sweetheart. You can't answer that question?”

“I think I've been pretty good about answering your questions,” you said.

“Yeah, and I've got a feeling it's supposed to be the other way around. That boss of yours told you to interrogate me, right? And you can't even do that much,” he sneered.

“I came to the conclusion that trying to ask you anything would be a waste of time,” you snapped back, “you're not going to give me any meaningful answers so why bother talking to you about anything important?”

He seemed amused by your reply.

“Took you a while to finally snap. But how long will that last?”

'Stop responding,' you told yourself. That brief burst of anger that had built up purely because of how annoying he was insisting on being dissipated before he had even finished speaking, and by this point, you had just been ridiculed for far too long.

Uvogin demanded that you speak again, and even though you tensed again at the way he growled that order, this time you refused to say anything. He glared at you, and you readied your nen, preparing to knock him unconscious.

He tsked, but did nothing else, looking bored as he watched the ceiling. You didn't lower your guard, though, still watching for any sort of sign that he would try something.

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that, waiting for him to make a move.

When he did say something again, you managed to not come off as startled as you were.

“Was it also part of your instructions to be staring at me the whole time?” he asked, “not like I'm going anywhere.”

“I was under the impression that you liked having eyes on you.”

“Sure, I like the eyes of my victims on me before I kill them.”

You couldn't help letting out a little bit of a laugh at the corny threat. His eyes snapped over to you instantly.

“Something funny?”

His voice was low and dangerous, and the more sensible part of you knew that it was smarter to ignore him again. But the petty side of you wanted to see if you could upset him as a miniature vengeance for how the conversation had gone earlier.

“Yeah,” you answered, “I was just thinking that you're pretty lucky that it's me watching you and not one of my colleagues that you killed. She had the ability to make men fall in love with her by just kissing them. If she'd been here, she'd have had you spilling your guts about everything. She also would've had you liking the way you were tied up. Maybe have you begging her to step on you.”

You tilted your head to the side slightly as you smirked.

“That would have been pretty embarrassing for you, but it also would've been pretty funny for the rest of us.”

He didn't say anything.

You expected some sort of response. Maybe some outrage, maybe some threats, maybe even managing to flip your taunt back on you in some way and continuing to dominate the conversation as he had been the whole time. There was definitely anger in the way he looked at you, someone so much weaker than himself mocking him, but he still said nothing, just frowning as he looked back to the ceiling.

That made you more on edge than if he had begun to yell at you.

The air between you two was far more uncomfortable than it had ever been, and you found yourself wishing that the people from the community would show up already.

“You really don't pull off the tough act very well, sweetheart,” Uvogin said.

“But congratulate yourself on managing to piss me off.”

He said nothing more than that, continuing to stare at the ceiling as if he hadn't said anything at all.

Fuck you messed up.

The regret from saying the things you did hit you like a bucket of cold water. Why the hell did you do that?

The sound of the door opening made you jump, forcing you to stand to attention as Dalzollene walked in.

“The people from the community should be here soon,” he told you, “I'll meet with them when they arrive, so you go to the room where the others are.”

Before you could answer, you heard Uvogin scoff behind you.

“Making sure all of your subordinates are gone so you can get the full credit?” he asked, the distaste clear in his voice. He looked over to you, asking “why do you follow a guy like this?”

“You should be worrying about yourself, not her,” Dalzollene snapped.

He motioned for you to leave, which you did. You looked back one last time before the door closed behind you.

Uvogin looked bored again.

Not even five minutes had passed after entering the room with the others when Uvogin's roar echoed through the building, shaking the foundation and making you cover your ears in a feeble attempt to protect your hearing. There was no time to question what had happened; Melody ordered everyone to follow her, and you all did, running down to the express elevator and piling yourselves into the car as you heard walls being smashed behind you. For whatever reason, no one came after you, and you were all able to escape back to the hotel where Neon was staying.

It wasn't hard to figure that Dalzollene had been killed, and now there was no leader and a very angry spider who would be coming after you for revenge.

The events that followed were like a whirlwind for you: Kurapika was voted in as the new leader, Light Nostrade was coming in the next day to take Neon back, and then Kurapika realized that sensitive information regarding the Nostrades and the buildings they owned in Yorknew was available on the Hunter website, and from that, he had determined that Uvogin would find your current location. You'd then needed to move Neon and all of her things into a new room at the same hotel while Kurapika stayed in the top suite to wait for him.

“His focus will be on me,” Kurapika had said, “as long as the rest of you stay in the new room and don't come out, he'll leave you alone.”

You were happy to listen to his instructions and had been ready to wait for him to take care of Uvogin once he arrived.

But then Neon started complaining about something.

Evidently she had lost a cellphone charm, probably in the other room, and was throwing another tantrum until she could get it back. The two women who worked as her servants were, understandably, a bit nervous to go out into the halls while everyone waited for the spider to arrive. So you had volunteered to go for them, making a bit of a show for Neon as you said that you would go get it and for her to wait for you to come back. That had seemed to calm her down, and the one servant, Elisa, whispered a small “thank you” as you left. You weren't stupid enough to go back up to the top suite, however. The last thing you wanted was to be caught in the crossfire. So instead you planned to hang out somewhere on one of the lower floors, and then you'd go back up for Neon once you had gotten confirmation that everything was safe. Hopefully during that time the servants would be able to placate Neon until you got back.

You made your way down a few flights of stairs before picking a random floor where you would wait.

The door opened before you could grab the knob.

Uvogin stood there.

Time seemed to stop as the two of you looked at each other, his eyes widening in surprise as you looked at him in shock. You were completely alone with him, again, and this time there was nothing restraining him.

You were going to die unless you did something now.

It took only a few seconds for your nen to conjure a flower you could use to get out of this situation. But it was a few seconds too long. Before you could bring your hand up Uvogin had grabbed you by the throat and slammed you against the wall in the stairwell, holding you at eye level so you were several feet off the ground. Your hands went up to your neck as you tried to pry his fingers off when he began to squeeze.

“I was wondering if I'd see you again,” he said, “I thought maybe you'd have run away from Yorknew after last night. Good to see that you stuck around.”

Black splotches were starting to appear at the edge of your vision, and you let out a pathetic wheezing sound as you tried to get in a breath.

“Need to breathe already? I guess I can do that if you do something for me first. Blink if you understand.”

The grip around your neck left you unable to concentrate and form something with your nen, so you complied, blinking at him.

“Good. Now, blink once for 'yes', twice for 'no',” he said, “is the chain-user up there?”

You blinked once.

“Good.”

True to his word, his grip on your throat relaxed slightly, and you took in a few desperate gulps of air while he chuckled at you.

“Not so fun when you're the one being held against your will, is it?” Uvogin asked. When you didn't respond, his eyes narrowed and he growled “huh? Didn't I ask you a question?”

“N-no...” you said, finally finding your voice.

“That's what I thought,” he sneered, “before the night is over that chain-user is going to learn a few things, too.”

He looked up at the stairway.

“I'm guessing he's waiting up there for me.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, “he-he knew you'd be coming, and he wants to f-fight you by himself.”

That blood-thirsty grin appeared on his face and you shuddered.

“That's great. I can't wait to pummel that guy into nothing.”

He looked back to you.

“But what do I do with you? I can't just let you go, can I?”

His grip was becoming tighter again. Your struggles were renewed, clawing as best you could against him and trying to push him away with your feet.

“Wait-!” you began.

“Settle down.”

He pushed himself against you, the arm that held you up now pressing uncomfortably against your chest while the other went down to hold your leg in place against the wall.

“Where'd that sass from earlier go? Or were you acting like that just because you thought you were safe when I was chained up?”

“Wait-!” you tried again.

“Should've taken my deal,” said Uvogin, “then you wouldn't be here, begging for your life like a pathetic wretch.”

“No-!”

“The underworld is a nasty place, sweetheart. You should've realized that before you signed up for this. I gave you a chance and you threw it away. Now you have nobody to blame but yoursel-”

You had continued to struggle, your free legging pushing against him as best you could, and somehow, one of his legs had ended up between yours, and when his thigh had brushed against your clothed cunt, you gasped.

He stopped talking, looking slightly confused until he looked down.

Moments that felt like small eternities passed in silence while you continued to pull at his hand, managing to wrap one hand around his thumb.

Uvogin began to laugh.

“What, you like that?” he asked, pushing himself harder and grinding against you. You couldn't help the way you blushed, and the shame you felt was overwhelming when he continued to laugh at your expense. The noises leaving your mouth didn't help either, and they didn't stop even when you bit down on your lip to try and keep quiet.

“I didn't peg you for a slut, but I guess you learn something new every day,” Uvogin said, clearly enjoying himself as he continued his ministrations.

“Stop! I don't want this!” you yelled.

“Don't lie to me sweetheart. Not when it's written all over your face just how much you enjoy this.”

He grinned at you.

“You mentioned something earlier about me liking being chained up and wanting to be stepped on,” he whispered, “was that you trying to tell me what you wanted to see?”

“No!”

“I can't believe that. It was too specific of a thing to bring up without being into it. You liked seeing me tied up, huh? Do your colleagues know about that? Do they know how much of a desperate slut you are? I wonder....”

He trailed off, then leaned in closer to whisper directly into your ear.

“Do those nasty little kinks of yours go both ways? Would you like it if I chained you up and tossed you around? What else are you into? I'd love to find out.”

Your hands left his one that held your throat, pushing against his face to try and get him away from you. He didn't budge, not even slightly. All you accomplished was him laughing at you again while your pride was slowly torn to pieces.

Without any warning he let you go, and you tumbled to the floor in front of him. You scrambled back into the corner of the stairwell, one hand raised as you prepared to defend yourself. Uvogin remained relaxed, smirking down at your shaking form in the corner.

“Don't bother trying to do anything; I'm not going to let you hit me with that again,” he said, “if anything you should be grateful.”

“.... Grateful?” you asked incredulously.

“Yeah, because I'm going to let you live.”

“Huh?”

“Tch. That's all you can say to that?” he scoffed, “be a little more happy; you're not dying tonight.”

He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder.

“Once I take care of that chain-user, I'll be back for you. I was actually thinking you might be worth leaving alive anyway; I think my boss might like certain aspects of your abilities. And once he's taken them, I'm sure he won't care if I keep you for myself afterwards.”

You were lost for words and could only shake your head at him.

“I told you earlier,” he said, “the underworld is a nasty place; you've got no one but yourself to blame.”

Finally, finally, he turned and began to make his way up the stairs, leaving you in that corner while you tried to process what just happened and the things he had said. You wanted to run, to at least get out of that stairwell and into a space that felt safer, but until Uvogin was further up those stairs and far away from you, you stayed still.

He paused when he began up the second flight of stairs, looking back to you and speaking your name in a way that made you tense again.

“You can try to run if you want,” he said, his tone more serious and seeming much more collected, “but if you try that, I will find you. And things will be much, much worse for you if you run away, you can count on that.”

He grinned, and somehow this one seemed deadlier than any other you had seen thus far.

“I'll be seeing you.”

And with that, Uvogin continued to make his way up the stairs and to the top suite where Kurapika waited. You heard his footsteps echoing against the metal of the stairs, getting softer as he went further and further up, but you still didn't move. Only when you could barely hear him on the stairs did you finally get up.

Bursting through the door, you all but scrambled to get to somewhere safe. You were a mess, your thoughts all over the place and emotions running wild, and all you could do was pray to whatever God might be listening that Kurapika would be able to dispose of that man.

In his state of zetsu, Shalnark standing behind a corner went unnoticed by you as you ran off. Had he not been listening to your conversation with Uvogin, he would have killed you right there. But instead, he smiled to himself, waiting until you were out of the way completely before entering the stairway himself and continuing to follow Uvogin as he had been all afternoon.

Kurapika didn't come back.

The late night had transformed into morning, and he didn't come back.

The immediate thought shared by the group was that he was dead, and the second one was that Uvogin was going to be coming back for the rest of you.

Basho and Melody were the ones doing best at keeping level heads and trying to keep the group calm. Just because Kurapika isn't back yet doesn't mean he's dead, Melody had told all of you. He'll be back, she assured you.

God you wished you could believe that.

It had been determined that you all should wait until Light Nostrade made it in, then he and Neon would leave with a few of the bodyguards while the rest moved to a different building to continue with the auction. At this point, bidding in an auction was one of the last things you wanted to do, but you had a bad feeling that you wouldn't be one of the lucky bodyguards that would be leaving with the Nostrades.

Uvogin's words repeated themselves in your mind, and every time his name was mentioned you couldn't help the way you shuddered. No one seemed to notice that, however.

Except Melody.

She caught you in the late afternoon when you were alone and asked what was troubling you, citing how rapidly your heart would beat when Uvogin's name was mentioned.

The emotions that you'd been trying to bottle up overflowed and you broke down, full-on crying in front of her as you told her everything. From the time with him in that room to when he'd caught you in the stairwell, you told her every little thing he had said to you, every threat he had made and just how terrified you were of him coming back to get you like he said he would.

Melody had been horrified at your confession, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, you felt genuine compassion from another human being. She held you and rubbed your back in a soothing motion as you sobbed into her.

“He won't get you, I promise,” she said, “everything will be okay. But I'll make sure that you go back with the boss tonight, alright?”

You didn't answer. You just tried your best to calm yourself, wiping away your tears while sobs still hiccuped from your throat.

“Maybe some fresh air would do you some good. Basho was complaining that there weren't any good snacks in the building. How about you run down to the store and grab some things for everyone?” Melody suggested.

“Should.. Should I really leave? Right now?” you asked.

“I'm sure it'll be fine. It's just a quick run to the store, right?”

“.... Okay.”

Grabbing a hoodie on your way out, you pulled up the hood and kept your face down, trying to hide the fact that you had been crying. It felt strange to run such an errand during a time like this, but maybe Melody was right and it would be good for you. And maybe by the time you came back, Kurapika would have returned.

With two plastic bags full of junk food and a few drinks, you had exited the convenience store at the corner, the bell on the door ringing as you stepped outside. There had been a bit of a line behind you so when you were given the change from the cashier, you had hastily thrown it into one of the bags as you were eager to keep the line moving. After leaving the store, you stepped to the side of the building, your back facing the street as you began to dig through the bag you had thrown the change into. It wasn't like it was even that much, but you didn't like the idea of just leaving it in there with everything else.

As your sole focus was on reaching around inside of that bag for the change that had made its way to the very bottom, you didn't notice the large group of people that had come up and were passing by you.

Not until you heard a familiarly deep, boisterous voice that made you freeze.

He was talking to someone, saying something about still being mad that they had followed him. A different voice responded saying that it was a good thing they had done that. There was an answer from him, but you couldn't hear it very well with the way your heart was beating in your ears.

The voices were getting further away now. You tentatively peeked out from under your hood to see if it really was who you thought it was.

Even from behind, there was no mistaking Uvogin in a crowd.

He walked with a group that you recognized some of as being the other spiders that were there with him on the night of the auction attack. Others you didn't recognize, but if they were traveling together, they must have also been part of the troupe. At the head of the group was what looked like a man in a long black coat, seemingly leading the group.

Right in the direction of the Nostrade's hotel.

You swore that your heart was beating so loud they all should have heard it and then you would have been at their mercy. But they continued walking, not paying attention to anyone else around them. Realizing that you hadn't taken a breath since you had heard Uvogin's voice, you let out a soft, shuddery breath as they walked further and further away. They were still close enough for you to see clearly when Uvogin gave a playful slap on the back to the samurai in purple robes, who stumbled forward slightly and began to curse out the taller man.

When he had pushed him forward, you noticed a small piece of folded paper that slipped out of his robes.

The group turned a corner, and only when you couldn't see any of them anymore and you could no longer hear any of their voices did you move, slowly walking forward down the sidewalk, constantly checking to make sure none of them came back as you went for that slip of paper.

Your hands were trembling as you picked it up. Why you were concerning yourself with something they had dropped you didn't know. There were more important things, like getting back to the hotel before them and warning the others, but your brain was in a horribly familiar panic-mode and you weren't thinking straight.

Unfolding the paper, you found a set of pictures – headshots of the Nostrade family bodyguards. Dalzollene's picture had been crossed out, but Basho's, Squala's and everyone else was featured.

But what truly sent you into a panic were the two pictures that had been circled in pen.

One was of Neon.

The other was you.

All you could hear for a bit was your own harsh breathing, unable to focus on anything else while you looked at that bit of paper.

He was doing as he had promised. Uvogin and those others were going back to that building and they were going to kill everyone and then take you.

The remaining time you had to warn the others was slipping away and you stood petrified as you tried to figure out what you could do.

You couldn't fight them.

None of you could. The only one capable of that was Kurapika, and if Uvogin was still walking around, then he had to be dead.

You couldn't fight them.

The paper and the convenience store bags you had been holding fell to the ground as you bolted off in the opposite direction. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you until you were out of breath and aching all over. And even then you continued running. Uvogin's words, the things he did and the way he looked at you were still fresh in your mind. You couldn't face that; you knew you wouldn't win and you just needed to do whatever you could to get away from him.

Even if it meant only saving yourself.

Your kept running, sometimes bumping into people or cars, ignoring them as they yelled at you so you could keep going.

When you were thoroughly exhausted and ready to fall over, you made it to the airport, taking a few seconds to stop and catch your breath, resting your hands on your knees as you were ready to heave out your lungs. One of the airships would have to be departing soon. Buying a ticket wasn't an option; you'd need to go with a riskier route.

You jumped the fence into the airfield and were stopped almost immediately by a security guard.

“I don't know what you're thinking,” he yelled at you, “but you'd better be ready to-”

You focused your nen and a hyacinth formed, and you blew at the petals in the direction of the guard. When the petals hit him, he stopped his rant and his gaze turned blank as he stared at you.

“Let me on to the next departing airship,” you ordered.

“Yes miss.”

He moved robotically, leading you to an airship at the end of the field. Luckily nobody else approached you two. When you controlled someone with this ability, you could only give them three simple orders, and you could only use it on only a few people during a short period of time, and you didn't want to waste any of it using the guard to keep people off your back.

When you reached the airship, you told him “go ask the stewards to meet me at the entrance. And when you're done with that, I want you to go back to your station.”

“Yes miss.”

Once your last order was completed, he would be out of your control and would have no memory of you or anything that happened.

After ordering the stewards to take you to an empty cabin and to not let anyone enter during the flight, you let them go, slumping down in the window side seat after you had locked the door. The airship was taking off, and soon you'd be away from this nightmare.

The others wouldn't, though.

The reality of the situation struck you then, that you really had just run off and left them to fend for themselves. Unless some miracle happened, they were going to die. Melody didn't deserve that. Neither did Squala. Or Basho, or any of the others working for the Nostrades. Neon was a brat and she had proven that she didn't care for you or anyone else who worked for her, but that really wasn't her fault. And even if it was, it didn't mean that she should suffer for it. Not like that.

Tears began to roll down your cheeks, and you wrapped your arms around your knees as you curled up into your seat, cursing yourself for your cowardice and for just how pathetic you were as the airship lifted you higher.

The story you read months later was that of a mystery disappearance of multiple people in the hotel owned by the Nostrades. The bodyguards and employees had all vanished, leaving behind hotel rooms filled with signs of violence, but no sort of blood or bodies in sight. The only one left was a thoroughly traumatized Neon who could barely speak and was unable to offer any explanation as to what had happened. Not even her father was able to get her to speak. Nor could he get her to use her ability, and without his daughter's fortune telling, he lost that place he had carved for himself in the mafia community and quickly fell from grace.

The articles in magazines and newspapers focused more on that aspect of the story, of the millionaire who fell from his high social standing. No one seemed to care much about the people that had vanished. Very few articles mentioned the bodyguards, and fewer still bothered to name any of them. Your name had been listed in one of those articles as one of those who were missing, but what had made you sick was reading the names of the others and knowing that they weren't missing, but that they were dead.

'This was what you chose,' you told yourself bitterly. Instead of trying to take on the troupe in an effort to save them, you ran away like a coward. Though it wasn't like anything would have changed if you had confronted them, but maybe if you had, you wouldn't need to live with the guilt of knowing that you did nothing to try and help.

You were just too weak.

The world of the hunters, that thing that you had worked towards for so long, having gone through that exam so many times and coming so close to death every time you did, was no longer something you wanted to be apart of. The dream that you had of everything being alright in your life if you could just get that license was shattered after learning about nen. Even with that treasured license, you were still so horribly insignificant in this world, and the power that you held was ultimately meaningless in the long run.

After that eye-opening experience, and after everything you had been through in Yorknew, all you wanted was to go back to a normal life.

You sold your license and made a new home for yourself on the other side of the world, far away from Yorknew and anything remotely to do with the mafia community. You lived in a humble apartment and worked a decent job while you lived life with your head facing down, staying under the radar as best you could. Just existing with yourself as best you could.

Not a day went by that you didn't think about the people you had abandoned, or the words Uvogin had said to you on the stairs. That he would find you if you ran, and that the consequences would be worse for you if you did that. Months had gone by since that day, but your anxiety didn't allow you to relax in the slightest; he had been confident in his words, and after everything you had seen, you were certain that he wouldn't give up on finding you that easily.

Time had continued, and you were coming up on almost a year since the incidents in Yorknew. Returning late to your apartment after your shift, you were struggling to keep yourself awake as you slipped the key into the front door lock. You were ready to pass out as you entered, turning as you shut the door behind yourself. Had you been a bit more alert, you might have noticed the light that was on within your apartment that shouldn't have been on, or the shadow that loomed behind you the second you turned your back to lock the door.

What you did notice were the two strong arms that wrapped around your form and pulled you against a solid chest, and the breath that tickled against your ear as a terribly familiar voice whispered to you, putting you on full alert as you realized who held you.

“Gotcha.”

And like that, your time of living in hiding came to an end.

[bktaro]

seven-three (part 1)

pairing: nanami x f!reader

themes/rating: explicit, 18+, clubs, bars, masquerade parties

tw: (eventual) rough sex, drinking, sex clubs (will be updated when part 2 is released)

wc: 2.5k

ao3 | part 1 | part 2​ | part 3

Nanami Kento had a hardened shell surrounding his personal life. Clocking out at five ‘o’clock on the dot every day, he left little to no room for others to get to know him better— leaving him as an unsolvable mystery amongst the office.

Likewise, you too aimed to clock out at five ‘o’ clock. You preferred routine during the workday, finding comfort in maintaining equilibrium and peace and wanting to do nothing more or nothing less than what was required of you.

Little did you know the two of you shared an interesting weekend hobby.

Your daily routine generally consisted of four simple tasks: waking up, working, eating/drinking and sleeping.

Truthfully, you didn’t mind what others might argue as the mundaneness of life under your routine. You preferred it, simply finding life under a routine like yours leading too little to no troubles. There would be no surprises and no shocks under this routine— you would simply just do what was expected of you, collect a paycheck, and go home, living each workday in a balanced equilibrium of serenity and peace.

However, of course there were inevitable bumps in the path you wanted to be nothing but flat and straightforward. Every once in a while there would be something that came up, disrupting the equilibrium and wreaking havoc into your preferred routine way of life.

Lately, the disruption had a name— Nanami Kento.

                                                         —

It wasn’t as if Nanami forced and wedged himself to disrupt your routine. Instead, it was almost as if some higher divine figure was controlling and planning it all, fate landing him like a roadblock in your path.  

You wouldn’t classify Nanami as a complete stranger in your life. Yet you wouldn’t say you had any sort of relationship with him other than being work colleagues. You more or less merely just knew of him— the dubbed ‘enigma’ of your office.

Your knowledge of Nanami was limited to the understanding he was a rather timid, quiet and reserved man. Despite his popularity in the office for his handsome looks accompanied by his cool and calm demeanour, he kept to himself for the most part, choosing to opt out of things like office politics, gossip and drama, never attending optional after work events such as dinners or drinks.

In a way, he reminded you much of yourself. Work was strictly just a place to remain polished and professional, not to be mixed with pleasure or fun.

For you, pleasure and fun existed every Saturday night, in an underground yet upscale club tucked away in the heart of the city. Shedding your usual sleek and polished weekday appearance, for an evening every week you indulged yourself in what others may argue to be activities ridden with sin.

On the exterior, the club seemed to be no different than any other nightclub. Bars, booths, dance floors were all present— it was what was behind a certain doorway that made this space different from others.

To promote anonymity, the club required its patrons to wear masquerade masks throughout the entire time in the vicinity, and all attendees had to refer to one another through their aliases, forbidding the exchange of any detailed personal information. The club was exclusive through invitation only and had just one main purpose: engaging in whatever kind of sex you wanted with any other consenting partner(s) for the night— no strings attached, and parting ways before sunrise.

For as long as you began your weekend hobby, you have never encountered the situation you were currently in. The situation should have been considered one of the worst possible outcomes given the scenario— yet a part of you felt enticed, a rush of adrenaline washing over you signified through the increased beating of your heart pounding in your chest.  

After all, what could be more dreadful yet alluring than seeing the sexiest man in your office at your weekly sex club?

It wasn’t Nanami’s fault at all you instantly recognized him. His mask, half black and half white parting down the middle concealed his face well enough, leaving openings at only the areas of his mouth and eyes. If you hadn’t studied those features eight hours a day for forty hours a week at the office, you probably wouldn’t have been able to connect the dots that those features belonged to one of your many colleagues.

But you knew it was him. There was no doubt in your mind it wasn’t. He was incredibly easy on the eyes in the office, your eyes darting towards his desk almost by instinct whenever you had the chance. You wouldn’t necessarily say you suppressed any harbouring feelings of romance for him or anything like that, it was more that you would let your mind wonder, wondering how his plush lips would feel, how his clearly toned body looked under his clothes, and even how he tasted.

Yet now that the opportunity to find an answer to all your questions was so close you could quite literally almost taste him, you stood frozen. All you could do was lean against the bar and watch his figure head over to the free bartender beside you momentarily, before shifting gazes and eyeing the familiar man that had accompanied him approach you.

“There she is— the sexiest girl in the whole world.”

Tall, toned, and ridiculously confident yet sexy, a familiar figure waves your way. He had let his name slip to you before in a drunken request to call him ‘Gojo Sensei’ in a previous rendezvous, but you still opted to call him by his alias in the club most other times, Sensei.

He was most notably known to wear a black blindfold wrapped around the upper part of his entire face instead of a mask. A peculiar and uncommon choice to the view of most, yet to the surprise of all not hindering his abilities in the slightest, mentioning previously his senses to his surroundings were extremely sharp and developed as a result of whatever his line of work was. And one night with him was more than enough for you to believe it— Gojo was more than skilled with pleasuring your body despite not even having a clear view of it in front of him.

“You always know how to flatter me, don’t you Sensei?” Your voice comes out more confident than you expect, and you think it’s the aid of the alcohol courage creeping in, or the smooth and soothing voice belonging to Gojo that indirectly pets down your nerves.

He places a hand just on the side of your hip, gently moving past you to call the attention of the bartender with his other free hand. The bartender simply nods his head in acknowledgement, no further explanation required for the regular drink Gojo ordered every weekend. His drink of choice is not a difficult request, merely a glass of ice topped with a swig of patron and is in his hands in no time, focusing his attention back on you.

“You’re a hard one not to flatter. It just comes so easily for my favourite baby girl that always treats me so well.”

“Favourite baby girl, hm?” You raise an eyebrow under your mask, the corner of your lips curving into a small grin. “You don’t have to beat around the bush, Sensei. Just ask and we’ll waste no more time— you know you’re a hard one to say no to for me.”

He lets out a deep chuckle, the whites of his teeth peeking momentarily as a result. The touch of his hand on your hip turns into the gentle tracing of fingertips up the side of your body, sending a small tingle down your spine.

“Such tempting words… and body.” His gaze follows his fingers, tracing the curves of your body with his eyes momentarily before he shuts them close, pulling his hands away and taking a deep breath of composure to shake his imagination off. “But I’m here to ask you, Fairy, for a particular wish tonight instead.”

“A wish?”

You’re intrigued. He’s definitely asked favours or wishes as the fellow club goers would call it when it came to you, going under the name ‘Fairy’ inspired by the pastel-colored wing shaped mask you wore. Yet, they were usually sexual wishes behind closed doors— this was the first time he was requesting something fully clothed.

And you suspect it has something to do with the blond man, joining your party once more with a drink now in hand.

“As you know, I’m quite the selfless man.” He begins, propping his elbow up on the blond man's shoulder. “Tonight, I’m helping a good friend instead. Fairy, this is Seven-Three, and Seven-Three, this is Fairy.”

You hesitate for a split second, questioning your next course of action. You had definitely taken notice of so called Seven-Three’s true identity in no time at all— but has he noticed yours? You feel an instant rush of sudden internal panic at the thought of being exposed, your scandalous weekend hobby tainting and bleeding into your normal, daily life.

However, the panic vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared, Nanami extending his hand out towards you with a tiny smile curved upon his lips.

“Pleasure is mine to finally meet you, Fairy. Sensei had so much to say about you.”

Mimicking his movement, you grab onto his hand with yours, expecting him to shake your hand with his. Instead, he shifts his hands to grip the tips of your fingers, bringing them towards his lips and leaving a soft kiss against your knuckles.

Your eyes widen, briefly frozen in shock at the scene in front of you. By no means was the action itself shocking enough to throw you off guard, it was who was doing the action. You would have never suspected in a lifetime you would see the same Nanami Kento, normally slumped back on his chair with the same nonchalant expression on his face to be behaving the way he was in front of you— confident, flirty and sexy.

But you had no complaints. You were loving this version of him, something riling and bubbling up inside of you the more you got to know of this Nanami.

“Good things, I hope.” You shoot him a small wink when his eyes flicker upwards to meet yours.

“Baby girl, when it comes to you I only have good things to say.” Gojo cuts in, causing Nanami to release your hand and stand back upright. “It’s partially why I’m here to request something specifically from you.”

“And what would that be?”

“You see, my dear friend here has been just so stressed out lately. And as the selfless friend I am, I couldn’t just bear to see my friend suffer like this.”

He brings a finger up to his chin, tapping against it physically expressing his train of thought.

“So, I thought about it long and hard— how could I help my dearest friend out to alleviate some of his troubles? Then boom… the best idea came to me.”

He snaps his fingers in the air, before turning his finger towards you.

“You, sweetheart. The perfect stress relief.”

You can’t help but let out a scoff, forcing yourself to hold back your laughter at his exaggerated explanation.

“Me, huh?”

“Precisely.”

“And this relates to this wish of yours?” You take a sip of the drink in your hand, the flavour sweet yet potent in the taste of alcohol. “What, you boys want to have a threesome or something tonight?”

Gojo lets out a whistle at the thought, and both men feel the constriction in their pants tighten just the slightest at your suggestive words. Gojo makes a mental note to take up your offer next time; he would be a crazy man to let such an opportunity slip through his fingers.

“That’s definitely now one of my life wishes. Rain check on that.” Gojo gives you his notorious cheeky grin, before turning his back towards you and resting his hands on top of Nanami’s shoulder. “I got to get going, but I’ll let this guy explain the rest.”

Gojo leaves the two of you, giving you one last single wave before disappearing into the crowd.

“Aright.” You cross your arms around your chest, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Now enlighten me, will you?”

“Let me ask you a question first.” Nanami gives you a small, impish grin. “What do you think my nickname means?”

His nickname? Truthfully when you heard the words Seven-Three, there was one instant thought that popped up into your head. A certain measurement for a certain body part that would be highly relevant in the current circumstances.

“...your dick size? Seven inches tall and three inches in girth?”

Nanami chuckles, his voice deep and rich ringing throughout your ears despite the loud music of the club behind you. He leans his body forward, trapping your body in between his two arms and your back leaning against the bar.

“Sensei was right, you’re so cute. If that was the reason behind my nickname, then my nickname would be Eleven-Six instead.”

Eleven? Eleven. You gulp, your mouth watering and licking your lips subconsciously at the thought.

“Let me explain for you then, cutie.” Nanami leans closer to your face, a hand sliding down the side of your body until it rests just on the bone at your hip. “It’s simple, really. I do want to ease my stress, but I also have a record that Sensei says you’re the perfect person to help me beat it.”

“You think I am?”

“Well, I won’t of course make you do anything you don’t want to do.” His finger finds its way under your chin, tilting your head upwards to look him directly in the eye. “But if you’re up for it, I think you’d be a great fit in making my wish come true to beat my record.”

“I’ll be the judge of that— let’s hear it.”

He tilts your chin to the side, gaining access to whisper into your ear instead. You shiver at the sensation, both in excitement and nervousness for what he’s about to say next.

“The seven in my name is for the record of how many times I’ve made a woman cum in one night. The three is for the three holes I’ll fill up with cum.”

There’s a lingering silence in the air, now thick between the two of you when he pulls back, staring back at your face to see any sort of expression in reaction to his words. It’s difficult to see with the mask on your face, and for a moment he wonders if perhaps he’s gone too far.

But those worries fly out the window nearly instantly. Nanami breaks into a grin when he sees the corner of your lips perk upward into a toothy, mischievous smirk.

You respected him immensely for still being considerate of your boundaries and asking for your consent, but you also thought it was silly for him to even think there would be a possibility of hesitation when it came to a request coming from someone like him. You truthfully weren’t sure what to expect, but you were quite open to a lot of different things when it came to sex. Frankly, the nastier, rougher, lewder the sex was— you thought the better. And his request to essentially make you cum at least eight times and fill you up was just right up your ally.

But really, what other answer did he expect coming from you whose weekend hobby was a sex club anyway?

“Congratulations, Seven-Three.” Your fingers grasp the hem of his shirt, scrunching the fabric and bringing his body closer to yours. “You’ve met your greatest match, and I’ll do my best to grant you this wish.”

[deniigi]

Blame @petrichordiam for this.

-------------

Title: centerstage

Summary: An academic goes to a conference and is jazzed to see a jedi speak there. He unknowingly sits next to this jedi’s Support Squad.

The jedi Support Squad is like 85% clones, and 15% Jedi Generals.

No one mentions that the jedi speaking has never done this before and is petrified out of his blessed little mind.

*Anakin is like 19-20ish here.

-------------

Sion Jissard has spent the last ten years of his life in the dredges of archives, digging through documents and testing fibers found between the flimsy, papery pages of old texts—scrounging for clues to recreate the conditions of the great conference halls and small, tucked away offices in which some of the most powerful people in the galaxy once gathered to whisper and shout over the fate of whole planets.

He has a hypothesis that the conditions in those rooms affected the decisions made in them. His hypothesis is strong enough that it has endured several rounds of peer-review and escaped those vulture-like clutches mostly unscathed in published form—both in journal and, his chest swells to recall, in book formats.

His book has sold several hundred copies and been cited in a plethora of upcoming article submissions.

The last eight years of tension in his marriage has eased in light of this. The salary from the professorship obtained in light of the book certainly hasn’t hurt it either.

His two doctorates are set on the wall of his office and when he receives word that a conference on ‘Intergalactic Unionism and Peace Negotiation’ is to be held in two months time, he opens up the speakers list and raises his head to gaze upon those two solid frames.

There will be jedi speakers at the conference. Several, actually. The whole thing is to be held on Coruscant, in the small visitors’ wing of the Jedi temple itself.

Sion Jissard pinches the fabric of his suit and then lightly slaps at his cheek to make sure that he is not dreaming.

He has only recently begun studying the jedi order’s material world and the role that world plays in their intergalactic peace-making practices. Prior to this, he considered the subject too on-the-nose. Jedi studies are rampant. Everyone wants a piece of that pie—the allure of it being that the jedi themselves, scholars in their own rights, refuse to partake in examinations of their culture.

They are notoriously obstinate. Their grandmasters refuse to let outsiders into their archives. Their masters shut down any and all attempts to obtain interviews or transcripts or documents with empty expressions or gentle, pitying smiles. Their knights blink with confusion at personal and personal-adjacent questions, and the little ones, the apprentices, are shielded behind all of these people as though the elbow-padded questioners are threatening their precious little lives.

In short, the jedi are happy to listen but loathe to teach. If you are not one of their soldiers or one of their fellows, they will lie to your face and tell you that it is their religion to do so.

And yet here they are, offering up a scholar’s wetdream and even allowing a handful of their own to present on their areas of expertise.

Sion Jissard will pass up this opportunity only upon pain of death.

He applies for the conference as a participant, not a speaker, and is delighted to receive confirmation of his place within mere minutes.

He puts the date on his calendar and starts looking into transit to Coruscant for the event in two months time.

--

 Sion arrives on Coruscant, at the foot of the Jedi Temple itself, and stares up at it for so long that he begins to feel sick to the gills.

He fumbles for his confirmation at the little table set up in the interior courtyard behind a side-entrance door. He is distracted by the fact that the woman he is standing in front of is a Jedi. She is helped by two small children and holds a baby who is dead-set on unraveling the knots that decorate her thick waist band. Even the baby is dressed in double-collared cream-colored robes.

Sion has so many questions he wants to ask.

The jedi asks him for his name. She has a collection of name badges before her, but none of them are his. He gives his name and the master turns to the little girl sat at her right elbow with a brush in hand and instructs her to write it out.

The jedi child—not an apprentice, her robes are cream still, there are no additional earth-colors layered on top of it—writes Sion’s name in beautiful script on a little card and hands the card to the master, who puts it in a holder with a pin on it and places it into Sion’s hand.

She instructs him to go through the side door and enjoy some refreshments before the event begins. The baby in her lap looks up at her abruptly and bonks his sweet little head against her chin.

Sion forgets himself.

“How old?” he asks automatically, gesturing to the baby.

The master looks down into her lap.

“He is eight months and 75% lung,” she says affectionately.

“Ah. Mine was like that, too,” Sion says. “He grew out of it. He’s only 40% lung now.”

The master smiles.

Sion removes himself from her table before he embarrasses himself further.

--

 There are enough people inside the front room of the jedi’s visitor’s wing to nearly fill it to capacity. The volume, though everyone is whispering, is great enough to be heard from outside the door. The room itself is earth-colored with a high ceiling. Its walls all contain niches with rounded borders. Columns with deep-cut creases in them arch high to the skylights.

It is all beautifully geometric, stoic, and clean. And even though the walls and floor are built from materials of warm tones, the skylights overhead and the surrounding addtion of books and holorecords set into the walls lend it a cooling quality.

What should have been imposing architectural feels more like holy space. The room is one that reverberates with reminders to respect all around you.

Sion’s fingers yearn to document this, but there is a sign right by the room’s entrance that asks politely for no recordings or holographs to be taken.  

“Professor Jissard,” a familiar voice says.

Sion feels his whole body droop. He turns to see Teo Detras stood before him in his obnoxious, roaring red robes.

“I’m pleased that you too were able to secure an invitation, sir,” Teo says as though he has not attempted to place Sion on the metaphysical chopping block for each of his premises since the time they began their academic programs.

Sion opens his mouth to point out that this is also his area of study and that Teo has no monopoly on the field of Jedi architecture when a quiet passes over the room. Sion watches the heads around him lift and searches for the source of the sudden shudder of silence.

He finds it in a tall master with dark skin standing at the very front of the space. The man has tucked his hands neatly into the mouths of his sleeves.

He is Jedi Master and General Mace Windu. Sion has read and reread his essays, not caring so much for what he is talking about but how he is talking about it. His metaphors and examples should have been insight into the common experiences of those living in the Jedi temple.

Sion has found, however, that Jedi Master Mace Windu does not especially care for eloquence or metaphor. He cares only to methodically destroy the argument (if it could be called that) published by a jedi named Qui-Gon Jinn many years ago. Though Master Jinn has not published for several decades now, Master Windu’s writings remain agitated by his interpretations of the jedi’s Spiritual energy, the Force.

Just gazing upon the man now, Sion would not think him capable of agitation.

Master Windu welcomes the academics to the temple and says that he regrets not having more time to speak with each of the attendees as individuals, but there is a war on and his clone troopers require his services. He encourages people to refrain from any recordings of the temple due to its sacred nature, and he asks that attendees be mindful of the jedi Initiates (the white-robed children) who are confused and intrigued by all of the non-jedi people inhabiting their usual playroom.

He cautions everyone that if anyone slips on a toy, he warned them, and the temple is not liable for their medical bills.

This is a joke.

People are unsure of whether or not to laugh. Some laugh awkwardly far too late. Master Windu gives no sign on his face that he appreciates or disapproves of this.

Instead, he steps from his space of honor and leaves in his place a young man with feathery blonde hair and a highly expressive countenance, who drops his armload of documents on the floor obnoxiously and flings himself down to snatch up only the conference program, as if this was the most efficient way of finding it.

People know to laugh this time.

The young man begins announcing panel topics and rooms and give his strong opinions on each of them.

More people laugh. It feels less like a sin.

“And that’s all, my dears and darlings,” the young man says, “Mind your step into the conference rooms, our predecessors derived joy from an unexpected drop.”

--

 Sion has only one panel that he will kill at minimum three bodies to sit in on. It is the one on peace strategy and resource management. He is not here for the peace strategy or the resource management parts of the talk; his burning interest yearns instead in listening to how and if people talk about their space and things. He wants to write down the language they use. He wants to learn about the physicality of peace.

He thinks ‘The Physicality of Peace’ would make a very compelling title for another book.

So he slips through the arched doors of conference room 3 and finds himself in a tiered lecture theatre. There is a small balcony with rows of pew-like benches that hangs over a lower seating area. He takes a seat at the edge of the front pew and sets his datapad on his lap for note-taking. At the front of the room there is a long bench—not a quite table, but definitely a tall bench, and behind it, there is an enormous screen for displaying images and information. Someone has very kindly thought to place a jug of water and some cups at the center of the bench by a microphone.

Sion gets the impression from its awkward, dead-center placement that it is an addition that the jedi themselves usually forego.

He wonders what that means. He only wonders for about 15 seconds before a hand touches his shoulder and he jerks in alarm.

“My apologies, sir. We were just wondering if the space next to you is available?” says the smooth-faced, copper-haired man standing above him.

He is wearing white armor on top of his layered robes. The arms and legs that emerge from his long off-white tunic are dark in color, but his boots are hard and white and come up and over his kneecaps.

Sion is speechless.

This is General and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

General and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi has touched Sion’s shoulder and apologized to him.

He doesn’t have words. He can only make fish-mouthed motions and then point and nod.

General Kenobi accepts this with grace and stands up straight. He waves behind him to call his companions over to join him on the balcony’s edge.

They arrive as a pack.

Instead of coming around and staggering past Sion’s knees at the edge of the bench, General Kenobi climbs over its back and settles in. He then twists back over the row and holds his hands out; a Clone Trooper in full armor hands to him a strange bundle of woolen, brown robe. It produces legs and arms and then bright blue and white lekku once Kenobi has situated it next to him.

“Fooled ‘em,” the little Togruta that emerges from the cloth says brightly.

“Shh,” Kenobi says. “Cody, you next.”

“No, I want Rex to sit with me.”

“Ahsoka, shhh.”

“Rex.”

“Child, this is how people like me get banned from meetings; you’re not even supposed to see—”

“REX.”

“HUSH. Okay, okay. Rex. Pst. Cody, get Rex. Cody, oh for the love of—Wolffe, yes—no. Wolffe, look at me. Get Cody to get Rex.”

Sion cannot believe what he is seeing. General Kenobi appears to be sneaking half of his command into the balcony area. There are more than a few clone troopers there are at least twenty. They are somehow visibly excited despite their matching helmets. The General is able to tell them apart easily. He leans over the back of the bench again and crooks his finger at one of the troopers who leans forward. He tells them to throw something at their commander.

The Clone takes off his glove, stands, and nail a clone standing in the aisle in the head with it. The slap of contact makes this clone cease speaking in serious low tones with a clone decorated with blue edging in front of him. The first clone draws himself up perfectly straight and turns around with a fury that even Sion can feel the heat of.

His armor is painted yellow in places.

He holds the glove in his hand like a threat. The clone who threw it winces and points wordlessly to General Kenobi, then sits down in a hurry. Kenobi smiles wide and white. He has freckles on his face that do not appear on any of the images of him that appear on the news.

He’s also shorter than Sion himself, even sitting.

“Sir,” the white and yellow clone says stiffly.

“Rex,” Kenobi says through that threat of a smile. “Get over here.”

The Togruta child twists around excitedly as the clone in white and blue exits the conversation with the one in white and yellow and surveys the rows of his fellows piled into the space behind the General and the child. He has to squeeze past the line of knees and then climb over the bench to sit down next to the child, who immediately cuddles up to him.

“Hey, that’s my seat,” a new voice whispers.

Sion looks back to see General Quinlan Vos with his arms crossed over his chest, recognizable in any setting. Behind him is General Koon. General Kenobi slaps a hand to his forehead and grumbles, then shoos the blue edged clone and the child a few seats down.

The generals clamber just as awkwardly as the blue clone through the sea of knees of the troopers and then over the back of the bench.

Somehow, Sion has won the jackpot. He is now surrounded by jedi culture, literally.

“All of you, back,” Kenobi snaps down the bench when everyone is just starting to get comfortable. “Cody. Commander, come here.”

The clone trooper with the yellow edging does not want to play this game. He shifts his weight back onto his other heel as Kenobi pats the newly vacated space next to him. General Vos croons in a teasing tone something about Kenobi being especially fond of this clone.

Kenobi lurches out across the empty seat to punch him in the gut and then returns peacefully to patting the space over the sound of Vos’s moaning.

The Clone Commander has no choice. His general is giving him a directive. He gives in to the inevitable and makes his way through the knees and—much more neatly than the others—steps over the back of the bench to its seat and then into sitting. Kenobi beams at him, practically purring.

Sion needs desperately to take notes, but the subjects of said notes are right there and rudeness is intolerable in retaining his vantage point.

He fights the urge to vibrate in space as the lights begin to dim overhead and the panel chairman comes out to introduce the topic and speakers. It is only about a minute or so when a hand lands firmly on Kenobi’s right shoulder—the one by Sion’s arm. Sion jumps, but Kenobi resolutely stares directly down at the speaker.

“Obi-Wan,” Master Mace Windu’s low, low voice says right into the space between Kenobi and Sion’s ears, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Kenobi begins to melt but catches himself.

“You didn’t for a while,” he said.

“Get her out of here.”

“She has a right to see her Master.”

“What part of these orders are challenging for you?”

Kenobi still does not turn around to see Master Windu, but his eyebrows sink and his brow becomes more pronounced.

“No padawans,” Master Windu says. “Ahsoka. Out.”

The togruta, still bedecked in that heavy cloak, turns to stare owlishly at Master Windu while the person at the front of the room moves on to introducing the next speaker.

“But I’m not a padawan,” the child says. “I’m obnoxious. Master Kenobi said so.”

Kenobi holds his face in a hand.

“You can be both. Come,” Master Windu says, holding out a hand.

“But I’m a cloak,” Ahsoka tries instead.

Kenobi crumples further. Master Windu’s hand finds his shoulder again. Sion can feel its heat.

“If not her, then you,” he says.

“After,” Kenobi says.

“I’ll be waiting, Obi-Wan.”

Master Windu vanishes from behind them. Sion shudders. Kenobi turns to the side and hisses at Ahsoka,

“Now look what you’ve done.”

“You’re my co-conspirator,” Ahsoka hisses back. “My—my—Rex, what’s the word?”

Clone Commander Rex does not want to give her the word. Ahsoka tugs at him.

“Rex,” she insists.

“Enabler,” Commander Rex says with bitter regret coating his words.

Ahsoka beams over the laps of the other Generals at Kenobi. He glares back through a squint. He starts to say something, but General Vos tells him to shut up in a sharp tone.

Sion looks back to the front of the room and finds that a young man with dark hair has come out to the center of the front table-bench to speak.

He is a jedi. His robes, however, are dark in color. Blacks and browns with knee-high boots.

He’s very young. Very, very young.

And nervous.

Very, very nervous.

Even from the balcony seats, Sion can see his hands shaking. He is holding a stack of white paper. It is trembling like a branch on a windy day.

“Go, go, Master, go, go,” chants little Ahsoka.

Sion finds himself abruptly appalled by the realization that the child on center stage is the master of the child a few seats over from him.

General Koon gently shushes Ahsoka. Commander Rex helpfully wraps a gloved hand over the bottom half of her face to keep her distracted.

Sion looks from them to the young man and finds that he’s already knocked over the jug of water on the bench and looks about ready to sob about it. He gathers himself, though, and brings the microphone closer to him.

He is General Anakin Skywalker, Sion now understands. He is the first speaker and he’s never in his life presented a paper at a professional conference before.  

His voice shakes as he reads out the title of the article that he published (and that Sion has read) on battlefield surrender. After the second paragraph, Sion brings a hand to his lip to help him contain the emotions that come with the understanding that this boy is about to read his article, word for word, in front of a room full of academics.

He thinks now that he has been too harsh with his students.

--

 General Skywalker is not a strong public speaker. Clearly, his expertise is in action. He stammers. He loses his place in his reading and accidentally rereads three whole sentences. Only twice does he look up from his paper, and each time it is not at the audience but at Obi-Wan Kenobi, sat next to Sion, serious as a plague.

Kenobi nods sagely.

General Skywalker is General Kenobi’s apprentice. Was General Kenobi’s apprentice. However, it is clear to all who are present today that General Skywalker is still General Kenobi’s apprentice. Desperate, the poor thing is, for Kenobi’s reassurance.

His confidence in reading grows under his former (current?) master’s approving eye until he turns a page and—horror of horrors—drops the stack of paper.

Sion’s whole body tenses in sympathy and second-hand embarrassment. Skywalker flings himself down and messily collects the papers. He hurriedly reorders them, all while stuttering ‘ums’ and ‘uhs.’

Yet, when Sion chances a peek down the line of Generals next to him, he finds that not a single one has winced. No one has laughed. Even the clone troopers all around them are as silent and steady as the night itself.

It seems like they are all listening intently to their young General on center stage. The only giveaway that sympathy is being had by any is the tiny gesture Clone Commander Rex is making with his hand. He is moving it almost imperceptibly in a circle, as if to say ‘come on, come on.’

Sion looks back to young Skywalker and waits patiently as he finds his place and carries on reading again, this time faster. This time he does not look up for his master’s eye.

He wants only for the torture to end.

He gets to the end of his paper without dropping it or repeating himself and is flushed red. He does not ask for questions. He merely says quietly into the microphone, “Thank you.”

The panel chair waits a beat before walking over to Skywalker and asking the crowd for questions on his behalf. Skywalker becomes even more luminous. Sion cannot decide whether asking a question would be more or less stressful for this poor boy.

No one asks a question.

The panel chair then starts to ask for applause for Skywalker, but before he can even finish the sentence the whole balcony breaks into uproar.

General Kenobi hoots and whistles piercingly in Sion’s ear. General Vos claps and shouts what sounds like ‘You FUCKING did it, kid. You FUCKING did it. Hip-hip—”

“HUZZAH,” the Clone Troopers behind General Vos finish for him in perfect unity.

“Hip-hip—”

“HUZZAH.”

More applause and congratulations erupts after this.

General Skywalker slams his paper into his face and bursts into tears at the front of the room.

He bolts for a doorway that Sion hadn’t even noticed was right next to the bench. General Kenobi whacks at his Clone Commander’s shoulder, and Commander Cody wraps hands around his waist and hoists him up so that he’s standing on the guardrail at the edge of the balcony. He leaps from there to the lower level then goes jogging out the same doorway his former apprentice ran through.

After another moment or two, Commander Cody stands up and snaps at the whole collection of troopers in their language. Everyone shuts up and sits back down. Commander Rex gestures for Ahsoka to put up her hood and takes from General Vos a small datapad which he gives to the child—presumably for her to occupy herself with for the next hour and a half of papers. She takes it and immediately becomes absorbed in its lightly-glowing screen.

The balcony is once again on its best behavior.

Sion doesn’t bother with listening to any of the other papers. He feels no shame at all in beginning to furiously take notes on his last twenty-five minutes with the jedi.

--

 Upon leaving the conference room nearly two hours later, he finds himself swept up in the clone troopers’ swift and orderly exit from the space. They line up outside the hall in lines by regiment and they wait for their commanders and generals to arrive before marching back towards the visitors’ wing’s exit.

After two or three minutes, only two lines remain.

Clone Commander Rex and Clone Commander Cody stand perfectly at attention beside their lines of men. Clone Commander Rex has his jedi’s apprentice thrown over his shoulder; he has balanced her on one arm while she sleeps.

It’s very sweet. She obviously trusts the Clone Commander very much.

“Gentlemen.”

The clones snap to even tighter attention as General Mace Windu appears, walking briskly their way.

“You’re dismissed,” he says to them. “Commanders, you will remain. Obi-Wan and Anakin will join us shortly.”

“Sir,” both commanders say simultaneously.

There is a pause, and Sion sees that all of these people are now looking at him.

“Can we help you, sir?” General Windu asks.

Yes. And Sion will pay any amount of money to just know this one thing. This teeny, tiny detail.

“Sir?”

“Is that normal for you?” he blurts out.

The Clone Commanders stare. The general stares. The apprentice coughs lightly in her sleep.

“I regret to say that it is not only normal, but expected of these general and units,” General Windu says. “Please vacate this area.”

Right.

“Thank you,” Sion says.

He stiff-legs it back to the crowd of other academics and hunts down a liquid to soothe his parched throat.

  The new book’s title will not be ‘The Physicality of Peace.’ It will be ‘All is Fair in Love and War: The Jedi Order and Ideologies of Family, Part I.’

 --------------- Yeah, so anyways, Myth and I decided that Anakin is bad at public speaking and nothing anyone says can take this from me now, I’m invincible. (If you want this on Ao3 let me know).

[writingletterstothefire]

reputation

A/N: This is a Hux x reader request I got in my DMs! Also, I wrote this on the Tumblr app, so I don’t know if there will be any formatting issues. If there are, I’ll fix them later on! I’m nervous, as I’ve never written Hux before, but I hope I did him justice! Your request is only part of the fic, but I hope you like it all the same. Enjoy!

Request from @bbarton : hi!! can i request hux x reader (secret relationship bc she has a lower status than him) where he gets jealous bc he sees someone flirting with her!! <3

General Armitage Hux had a reputation to uphold. He was cold, calculating. Officers and stormtrooper’s alike scampered away from him in the hallways. He knew what his inferior officers thought of him, and he used it to his advantage. If they’re scared, he thought, they’re less likely to rebel. And so, to ensure they stayed scared, he was more than happy to play the role of tyrant whenever the opportunity presented itself. If the new recruit fumbled and spilled coffee, he screamed at them in the middle of the mess hall. If a lieutenant failed to get a report in on time, they were publicly demoted. Officers were interchangeable in this profession, so as one was demoted, another was promoted to replace them. It sent a clear message: The Order does not need you. You are lucky to be here. You are lucky that The Order allows you to be here. It kept them in line.

General Armitage Hux had a reputation to uphold. He wasn’t known to be lovable and cuddly. Growing up, his father ensured that he never entertained the thought of a marriage based on love. From a young age, it was clear to Armitage that any marriage he partook in would be solely for the sake of siring an heir. Someone to continue the Hux line, ensure that the family name lived on past the individual. He definitely never saw you coming. You, soft and gentle, loving and warm. You, with a motherly embrace to rival the one he had conjured in his head. You took care of him, before he even knew what you were doing. Bringing him his tarine tea that he enjoyed so much, ensuring he ate at least two meals per day. At first, he genuinely thought that you were his new assistant. He thought that the Supreme Leader had assigned you to him without telling him, and who was he to question the Supreme Leader? But when he handed you a stack of paperwork about two months into your taking care of him and told you to transcribe all of the documents into basic and load them onto his datapad, you had giggled at him. He was almost offended, and he would have reeled back and screamed at you, if he wasn’t so entranced by the musical noise that was bubbling out of your mouth.

“Is...Is something funny, officer?” He had managed to choke out, his strangled voice surprising even himself. You smiled that wonderful smile, which he now realized was reserved for only him.

“No, sir, not funny per se, just...mildly amusing. I regret to inform you that I am not here to do Lieutenant Mitaka’s paper work for him.” You walked over to Mitaka’s desk, dropping the stack of papers there and writing a little note to stick to the top of the pile. Hux remembered purposefully looking anywhere but your rear end, which was poking out as you leaned over the desk.

“I beg your pardon?” Hux cleared his throat, cursing the hoarseness that lingered in his throat. Why was he suddenly becoming so affected by you? Perhaps it was because that was the first time he was seeing you. He’d known what you looked like, sure, but he’d never taken the time to really look at you. The way your eyes lit up when you smiled, the way your uniform hugged your body in just the right way to make his mouth water. The sheen of the lip balm you wore, glistening just enough under the fluorescent lighting of Starkiller Base to bring attention to those tantalizing lips.

“Well, it’s just that, you know I don’t work for you, don’t you?” Your voice had snapped him out of his thoughts, ringing through the air. You were looking at him, an amused smile on your lips.

“I beg your pardon?” He repeated, dumbly. He silently cursed himself again, before continuing, “If you do not work for me, then what is it that you are doing here, officer?”

“Why, making sure you don’t run yourself into the ground, of course,” you tilted your head at him, still smiling so happily, as if you were amused by his confusion. “Someone has to take care of you, General. I couldn’t exactly turn a blind eye when I noticed that you’d been skipping meal times.”

“And who do you work for, then?” Armitage was still confused. How could you have this spare time to constantly check on him? It made no sense.

“I’m part of the Cradle Initiative.” Finally, it’d hit Hux like a freight train. The Cradle Initiative was thought to be a joke among superior officers in the First Order. An old wives’ tale, even. The generation of First Order officers before Hux had often joked that the incoming line of soon-to-be generals and commanders were too soft. They needed to be nursed and taken care of. Cradled. And so, the newest generation of foundlings that the Order collected were put into the Cradle Initiative. These officers were trained to essentially be mother hens. They were taught how to cook, clean, and nurture. There were even some lessons on how to nurture children. Some factions of the Cradle Initiative were specifically to breed and nurture the next generation of the First Order. The rest were sent to First Order bases, where their job was quite literally to take care of everyone. It all made sense now.

“I see. So you...assist me—”

“—Take care of,” you interrupted with the ghost of a smirk on your face.

“—Take care of me,” he gritted out, “because you are part of the Cradle Initiative.”

“My, nothing gets past you, General,” you’d teased, rather boldly, in Hux’s opinion. Most would dive headfirst into the Tattooine suns before teasing a superior that way. “Yes, I was put on this base to take care of you and your fellow officers.”

Hux had nodded stiffly. Of course you would take care of him. It was your job. Nothing more than that. It was silly of him to ever entertain the idea—

“But I must tell you, General, that I check on you most frequently because I want to. I like knowing that you are taken care of. I like knowing that you’re not running yourself into the ground. I like being around you.”

From that moment on, you became Hux’s closest confidant. He would confide in you about Ren’s tantrums, and you would patch him up when the tantrums were taken out on him. Things changed, though, after you spent the night with him. It was entirely innocent, really, you had just fallen asleep while cuddling him after he woke up from a nightmare. He had those often, nightmares about his father’s abuse. At first, he was ashamed that you’d seen him in such a weak state, but the shameful feeling was pushed aside as you slid onto the bed and gently laid your hand on his knee.

“I’m here to take care of you, General,” you reminded him softly.

“Armitage,” he blurted out, “call me Armitage when we’re alone.”

You smiled and repeated his name, the word sounding too lovely as it fell from your lips. He couldn’t help himself. He kissed you. And you had kissed him back. You’d wrapped your arms around him and laid with him the entire night.

That night changed everything. You both knew that if anyone knew of your relationship, it would change how you were viewed. The officers of the Cradle Initiative already had a reputation for essentially being prostitutes. They were often ridiculed, and told that they were there to be bred with and that’s it. You’d be publicly humiliated if anyone knew you were in a relationship with the highest ranking general of the First Order. So you had to hide. And then there was the most important reason.

General Armitage Hux had a reputation to uphold. He couldn’t risk his officers thinking he had gone soft. There was too much at stake, and he needed to have their complete respect and loyalty.

But then he saw that damned Lieutenant Trecol Verstan. Verstan was a thorn in Hux’s side from the very beginning, constantly questioning and defying his orders. He was one misstep away from being demoted to janitorial staff. And it appeared that he would be making that misstep today.

Upon entering the somewhat crowded command center, Hux’s eyes immediately zeroed in on you, and he saw red. Verstan was currently leaned up against the wall, his arm caging you in as he chattered into about Maker knows what. He was likely telling a highly fictionalized version of his last mission, during which he hid on the ship while the stormtroopers assigned to help him gathered Resistance sympathizers and took them hostage. You were smiling, but it was a thin smile, as if Verstan was testing your patience. Because, he was. You were struggling to come up with a solid enough reason to walk away, when you felt a familiar presence sidle up next to you.

General Armitage Hux had a reputation to uphold.

“Is there a problem, Officer Verstan?” Hux asked, purposefully using the wrong title to refer to the man.

“Lieutenant,” Verstan insisted, huffing in annoyance.

“Yes, well, I don’t think my fiancée needs to hear anymore about your cowardice on Kijimi, Officer Verstan.” Your head snapped to stare at Armitage, jaw dropping a bit.

You saw Verstan’s jaw drop even further than yours did, immediately growing bright red and backing away quickly.

“I-I had no idea, General Hux, if I had known I never would have—”

“Harassed a fellow officer? I’m sure that wouldn’t have stopped you, Officer Verstan.” Hux’s tone was even, almost dangerously so.

“L-Lieutenant...” Verstan muttered under his breath, clearly embarrassed at being degraded in front of his fellow officers and superiors.

“No, no. You’ve been demoted. Between harassing a fellow officer, and your performance on Kijimi, which was nothing short of disgraceful, you’ve made it clear that you do not deserve the title and responsibilities that come with the lieutenant position. You will now be an officer, acting under the guidance of Lieutenant Mitaka. I suppose, in a way, due to the pecking order on this base, that means you work under me. Well, that is to say that I am your superior’s superior. How nice.” Hux looked the most amused anyone, aside from you, had ever seen him.

He turned to you, about to speak, before realizing that Verstan was still standing there, gaping like a fish. “Are you still here, Officer?”

Verstans ears burned red as he scurried away, hurrying out of the command center.

You were still staring up at Hux, eyes wide and shining. He turned back to you, stepping close and murmuring an, “Are you alright, my love?”

You were so unused to him openly showing any care for you, for reasons you both agreed on. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, but you were now standing toe to toe, close enough to kiss him. You wouldn’t, because you didn’t know where his boundaries were right now, but the thought did cross your mind.

“I’m alright. Thank you for that. I’m sorry I couldn’t get rid of him.” You felt his breath fan across your face as he sighed.

“My darling, I could never be upset with you. You have my complete trust.”

You smiled softly at that. You knew he loved you, of course, but to hear that he trusted you always felt good.

“I know,” you spoke softly, “I know you trust me, and I trust you. With my life, Armitage.”

As he was about to close the gap between you, he realized that the command center was quiet. Too quiet. He lifted his gaze from yours to see that everyone in the command center had frozen during the exchange with Verstan, and they were still watching with intrigue. Some looked absolutely astonished, while others had knowing smirks.

“Unless you are all looking to join Verstan in his demotion, I suggest you get back to work.” His voice was calm enough, but he spoke with such a commanding tone that everyone in the command center scrambled to look busy. Those that could find an excuse scurried out of the room entirely.

Hux led you out of the command center, hands still behind his back, but your hand loosely nestled in the crook of his elbow. Everyone would know within the hour, what did it matter now? There was no point in trying to hide anymore, he thought to himself, as he guided you into his quarters. Your quarters too, he supposed. You basically lived with him at this point.

“So fiancée, huh?” Your teasing voice had his attention snapping back to you in an instant. While he was lost in thought, you have perched yourself on the small loveseat that sat to the left of center in his quarters, next to the electric fireplace. “When were you planning to ask me about this? Where’s my ring, Armitage?”

You were joking, and he knew you were only teasing him to make him blush. You loved being the only one able to fluster him. Still, he turned away from you, walking into the bedroom and digging through the nightstand. He emerged before you could even question him, and walked over so quickly that you didn’t even register it until he was on one knee in front of you, breathing your name in that soft way that was reserved only for you.

“My love,” he began, “I never thought I would find anyone like you. I assumed that I would never marry for love, it would simply be an arrangement of convenience. But when I met you, I knew that the tightness in my chest was love. I knew that the lightheadedness that set in whenever you smiled at me was love. I knew that the feeling of something missing whenever you left the room was love. I love you. And at first, that terrified me. I didn’t want anyone to hold the power over me that you hold. But when you held me through the night after witnessing one of my lowest moments, I knew you would never abuse that power. You’ve proven time and time again that you love me just as much as I love you. There is no one else that I could fathom a life with. There is no one else I could love. There is only you. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

You were crying now. You had been joking around before, but now, with Armitage on one knee in front of you, you knew that you’d never say no to him. “Yes! Yes, Armitage, yes!”

You waited until he slipped the ring onto your finger before launching yourself at him, holding him tighter than he’d ever been held.

“I love you, so much, Armitage,” you cried into his neck. His arms wrapped around you, one hand tangling in your hair.

“I love you, my darling.”

General Armitage Hux had a reputation to uphold. Everyone knew who he was, and everyone was terrified of him. After news of your engagement broke, everyone knew not to touch you. Those who’d seen what happened with Verstan were most likely to stay away. About a week later, there was an incident with a newly recruited officer who thought perhaps they could charm you into cheating on Hux, reaching out to try to feel you up, but before Hux could even think to do anything, you had the offending arm pinned behind the officer’s back. Armitage had never been prouder.

General Armitage Hux had a reputation to uphold. And you, as his fiancée, took it upon yourself to ensure that reputation stayed intact.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s S2 R&S - A Proud Heart

��� Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from an R&S (骄傲之心) which has not been released in EN! ���

Features S2 Gavin

This R&S was released on 3 June 2021

Highly recommended that you read S2 Ch 11 before proceeding!

[ Chapter One ]

After retiring from the STF due to an illness, He Jian Qiu opened a bookstore in a small street that isn’t really lively, and very few customers visit the shop. To him, however, he isn’t relying on this to make money. He simply wants to be at leisure and at ease. 

On this day, he’s reading a book by the window as usual. As though he suddenly spotted something, he stands up violently, brisk walking to the entrance of the shop. After hanging a “On a Break Today” signboard outside, he returns inside.

He leans against a bookshelf in the shadows, furrowing his brows.

He stares fixedly at the wall. Before his eyes, the scene of the street outside the window surfaces, and a man is walking towards the bookstore -

He Jian Qiu has a very unique Evol. Within a designated scope, he’s able to share the sight and hearing of other living organisms. Thanks to this ability, he used to be the “eyes” of the previous generation of STF members. Under his perfect commands, his team members were able to carry out many successful missions.

Even after retiring, he retained this cautiousness.

He Jian Qiu’s eyes are blazing like torches. Everyone in the crowd, birds, and even stray cats can become his eyes as he follows behind this young man.

He recognises this young man. If possible, He Jian Qiu would rather not meet him.

He hopes this young man is simply passing by.

He Jian Qiu makes a quiet prayer in his heart.

Unfortunately, the young man halts directly outside the shop entrance, a gentle breeze brushing the stray hairs in front of his forehead, revealing a pair of resolute amber eyes.

He glances at the signboard hanging outside the door, then knocks on the door lightly, lowering his head slightly as he pulls it open slowly. His footsteps are very light, as though he’s unwilling to disrupt the tranquility belonging to the books. He steps into the shop, but his feet stop at the entrance.

“Captain He, sorry to disturb you.”

The young man calls him by his former term of address. His voice is resolute and steady, leaving the latter feeling slightly resigned.

He Jian Qiu sighs softly in his heart, then steps out from the shadow behind the bookshelf slowly. The young man in front of him brings with him travel-worn weariness. His shoulders are perfectly straight but unable to conceal his fatigue, as though a certain silent darkness is quietly clinging to his surroundings, corroding him beneath the sunlight.

He recognises this young man.

Gavin, who has only recently taken up the post of the new captain of the Special Operations Team, and the youngest Commander in the STF. Such a person has a limitlessly bright future, and his prospects are boundless.

Such a person has no need to appear before a man who has half his feet in a coffin.

“Gav, this is the first time we’re meeting. I’m really happy that you’ve come to greet this retired old man. Do you want something to drink?”

He lowers his head and walks to the counter, picking up a teacup, wanting this meeting to become an idle, amiable chat between a senior and junior.

“Captain He, I’m investigating the ‘New Year’s Eve Change Incident’.”

There is absolutely nothing hidden in his clear and simple words. It shoots him directly, reminiscent of a fatal bullet.

[Note] This incident involved a majority of Evolvers who staged a riot and had to be suppressed. Gavin suspects that there’s more to the incident than what was publicly announced because it’s incredibly difficult to find the people related to it

-

[ Chapter Two ]

The sound of churning tea fills the quiet air. After He Jian Qiu hears Gavin’s words, his face remains unaffected.

He places the poured tea on the counter, the dense steam causing Gavin’s face to turn slightly hazy. “Wasn’t the case concluded four years ago?”

He Jian Qiu retrieves a slightly flattened cigarette box from his pocket. “The military and STF arrested many Evolvers who started the chaos on the spot. I remember that you provided assistance back then. There isn’t anything worth investigating, is there?”

He glances at the teacup which hasn’t been picked up, then hangs a cigarette bud at his mouth, looking at Gavin. “I used new tea leaves I just received from the south to prepare this. Try it.”

Gavin doesn’t move an inch. His gaze sweeps past the teacup, then fixes itself onto He Jian Qiu’s face.

“I met an Evolver who escaped during the New Year’s Change arrest.”

Loud blares from vehicles outside the window barge in, puncturing the peace in the bookstore. Gavin’s expression is calm, without a hint of wavering. “He told me a few things related to what happened back then.”

“And you simply believed him?”

“There are many doubtful points related to this incident.” Gavin doesn’t seem to mind the teasing tone in He Jian Qiu’s voice. He continues, neither servile nor overbearing. “All the materials related to the New Year’s Change Incident, all materials related the location and the criminals who were arrested have all been handed to ‘the other side’. Apart from that, everyone who was involved in the matter were either transferred to another post, went missing, or died. All that’s left in the materials are the words ‘Evolver Riot’.”

“Do you really think these are all just coincidences?”

This question...

He Jian Qiu can’t help but laugh in his heart. Instead of calling this a question, it’s more accurate to call it an interrogation.

Even though he didn’t participate in that operation, he did provide a certain level of assistance behind the scenes due to his unique Evol ability.

“But Captain He should have ‘seen’ something, am I correct?” Gavin’s face is against the light, but his eyes are especially bright. “Otherwise, I should have had the opportunity... to become a team member under Captain He.”

Gavin’s words almost make He Jian Qiu choke on the cigarette bud in his mouth. He can't help but chuckle aloud, taking a more careful look at this young man’s face.

Persistent, resolute, unwavering, unconceited, but the words he speaks are exact and deadly.

While appreciating this, he sighs in his heart. “You think too much.”

He Jian Qiu picks up the teacup Gavin has yet to touch. The steam has dispersed since a long time ago, and only a faint warmth is left. “It’s very normal for young people to go on a wild goose chase, but you have to know when to turn back when it’s appropriate to do so. The New Year’s Change Incident is a concluded case. Everyone has accepted this truth as of today, and there’s no need to continue investigating further.”

“NW is keeping watch on me.” Gavin’s voice is slightly gloomy. “If there aren’t any issues with the case, they wouldn’t need to do that.”

“Since they’re merely keeping watch on you, it means they trust that you wouldn’t be able to find anything.”

Hearing He Jian Qiu’s agile response, Gavin is silent. He watches him quietly, as though still perplexed about something. He Jian Qiu lights another cigarette, looking out of the window and at the magnificent sunlight. “You’ve met Old Yan, haven’t you.”

[Note] Officer Yan was introduced in S2 Ch 11. He's an ex-police officer who was involved in the New Year’s Change incident. At present, many people are hunting him down, either to find the truth or to silence him for good. He managed to meet Gavin once, resulting in his motivation to investigate the matter

In that instant, Gavin’s expression slackens for a moment, and his body quivers involuntarily.

“Do I need to be clearer? Officer Yan - the old police officer who has been investigating the New Year’s Change Incident. His left arm is gone. You claim outwardly that you haven’t found him, but you’ve actually already met him. After meeting him, you heard about what happened during the New Year’s Change Incident and Old Yan’s conjectures. You were swayed because of that, and went to look for your ‘female friend’...”

“That’s enough.”

Gavin suddenly speaks, interrupting He Jian Qiu’s words. His hands subconsciously clench into fists, and He Jian Qiu simply puffs out some smoke calmly.

"There are no airtight walls in this world. You still have many opportunities and many futures. There’s no need to waste your time on this matter. Old Yan’s job is gone, his arm is gone, his family is gone, his lover is gone.”

“There’s no need to become like that too.”

As though dealing a final judgment, the air in the surroundings is as quiet as death.

In the end, He Jian Qiu hears Gavin’s soft question. “Is that how you persuaded yourself?”

-

[ Chapter Three ]

He Jian Qiu knows what that young fellow Gavin meant.

A day after Gavin left the bookstore, an unknown number flashes on his phone screen.

“Old He, how have you been?”

The voice which hadn’t appeared in a very long time unexpectedly and lightly tugs at certain memories which he intended to toss to the back of his mind.

He Jian Qiu swallows, the subtle sound in his throat secretly betraying his current anxiety.

“Why are you nervous?” The person at the other end of the line laughs. “I’m just asking about how business is at that bookstore of yours.”

“You didn’t meet anyone inappropriate, did you?”

He Jian Qiu blinks lightly. “Yesterday, that new captain from STF dropped by. Gavin - you know him, don’t you? He said he wanted to learn from my experience, but you should also know that I have nothing to teach him.”

“My eyes aren’t doing that well either. So we just drank some tea, and he left. But that young man is pretty good. You can tell he’s capable just by looking at him.”

“He’s pretty good.”

The voice at the other end of the line is light, as though this call is nothing more than an ordinary exchange of pleasantries.

After hanging up, He Jian Qiu pretends to continue reading his book calmly, but not single word goes in. He tosses the book onto the table roughly, shutting his eyes.

Gavin’s investigation in the New Year’s Change Incident is far deeper than what he imagined.

When Old Yan became a fugitive back then, his eyesight became progressively poorer. He used this to falsely claim that his Evol was affected, and he fled from the STF. After all, whether good or bad, he had seen too many things.

He Jian Chu’s gaze leaps from countless eyes in the city, and he very quickly finds Gavin. There’s a “tail” following behind him, but he’s unwilling to give up, continuing to seek intelligence from informants in the grey areas.

However, Gavin doesn’t seem to meet Old Yan again. They probably have a special mode of communication, which is very smart.

Over the subsequent days, He Jian Qiu continues following after Gavin’s tracks.

He has been looking for several officers who participated in the New Year’s Change Incident. He Jian Qiu is very familiar with that group of people. Most of them genuinely have no idea about it, and were simply following orders. They wouldn’t know of any inside information.

But Gavin persistently inquired about any strange points during the operation. Some of them cooperated, but some...

Through the eyes of a sparrow on an electric pole, He Jian Qiu watches as Gavin is asked to leave a house. The family member’s face is furious. Gavin simply lowers his head, bowing in a polite manner.

Quite a number of team members lost their lives during that operation. To their family, this was a tragic matter which was conferred honour. They gave up their lives to maintain the safety and peace of society, and protecting the dignity of STF. Even though Gavin understands this, the process of investigation will always make one feel a slight knot in one’s heart.

With the cold sound of the door shutting, Gavin stands in place quietly, the sunlight above his head brilliant yet harsh, casting his shadow beneath his feet. It’s as though there isn’t a single trace of darkness hidden in the entire world.

After a very long time, Gavin lifts his head, then turns around to leave.

After several days of interviews, Gavin is unable to find any useful leads or information. He Jian Qiu watches as he walks on the main street slowly, passers-by facing him and walking in the opposite direction.

He’s walking down the old road that Old Yan had taken, walking in the direction contrary to everyone else.

He Jian Qiu retracts his ability, then looks out of the window. He wonders why Old Yan would take the risk to meet him, but he hopes that these unsuccessful days would enable Gavin to understand clearly that putting the New Year’s Change Incident aside isn’t a bad thing for him.

After all, he still has a future. 

-

[ Chapter Four ]

Gavin’s investigation continues.

When faced with such people who are unwilling to give up, He Jian Qiu can’t help but release a fierce sigh.

He believes that Gavin clearly understands the degree of danger in investigating the New Year’s Change Incident. Worried that they would get silenced for getting involved in this matter, the informants he had contacted before retracted their actions before crossing the danger line.

Nobody wants to die, especially not due to supplying information. They are slicker than anyone else.

With regard to this, Gavin understands.

This is why he doesn’t insist on too much. Once he has given these people remuneration, he continues with the investigation alone.

He returns to the very place where the riot started back then - an old and slightly dilapidated street in the suburbs of Loveland City.

Back then, Evolvers were not in an optimistic situation. People were filled with fear and bias against them. As such, Evolvers either concealed their abilities and hid amongst the crowd, pretending to be ordinary people, or search for other Evolvers, and collectively form a place with only Evolvers. 

These few streets were one of the places where activities would be held for only Evolvers. Nobody knew what they gathered here to do. When news eventually spread to civilians, it became the starting ground for the “Evolver Riot”.

Gavin leaps over the sealed wire meshes, heading deeper down the street. The place had already been burnt into a vast expanse of white, fragments of broken tiles and tattered clothes lying on the scorched ground. From time to time, the terrifying sound of rats nibbling on food drifts in the quiet surroundings.

Gavin doesn’t halt in his footsteps, which surprises He Jian Qiu.

Could it be that he discovered something?

Just as He Jian Qiu suspects that he has seen something, Gavin suddenly takes action. He ducks into a blindspot near a building, instantly firing a shot in a certain direction behind him.

The sudden attack causes the person behind Gavin to panic. In an instant, a fierce wind rises. The man is rolled into the wind, and is then lifted into the air in the next second.

The other party is likely well-trained. He immediately adjusts his centre of gravity in the air, bringing the gun in his hand to his chest.

- it’s just that Gavin’s even faster.

Gavin’s bullet strikes the palm of the other party accurately. When he falls to the ground, Gavin gives him a steady punch. Gavin doesn’t give the other party a moment to breathe, striking his joints with every move. In just a few strikes, the other party is left unconscious.

His movements are clean and smooth, and done in one swift motion.

Just as He Jian Qiu thinks that Gavin would do something after handling this “tail”, Gavin lifts his head, meeting the eyes of a crow, and meeting the eyes of He Jian Qiu.

“Captain He.” Gavin speaks mildly. “There aren’t any other surveillance cameras here.”

He Jian Qiu sighs, then takes out a new phone card from his drawer, pressing on a series of numbers.

“You beat him up just like that?”

“I simply realised that someone was following me, and acted in self-defence.” Gavin narrows his eyes, which are filled with a wilful sharpness. “But I forgot to ask who he was.”

Seeing Gavin before him, He Jian Qiu truly admires him.

He’s capable, skilled, and able to make judgements. He can have a great future, and doesn’t have to be like Old Yan - nesting in darkness like a mouse, searching for an abstract justice and truth, remaining nameless till death.

There’s no need to.

He Jian Qiu has a nameless fire in his heart. That pair of resolute and unstained amber eyes render him incomparably restless. “Must you really get involved in this trifling matter? Do you think you’re really just, and want to be a hero?”

“I’ll tell you this - I’ve seen many just people. Some of them talk about ‘justice’ and ‘protection’, but end up doing somewhat inhumane things.”

“Right now, aren’t many people looking for CORE? Can’t you investigate that instead? Look at the future of this world. Why make a special effort for a group of dead people?”

“If a person is unable to face the past properly, he can’t move forward.” Gavin’s words are very soft, but are incomparably resolute.

“If someone has to search for the truth, that person could be me.”

-

[ Chapter Five ]

In the end, He Jian Qiu guides Gavin in evading various modes of surveillance and gazes, and returns to his bookstore.

“You seemed to be interviewing the officers who were involved in that operation and the family members of the Evolvers. But in actual fact, that wasn’t the case, was it?” He lights a cigarette bud, but his eyes are not on Gavin.

Gavin arches his brows, lifting the corners of his lips. “Captain He, does this question mean you want to help me?”

“You rascal. Don’t speak nonsense.”

He Jian Qiu says this quickly, but he knows that the balance in his heart is tilting slowly.

He pours a cup of tea for Gavin, and there’s a drizzle outside the window.

“Back then, I was sent from the police academy to assist, so I was just there as an outsider to control a few absconding Evolvers. The only thing I did back then was to carry out orders.”

Amid the soft sound of light rain, He Jian Qiu listens quietly to Gavin as he relates every moment of his assistance in the New Year’s Change Incident.

“I heard afterwards that the family of a rioter came to the STF, and said their child couldn’t have done such a thing. But in the end, there was nothing definite. Only after I joined the STF, and only after I saw even more people, I realised that the New Year’s Change Incident might not tally with that was announced publicly.” 

“Perhaps many people knew about it, but no one really wanted to do anything.”

“Many people died, but they didn’t have to meet such an ending - dying while shouldering the name of a rioter.” Gavin looks at the steam rising from the cup. “I visited the home of one of the Evolvers who died. His mother committed suicide after finding out that her son participated in the riot. The old man who was left behind was discriminated by the masses, and was chased out of his rented house. I heard that he eventually went insane.”

“Captain He, should they have such endings?”

He Jian Qiu is suddenly left speechless.

Of course he knows. He’s able to see. In fact, he's able to see more things than ordinary people.

Being involved in this matter would lead to even more unseen dangers. Agony, objection, and even hopelessness, and walking in the opposite direction as everyone else.

He can’t help but smile. In Gavin, he sees what he once saw in Old Yan, and perhaps there are even more things he has yet to see.

He knows why Old Yan chose him. Even though he really hopes for Gavin to walk beneath the sunlight, he stretches out his hand.

“You lost.”

A sound drifts from behind the door. A man peeks his head from behind a bookshelf, and Gavin is dumbfounded when he sees the new arrival.

“Officer Yan...?!” He shoots a glance at He Jian Qing, reacting immediately. “The reason why Officer Yan could evade them...”

He Jian Qiu doesn’t say anything, and simply smiles while raising his hands, indicating a surrender.

Gavin looks at Old Yan. “Was Officer Yan testing me the other time?”

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to live this long.” Old Yan simply arches his brows, lighting a cigarette. “Now, you truly have no way of turning back.”

“I’ve never thought of turning back.”

He Jian Qiu looks at the young man before him. Amid the dense light, he’s forthright and persistent, as though nothing can defeat him, nor can anything taint him.

“Come. Let’s head somewhere else.”

He stands up, pushing both Gavin and Old Yan into a dark room within the bookshop.

Their figures cross over the dividing line between light and shadows, fading into the darkness slowly, though they seem to be emitting light. 

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[delimeful]

not always what they seem (2)

warnings: inappropriate jokes, remus being remus, mild panic attack, fear, miscommunication

long overdue commission for @legendsgates​! thank you for your patience and support 💚

Chapter 1

-

Janus watched the giant creatures around them devolve into more of that buzzing, clicking language as Remus waved his arm around enthusiastically in response to them.

“What are you-- Stop that,” the emo kid hissed, his whole body going tense, and Janus leaned back slightly just in time to avoid getting caught in the half-tackle that Remus was subjected to. “What if they just asked who wants to be first to be dissected, huh?”

“Oooh, kinky,” Remus cackled from where the kid had pinned his wrists to the floor. “Do you think they’ll probe me first?”

Janus rolled his eyes, and then stiffened as a shadow fell over them. “Kid—!”

He could see the moment the red alien’s hand made contact, the kid’s face immediately draining of all color as those strange talons wrapped around him and started to lift.

Almost instantly, Remus surged to his feet, grabbing the kid’s arm before he could be lifted out of range. The hold was so tight it almost looked painful, but the kid clung back desperately. He looked smaller than ever without the bulky hoodie around him, his frame barely concealed by a worn, slightly oversized band shirt.

Remus’s face twisted into a snarl. “Hey, hands to yourself, you shitty Mothra rip-off!”

Janus quickly rose to his feet as well, looking up past the kid’s terrified gaze to see the alien had paused, it’s strange antenna protrusions twitching. The facial features didn’t give him much to work with, so he attempted to see what the creature was seeing, contextless: the kid tackling Remus for big showy arm movements, Remus coming after him. Was it trying to seperate them like a pet owner with a pair of squabbling dogs?

He shifted forwards, setting a hand on Remus’ shoulder and expertly drawing all attention to himself. Remus glanced at him and then reluctantly cut off his litany of extremely descriptive curses, though his grip on the kid didn’t falter. Janus tilted his head back to carefully lock eyes with the alien.

“No. Stop,” he spoke with a stern emphasis. “Put him down.”

He reached up to grab the kid’s arm as well, tugging lightly, and then repeated himself slowly.

“Double D, buddy, I’d bet all three of my balls that they don’t understand English,” Remus said, “no matter how slow you say it.”

Janus didn’t break eye contact with the giant, moving to point at the kid and then the floor of their enclosure emphatically. “That doesn’t mean we can’t communicate with them.”

At the perfect moment to dramatically accentuate his point, the alien seemed to concede, lowering the kid down until his feet were touching the floor. The guy tore out of the oversized grip as soon as it loosened, nearly tumbling head over heels. Janus caught him by the arm, and Remus took the opportunity to jump forwards and click his teeth menacingly at the giant hand. The alien recoiled immediately, looking much like an elephant shying away from a mouse.

“I volunteer to get probed and this is how you fucks repay me? Just grabbing kids all willy-nilly? Have some respect!”

The kid muttered something, half-lost under his panicked breaths, and Remus turned to look at him. “What was that, short stack?”

“Virgil,” he repeated irritably. “It’s Virgil, not ‘kid’, definitely not ‘short stack’. I’m twenty years old, for fuck’s sake.”

Janus and Remus shared a glance over the newly-named Virgil’s head, and that was enough to set the man off into another fit of cackling laughter.

---

Roman watched, enthralled, as the little creature bedecked in green threw its head back and made a hair-raising clamor.

Intriguingly enough, the other two didn’t seem to react too strongly to such a loud outburst. The yellow one turned its face to the side as its tiny features pinched into an expression that Roman couldn’t quite decode, and the shaky purple one’s pale face seemed to shift color as it made an emphatic hand gesture of some sort. Patton would be taking plenty of notes later.

The motions, the expressions, they were all intentional and full of meaning, just like the pointing and sounds Yellow had made when Roman had tried to separate Purple from the group. He still didn’t quite grasp why the other specimens had responded so strongly; Purple had clearly been attacking, though thankfully no serious harm had occurred thanks to Roman swiftly jumping into action.

“This is incredible,” Logan murmured from beside him, and Roman couldn’t help but agree.

“There’s so much to analyze here,” he mumbled. “Any small animal would flee from a predator’s grasp, but they recognized that we’re sapient, and Yellow even approached instead to mediate!”

“Yellow?” Patton asked, a bit of teasing in his voice. “I thought your nicknames were always a bit wordier?”

“I can’t properly nickname someone unless I have their self-presentation and personality, Pat!” Roman defended. “It’s more of a… designation. After all, I can’t very well ask their names, can I?”

“I mean, we could certainly try!” Patton suggested with an optimistic lilt to his voice. “I’m not a linguist for nothing, y’know!”

“It might take some time to communicate intent, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Patton.” Logan’s ears flicked at the pleading look the Nihl sent him. “Still, I’ll admit there’s… no harm in a first attempt.”

Roman unsubtly chittered a laugh at his coworker’s expense, and Patton brightened immediately.

“Glad that you agree it’s… wordth a try!”

---

Janus was drawn away from the amusing argument going on between his fellow captives (the topic being how old one had to be to be an actual ‘for-realsies’ adult, federal law be damned) by two of the aliens simultaneously making odd, dragged out noises almost like stuttering groans.

“They sound like fucking zombies,” Virgil muttered from where he’d appeared at Janus’s shoulder. He’d snapped back to watching the three with blatant paranoia the moment they were loud enough to catch his notice.

The kid wasn’t subtle at all, but it wasn’t like he was wrong to be on guard. They were still abducted, regardless of how fantastical or impossible their captors seemed. Seeing how significant the size difference was, they’d have to work on escaping through… more cunning means.

Janus carefully held his position as the three giants crowded around the enclosure again, ignoring the way Virgil reached out to grip the back of his hoodie, either for comfort or in preparation to pull Janus from danger. This time, the three chattered amongst themselves for a long moment before going quiet and turning to the multiple-armed one.

Automatically, the humans mirrored the gesture, and the recipient of their attention met their gazes carefully one by one before placing a rigid, vertical hand under their chin and holding it there.

“Patton,” the alien said, slow and clear. It looked at them expectantly, and then repeated the phrase. “Patton.”

It was definitely some kind of word, that was clear enough. When not caught up in the rapid-fire chittering nature of the alien language, it was much easier to decipher.

“Patton?” Virgil muttered, and then squeaked when the alien stared at him with sudden intensity, hands flicking up and down erratically. Except for, Janus noted, the one still under its chin.

“Patton,” it said again, and then lowered the hand. Next to it, the insect-like one put a much bonier hand under its own angular chin.

“Roman,” it said, with a few subtle clicks that probably couldn’t be replicated by human mouths. Janus nodded, the pieces clicking into place. “Roman.”

Sure enough, next to make the hand gesture was the last alien, who introduced itself with a note of rippling bass overlapping with something like Logan. It was probably a bit mangled as he echoed it back, but different vocal chords made things difficult.

“You communing with them, Dee?” Remus asked from where he was crowding over his other shoulder. “That’s no sign language I’ve ever used. You speak alien and you’re not even going to share with the class?”

Janus elbowed him off, and then stepped forwards, and placed his own hand under his chin vertically, studying the ripple of reaction that got from the aliens.

“Dee,” he said, choosing to use his nickname as he had with the other humans.

The aliens immediately dissolved into excited chattering, which Janus patiently waited out. His fellow earthlings were similarly surprised.

“Wait, they’re doing introductions right now?” Virgil’s head whipped back and forth rapidly. Remus was gleefully attempting to mimic the weird, echoey quality of the voice of ‘Logan’ and getting concerningly close.

The one with all the arms-- Patton, it was Patton, he needed to remember if he wanted to make any progress at all here-- let out a string of syllables, slowed down but still nonsensical to them, and reached out.

Virgil jumped back and Remus started forwards, but Janus cut off all movement with a quickly snapped “Stop!”

Including the alien’s motion. He resisted the urge to smile at the success, instead looking up at Patton and tilting his head slightly. “What is it?”

Patton didn’t understand his words, but the questioning tone seemed to carry over, and after a beat, they moved their hand forward again just slightly before pausing, as though asking permission.

Janus weighed his options for a moment, before stepping forward. Virgil, who was still latched onto the back of him, came along with only a single sound of half-panicked protest. Patton correctly assumed that this was Janus giving his assent, and moved their hand closer, much slower this time.

With delicate, careful motions, they pushed Janus’s left hand out from under his chin, and then carefully curled a finger around his right arm, tugging that one up instead. Janus realized his mistake after a moment, and placed the right hand under his chin instead. Patton withdrew with a bright hum.

“What is happening,” Virgil hissed, and Janus glanced over his shoulder at him. The color had drained from his face, and his hand was white-knuckled where it was holding onto Janus’s borrowed outfit.

“I was mirroring their… introductory gesture, I suppose, and it seems that the meaning changes if I don’t use the correct hand. In this case, my right one,” he explained. “They’re going to want to know your name. Do you want me to assist?”    

Before he could answer, Remus was bouncing forwards, placing a hand under his own chin to gain the aliens’ attention.

“Call me I-Am-A-Buttface,” he half-shouted, grinning wildly.

---

“Did… did anyone else catch that one’s name?”

Roman watched as ‘D’ reached over and tugged the other tiny alien back by the collar roughly before they could speak again, astonished by how the other only let out what might be a cackle at the rough handling.

Not more astonished than he’d been by the alien catching on so quickly, though. Logan had been rendered completely speechless for a record amount of time, and Patton was still happily waving his hands back and forth at the success.

D visibly let out a long breath, and turned back to them, placing the correct hand under their chin this time. “D,” they repeated, and then switched things up.

They pulled the rambunctious one closer and placed their hand under that one’s chin, too. “Remus.”

“Are they-- introducing the other one as well?” Roman asked, and none of them could answer. ‘Remus’ didn’t seem to object, though they continued to speak in that rounded language. “That’s certainly a bit... unorthodox.”

D looked over at the only unnamed alien, the angry one that was standing at D’s shoulder, and after a moment, they jerked their head strangely. D seemed to understand, and held a hand palm-up in that one’s direction.

The unnamed alien put their hand in the proper introductory position, and had a few false starts before finally getting their name out. “Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Patton echoed excitedly. “That’s Virgil! Virgil, D, and Remus!”  

“Stars above,” Logan said faintly, “they really are just people but smaller.”

Roman couldn’t help but agree with the astounded sentiment. It hadn’t really sunk in before, but knowing the personal names of individual members of the unfamiliar species… “This could have been a disaster. Why were they labeled as primitive? Did the recorders even actually observe the planet they’re from? This seems a little hard to miss!”

“Easy, Roman,” Patton reached over to run a couple of gentle hands over his agitated wings. “You’re scaring the little guys.”

Sure enough, when he looked over, he could see all three of the tiny aliens were staring at him. He clicked an apology, and then echoed it in Common. “My apologies, small friends.”

“I agree with you, though… We can’t treat them as anything less, not like the tests would have us do. I’m not sure what our next step should be,” Patton admitted, and they turned as one to look at Logan. The Glanrim had a recognizably enthusiastic glint to his eyes.

“We’ll have to present our case to the Council. If we want them to believe us, we’ll need sufficient evidence that our specimens are sentient, sapient, and deserving of the standard rights,” he told them, tail swishing. “Our next step is to obtain that proof, through whatever means we can.”

Roman and Patton shared a glance before nodding in agreement. They turned towards the aliens with determination, and then stopped completely short.

“We’re… going to have to find some method of communicating our intentions,” Logan said, tapping his fingers on his shoulder in thought. “I believe the lack of such communication is what caused Virgil to behave so timidly in the first place.”

“Yeah, just reaching in and grabbing them probably isn’t a good idea,” Roman admitted. “What’s the plan, then?”

“Well, this can be a test in itself. Assuming that they can discuss amongst themselves what tests each of us did on the first run-through…”

---

Janus stared blankly at the three hands that had been set down along the floor of their enclosure, palms-up, each corresponding to one of the aliens. He turned to look at Virgil and Remus, just to ascertain that he was seeing the same thing they were.

Remus tilted his head to a painful-looking angle, and then nodded to himself. “It’s just like those choose-your-own-adventure books, except with huge aliens that we don’t know the intentions of! Fun!”  

“Oh, so they’re insane? They’re out of their skulls?” Virgil asked, his voice upping an octave in disbelief. “They really think we’re going to just literally put our lives in their hands, after they abducted and tormented us?”

“That’s exactly what we’re going to have to do,” Janus muttered, and held his hands up when Virgil turned to him with a glare. “Just listen for a moment. What are they doing right now?”

“Trying to trick us,” Virgil shot back immediately.

“Getting handsy!” Remus offered.

Janus pinched the bridge of his nose. “No and definitely no. They’re offering us a choice,” he clarified, “because we’ve done something to shift their opinions of us.”

“Some choice,” Virgil muttered. Janus pointed at him, making him jerk back slightly.

“Exactly. What do you think they’re going to do if we refuse to engage with them at all?”

“... Grab us anyways?”

Janus nodded, casting another look over at the waiting aliens. “If that happens, we’ve relinquished any and all control over the situation, no matter how small. Instead, we need to take advantage of this while we can. We’ll be putting our lives in their hands regardless, so it’s best to act strategically here.”

“Well, I know what I want.” Remus sidled a step away from them and towards the aliens. “Dibs on the hot one.”

“The what one?” Virgil gaped, and Remus ignored him in favor of getting a running start and then throwing himself directly onto Logan’s hand. Unsurprisingly, Logan seemed unsure how to react to a human sprawling over him like Rose from Titanic. Janus was too professional to slap a hand onto his forehead, but the urge was there. He grabbed Virgil’s shoulder when the kid started towards them.

“Forget it. He’s made his choice, and he doesn’t seem like the type to be swayed by common sense,” Janus said, rolling eyes and choosing very emphatically to not question his fellow human’s apparent qualifiers for someone being considered ‘hot’. “You need to make a decision of your own.”

Virgil shook him off, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “This is crazy. All of it. Forever. You know that, right?”

“I’m aware,” Janus replied, voice dry. Virgil shot him another look, and then seemed to actually consider the options, though grumpily. With his shoulders still up around his ears, he looked vaguely like a very angry turtle. Janus kept this observation to himself.

“Remus called the one with all the arms-- uh, Patton? He called them boring and said all they did was talk at him,” he finally offered, glancing over at the alien.

Janus nodded, keeping his own feelings on the matter off his face. “You want that one, then?”

“What?” Virgil looked at him, confused. “No, I mean you should go with them. You’ll probably have an easier time figuring out what they want from Patton.”

Janus paused, thrown off. “Hold on, that-- that leaves you with Roman. I… don’t think you’ll have the best time, considering.”

“And you will?” Virgil took Janus’s silence as the admittance it was, and nodded to himself. “I can do it. I’m tougher than you think. And anyways, if I let you go with him, he’d probably try to swipe my hoodie. Not happening.”

Janus huffed with exasperation, and Virgil gave him the closest expression he’d gotten to a smile yet before shoving his shoulder slightly and stomping up to Roman’s hand. The alien looked just as unhappy as Virgil about the decision.

---

“Well, that was an… interesting selection process,” Logan said, lifting up his hand slightly and finding that Remus seemed content to be toted around.

It was more than he could say about his own matchup. “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” he grumbled as ‘Virgil’ continued to stand there, tiny arms bundled around themself, tiny eyes staring up at Roman aggressively.

The little creature didn’t seem intent on even touching Roman, let alone actually being picked up and taken anywhere. Roman looked over to where D was seating themself on the edge of Patton’s hand like a king upon their throne, and then back to Virgil, who didn’t move.

Maybe they expected Roman to do all the heavy lifting? He carefully lifted his hand, curling it around Virgil’s tiny frame, and received a vicious hiss for his efforts. He recoiled, antennae flattening. He hadn’t even known these creatures could hiss!

“You alright, kiddo?” Patton appeared next to him, one hand hovering as a safety net for D. Roman pasted on a smile immediately.

“Of course! Just working out methods of transport with… Virgil. They seem a bit less charismatic than D when it comes to conveying intent, unfortunately.” The tiny creature continued to stare at him, gaze only dipping away to meet D’s briefly.

Patton studied Virgil for a moment, gaze moving between their hunched form and Roman’s fidgeting hands. “They might be a little touch shy. The transport containers are still usable, if you need them!”

“Ah, that’s right! Patton, you’re a genius.” Roman exchanged good luck hums with the Nihl and waited until he departed to grab the transport container and present it to Virgil. “Is this what you want to use, you picky creature?”  

As though to spite him, Virgil’s skin shifted to a paler shade, and they went so far as to step back slightly. Roman allowed himself a few frustrated clickswears, and then stopped as he noticed the creature stumble slightly.

“Virgil…?” he attempted the alien’s name, but there was no response beyond their rapid air intake increasing. They didn’t look so good.

Feeling oddly off-balance, he quickly stowed the transport container away, and kept his hands out of sight to give the poor guy some more space. “Easy, easy. Please for the love of all that is good, don’t die of shock on me.”

Virgil didn’t seem to improve at first, but after a moment, they started muttering to themself, and slowly but surely, began to return to baseline. Roman felt as though years had been taken off his lifespan.

“Alright, if you feel so strongly about it, there’s no reason I can’t improvise and simply work from here,” he rambled, moving a seat and a tray of tools to the side of the wide-low enclosure. “Logan wasn’t kidding when he called you easily startled, was he?”

Virgil eyed the tray with wide eyes, and when Roman picked up the thermometer, they skittered back out of easy reach, arms lifted in what must have been a defensive gesture. Like a frightened Arkbit, but less fluffy, and Roman had to actually try to coax them over rather than just holding them still for the process.

“It’s just a thermometer! It won’t prick you or anything, on my honor,” Roman swore, and when that didn’t do the trick, he used the device on himself instead. “See, I just place it against my skin for a few moments, and… there! A perfectly healthy me!”

He extended the sensor end of the thermometer in Virgil’s direction, but didn’t advance. “C’mon, just give it a shot. We’re going to need your baseline in case you get sick, and it’ll make it easier to get the others’ temps if you can tell them I’m not going to electrocute them or anything.”

Virgil dithered for a long moment, but Roman’s patience was rewarded when the alien finally stalked closer and smacked his hand against the sensor like a challenge. Luckily, it was precise enough to work accurately even with such a small specimen, and soon enough Roman has a temperature.

“Huh… you’re warmer than me and Patton, that’s for sure,” Roman mumbled. “Logan probably already has all sorts of classification theories about you guys, but I think it’s at least safe to say you’re mammalian.”

Virgil tilted their head slightly at him, and Roman shook his head. “We’ll have more to talk about once we actually manage to make a breakthrough on language. For now,” he held up a small scale, normally used for weighing precise chemical measurements, “back to the boring stuff!”

The tiny alien made a strange drawn out noise, and placed their hands over their face, but they didn’t get all tense and breathy again, and that was progress in Roman’s book.

So long as they kept making progress, things would probably turn out okay.

[ddarker-dreams]

Round Them Up. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This should just about do it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll come to understand it. 

[hopelesshawks]

History of Us Part 11- Qualifiers

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Masterlist Kofi

The moment right before the start of the sports festival is shockingly nerve-wracking. Each step through the tunnels, closer to the main field of the arena, fills you with more dread and excitement and anticipation. You keep your head raised high, wearing your UA gym uniform proudly as the roaring of the crowd starts to meet your ears. With Bakugo on your right and Kirishima on your left, you almost feel invincible. This is your chance, your opportunity, to show everyone what you’re capable of and show all of Japan that you refuse to be defined by your father’s tainted legacy. Present Mic’s voice booms over the speakers, his grinning face plastered across the monitors as you finally step out onto the field, astroturf crunching beneath your feet as he sings the praises of hero course class 3A. The crowd’s enthusiastic cheering is addictive. You make a point to soak it in while you can. Right now each and every one of them see you as a hero. While some of the students lamented not being able to wear their costumes for the event, you were secretly glad for it. The uniform made you a generic UA student; for now, unburdened by the past.

“This never gets old,” Kirishima grins next to you as you all step into the central area and the other classes begin to filter out into the coliseum as well. A few of them grumble, giving the hero classes jaded looks, but even their ire cannot dampen the overall atmosphere. You instinctively find yourself seeking out a familiar pair of heterochromatic eyes, eventually finding them next to Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka. You can’t help the way your heart trips over itself when you lock eyes with Shoto. Memories of the night before and of waking up in his arms float to the forefront of your mind and you scowl before shaking your head to physically dispel the image from your mind. You turn away from him, missing the hurt that flashes across his eyes. He redirects his attention back to Principal Nezu, chief umpire as usual for the third years. “Now Shoto Todoroki will give the class pledge,” Nezu announces before ceding the floor.

The school had made the executive decision not to let Bakugo give the pledge after that first year. Midoriya had nearly passed out when it was his turn second year (as much as he has grown, public speaking still isn’t quite his forte). This made Todoroki the obvious choice for this year’s class pledge. As he approaches the mic he can’t help but think of Bakugo’s first speech. He remembers Midoriya telling him later the apparent narcissistic declaration that Bakugo had made to be number one had actually been to box himself into a corner to make sure he followed through. The more he thinks on it the more Shoto relates to that desire. His eyes scan the crowd until he spots his father amongst the rest. He makes sure to make direct eye contact, his eyes boring into his father’s as he leans down to speak into the mic. “I pledge... that we will create a new legacy of our own and destroy legacies of old,” he says confidently. He thinks he sees a flash of hurt and disappointment in Endeavor’s eyes even from the great distance between them. He turns to stride down the stairs of the stage and he can’t help but seek you out amongst the crowd of fellow students, hoping you got the message.

You tense a bit as your heart skips another beat. That boy is going to give you heart palpitations. Bakugo nudges you harshly in the side, causing you to jerk your head to scowl at him. “You good, nerd?” he asks, concern softening his usual bite a fraction. “I’m great. Ready to start kicking ass,” you reply, pushing down all your Shoto-related feelings for examination later. “Good,” is all Bakugo replies before his attention returns to Nezu. You can’t help but smile a little at Bakugo’s concern. He’s a surprisingly good friend and you’re grateful Kirishima introduced the two of you. When the direct elimination round comes around you’ll be merciless, but you have full confidence the two of you will make it through the qualifiers and you know the two of you and Kirishima will make for a great team for whatever the second round will be. “Don’t forget loser. I better see you on the fucking podium,” you remind him with a smirk. “You ain’t gotta worry about me idiot. Worry about yourself,” he replies although there’s no heat behind the words and he’s smirking just as much as you.

As the first game is announced you resolve yourself to staying middle of the pack for now. You don’t want to draw too much attention and let everyone discover your identity too quickly. You’re keenly aware that the second round is almost always a team event and without knowing how many people will be on a team, you can’t rely on Bakugo and Kirishima. Furthermore, any team you’re on would only become a target. Bakugo would kill you if he knew you have no intentions of trying your all in the qualifying round of course but you have to be strategic. No one pays much attention to the lower ranks from round 1, it’ll be easier to slip under the radar. Then, in round 2, you’ll kick it up a notch to prove your worth. At that point winning will become the only important matter. Creating a new legacy while destroying the old, as Shoto put it.

So that’s exactly what you do. The first game is a so called “Tower of Terror” that had been constructed in the preceding weeks. The task is simple enough in theory: scale the tower, cross from there to the ramp connected to the stadium, and return to the field. Only rule is that falling off the tower entirely is an immediate elimination. The amount of people being promoted out of the qualifying round is, as usual, a secret but you do the math to get a good idea of how many would optimally be removed and think you have a good estimate to ensure you’ll remain relatively anonymous. Your strategy pays off and you finish in the 30s out of the approximately 50 who qualify. As you finish your slide down the ramp, glowing faintly as you heal the minor injuries you’ve collected, a fuming Bakugo is storming up to you and you roll your eyes.

“The fuck you doing half and half?” he demands as you dust yourself off. “None of your goddamn business Pomeranian,” you fire back. “What happened to trying to be the best huh? Didn’t think you were one for dirty tricks,” he accuses. You feel your temper starting to genuinely flare at that comment. “I’m not pulling dirty tricks I’m trying to survive asshole. Not all of us can afford to be showy right out the gate,” you seethe. “I didn’t take you for a coward.” “I didn’t take you for an idiot.” “Say that shit again and I’ll blast you out the fucking stadium.” “I’d like to see you fucking try.” Both of you grip hold of the front of each other’s shirts, your right hand raised as your quirk makes shadows pool in it and one of his hands raised already popping off explosions. Before either of you can draw more attention to yourselves or actually act on your anger, you’re frozen in place. Literally. “All that work you did to keep your identity under wraps will be for nothing if Present Mic or Nezu comment about you and Bakugo fighting between games. Especially if they decide to disqualify you over it,” Shoto says as he approaches the both of you before melting the ice keeping you and Bakugo from pummeling each other. “I don’t recall fucking asking you,” you spit back, whirring to face your former friend. “I’m only trying to help,” Shoto responds placatingly but it’s too late to quell your anger. “Well fucking stop trying to,” you tell him before storming off. You need to focus on the next event anyway and not stupid Shoto with his stupid face and his stupid need to stick his nose in your fucking business.

The second event is...

Rough.

To say the least.

You and Bakugo were still too pissed at each other to make a proper team so you’d ended up with Yaoyorozu, Denki, and Sero. You admired their quirks and objectively they were strong, but it wasn’t exactly a perfectly complementary combination of skills. Each member of the team was given a target they were required to protect, almost exactly like the provisional licensing exam held during your first year, except with one major twist. Every member of your team was linked together by a short leash attached to their wrists. Last four teams standing would advance to the finals. Without his costume or support items to help direct his lightning Denki’s quirk was difficult to utilize without risking stunning the entire team. Sero’s quirk was more useful but the placement of the leash made it difficult for him to use it without tugging around the hands of the teammates on either side of him. You and Yaoyorozu, the only two whose quirks weren’t actively impeded, struggled to compensate for the other two and coordinate your actions. In the end, the four of you had barely qualified, leaving you frustrated.

So much for crafting a new legacy.

As Present Mic gleefully announces that the teams of Midoriya, Bakugo, Monoma, and Yaoyorozu will be moving on, a picture of all those advancing flashing on the monitors, you can’t help but sink deeper and deeper into regret and frustration. The others head to the cafeteria as the lunch break is announced but you storm off in the opposite direction in hopes of getting an opportunity to cool off and clear your head before the break ends and the next game begins. The universe, however, seems to have other plans because instead you crash into another, much larger body. As you look up your apology shrivels up and dies on your tongue as you find yourself staring into the eyes of the only man who inspires similar ire in you as your father does.

Enji Todoroki aka Endeavor aka the (second) largest tool in the entirety of Japan.

“Where are you sneaking off to?” he asks, making no attempt to mask his suspicion of you. “None of your fucking business,” you retort. You move to step around him but he quickly steps back in front of you. “The cafeteria is the opposite direction,” Endeavor informs you. “Gee thanks, I had no idea even though I literally go to this fucking school,” you reply, each word dripping with sarcasm. “Then what could possibly have you traveling this direction instead?” “Like I said. None of your fucking business.” “Your suspicious behavior is my business. I made a mistake with a (y/l/n) before, I won’t make one again,” Endeavor swears and you reel back almost as if struck. “I am not my father,” you spit out. Your quirk activates unbidden in response to your anger, black shadows curling out of your clenched right hand and forearm. “Sure looks like it to me,” Endeavor scoffs, looking pointedly at the shadowy tendrils rising out of the right side of your body. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” a familiar voice asks from behind you and you wish the earth would swallow you up. Shoto steps around and in front of you, taking up an almost protective stance between you and his father. “Shoto step aside and-“ “No,” Shoto insists, staring down his father in challenge. He and Endeavor’s gazes stay locked in a silent argument, neither willing to back down, so you take the opportunity while they’re both distracted to slip away. You make it to about halfway down the hallway when a hand catches your shoulder. You whirl around knocking it away to find Shoto there looking genuinely stunned at your hostility. “Jesus christ will you fuck off!” you snap at him and maybe it isn’t fair but you’re frustrated and angry and you fought with one of your best friends and you’ve barely squeaked through each round so far and the last thing you are mentally or emotionally prepared to do is confront your increasingly complex thoughts on Shoto fucking Todoroki whose father just all but accused you of attempting to sabotage the competition.

“Hey I just wanted to check on you,” he says and for some reason, the show of compassion only pisses you off even more. “Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone?” you demand. “Please (y/n) I-“ he tries to say, clearly confused by your rage. You know most of your anger is actually directed inwards and not at him but you don’t care. “I get that you are trying to grow as a person or whatever and pity me because you were a complete and utter dickhead a decade ago but I don’t want your fucking pity friendship so leave me the fuck alone Icyhot,” you spit with all the venom you can muster before promptly spinning around and continuing your path down the hallway, leaving a stunned Shoto behind.

No one needs to know that you’ve already started crying before you’ve even turned the corner away from him.

A/N: Oh you thought the good feelings from last chapter would last? Nah, have some angst 🙃

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso @sunaispretty @mindofess @todoplusultra @oliviasslut

[moss-eyes]

THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO

By Edgar Allan Poe - Published 1847

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely, settled --but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong. It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my in to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my to smile now was atthe thought of his immolation.

He had a weak point --this Fortunato --although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; --I was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could. It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand. I said to him --"My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day. But I have received a pipeof what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts."

"How?" said he. "Amontillado, A pipe? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!""I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain." "Amontillado!" "I have my doubts." "Amontillado!" "And I must satisfy them." "Amontillado!" "As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchresi. If any one has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me --" "Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry." "And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own. "Come, let us go." "Whither?" "To your vaults." "My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchresi--" "I have no engagement; --come." "My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre." "Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado." Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm; and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.

There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in honour of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the morning, and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned. I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato, bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together upon the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors. The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode. "The pipe," he said. "It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls." He turned towards me, and looked into my eves with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication.

"Nitre?" he asked, at length. "Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that cough?" "Ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh!" My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes. "It is nothing," he said, at last. "Come," I said, with decision, "we will go back; your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchresi --" "Enough," he said; "the cough's a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough." "True --true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily --but you should use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps. Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.

"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine. He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled. "I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us." "And I to your long life." He again took my arm, and we proceeded. "These vaults," he said, "are extensive." "The Montresors," I replied, "were a great and numerous family." "I forget your arms." "A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel." "And the motto?" "Nemo me impune lacessit." "Good!" he said. The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow.

"The nitre!" I said; "see, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough --" "It is nothing," he said; "let us go on. But first, another draught of the Medoc." I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand. I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement --a grotesque one. "You do not comprehend?" he said. "Not I," I replied. "Then you are not of the brotherhood." "How?" "You are not of the masons." "Yes, yes," I said; "yes, yes." "You? Impossible! A mason?" "A mason," I replied. "A sign," he said, "a sign." "It is this," I answered, producing from beneath the folds of my roquelaire a trowel. "You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to the Amontillado.""Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.

At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.

It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see. "Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchresi --" "He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In niche, and finding an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the recess. "Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power." "The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment. "True," I replied; "the Amontillado."

As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche. I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was not the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within. A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall; I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I re-echoed, I aided, I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still.

It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognizing as that of the noble Fortunato.

The voice said-- "Ha! ha! ha! --he! he! he! --a very good joke, indeed --an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo --he! he! he! --over our wine --he! he! he!" "The Amontillado!" I said. "He! he! he! --he! he! he! --yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone." "Yes," I said, "let us be gone." "For the love of God, Montresor!" "Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud -- "Fortunato!" No answer. I called again -- "Fortunato!" No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick; it was the dampness of the catacombs that made it so. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat!

thank you anon for the freshman year flashbacks

[missramu]

Fishing lesson

Hello there! Enjoy another one of the kiss prompts!

Kiss number 22: in a rush of adrenaline

Matenro, the division from Shinjuku, had an entertaining tradition. Every once in a while, whenever their days off coincided with each other’s, they would go fishing. It was a hobby Jakurai had in common with Hifumi, and Doppo ended up tagging along with them. This weekend would be no different, and the doctor even made a reservation to have a guaranteed spot...

If it wasn’t for Doppo’s boss.

“I am truly sorry, sensei… I am just garbage, the worst kind you can find, and I ruined our day out…-“

The salaryman apologised, showing once again his low self-esteem, and sounding pitiful even during a phone call. Jakurai felt he wasn’t helping Doppo enough during their appointments.

“Do not worry, Doppo-kun. Don’t say such things, as it is not your fault after all. We will go fishing the next time, alright? There’s no need to be so hard on yourself…”

Jakurai cut him during his speech, not wanting Doppo to deprecate himself. He knew well his teammate was sorry, so everything the doctor needed to do for him was to reassure and calm him down. After all, Doppo didn’t ruin a single thing nor was his fault. If it was someone’s fault, it would be his boss for not respecting his leisure time. As he had predicted, Hifumi would make him company in order to finish Doppo’s tasks as soon as possible, so it would be just him at the fishing centre this time.

After –once again– reassuring the couple at the other line of the call that it was going to be all right, he hanged up the phone, making a half smile as he put it back on his pocket. He found lovely how Hifumi could be so devoted to his partner, sacrificing his own day off to help him and keep him company. With his teammates still on his mind, he started gathering his supplies: fishing rod, a replacement reel, lures and everything else he could need.

Just when he was going to leave his house, his phone buzzed again, this time receiving a call from someone completely different.

“Hey hey old coot! Whatcha doing on this loooovely Saturday morning?”

Ramuda’s voice announced him as cheerful as usual. Of course, who else would call him during his free day?

“Why, good morning to you too, Ramuda-kun. I was about to go fishing-“

He announced, holding his phone with his shoulder as he fetched his car keys, opening the vehicle’s trunk to start packing his gear.

“Ohh, one of your booring hobbies? Lemme guess, you’re going with your teammates, right?”

The fashion designer laughed at the other side, rummaging through his desk to pick a lollipop to unwrap and enjoy.

“That was our initial plan, yes”

Jakurai left out a heavy sigh, deciding that his gear could wait for a little, as he found himself incapable of holding the phone with his shoulder as Doppo could do.

“What do you mean with initial?”

Curious, the younger man popped the candy out of his mouth, paying real attention to Jakurai.

“I mean that they cannot come this time, so I am going alone”

“Boo-hoo, then Jakurai must be feeling soooo lonely!”

His curiosity changed to a tone that could be considered a mock or real concern. The doctor, knowing his partner, interpreted his words like what they were: something in between; real concern disguised with jokes, because that’s just how Ramuda was. Jakurai laughed softly, shaking his head a little.

“Why don’t you come with me, if you are so concerned about me being lonely?”

A small gasp was heard at the other end of the call, audible enough for Jakurai to notice the fashion designer’s surprise.

“Uh-mhhhh, fishing sounds a bit too boring for someone like me, but I guess I could go and make you some company! Don’t want my old man to be all gloomy!”

That was Ramuda’s way to announce that he was free and willing to go with him, if only he was honest enough to recognize he wanted to spend the day together with his lover.

“Alright then. I’ll be at your place in 30 minutes, so get ready. I guess you do not have a rod, do you?”

“Nuh-uh! As I told ya, I’ve never went fishing. You see, I don’t have grandpa’s hobbies!”

“Very funny, Ramuda. I’ll lend you one of mine, then”

“Wow, so cool! Thank you babe! See you real soon!”

Before Jakurai could reply, Ramuda ended the call, leaving the older man wondering whether he liked or not to be called “babe”. Letting that aside, he finally got everything in the car and, before heading to Shibuya, he came back home and fetched another rod for his new companion.

As scheduled, the doctor was in front of Ramuda’s shop just in time, only to see Ramuda was waiting for him. Jakurai chuckled, not expecting him to take fishing so seriously. He was dressed with a knee-length jean overall full of patches, a plain and short-sleeved blue crop top, matching sneakers and bucket hat.

“I didn’t imagine you would take this so seriously”

The doctor announced jokingly, rolling down the window and inviting the designer in.

“I must follow the aesthetic, you know!”

Replied the designer, opening the door and hopping in the passenger’s seat, grabbing the seatbelt and securing it. He then kissed his partner on the cheek as a greeting, giving him a paper bag.

“And I got you something too! You gotta be fashionable if I’m coming with you. I can’t let you ruin my reputation as a top designer”

Sceptically, Jakurai took the bag before starting up his van, checking what was inside. The contents surprised him, as he was expecting a present like the one he received last time –when Ramuda gifted him that one hat with the “women want me, fish fear me” phrase–. This time it was also a hat, but a decent one. One Jakurai could wear without having everyone’s eyes on him. The doctor smiled, putting it on and kissing his partner’s cheek.

“Thank you for gifting me this. I shall cherish it”

Ramuda giggled, opening a lollipop and lifting it cheerfully.

“You’re soo cheesy! I just wanna see you dressing fashionable for once, and not like a grandpa!”

Soon enough, the couple headed to the fishing centre, Jakurai driving back to Shinjuku. The ride was short and full of bickering from Ramuda to Jakurai and vice versa, since the doctor couldn’t help but fall right into the other man’s shenanigans.

After parking the car, they both got out of the car –Ramuda previously put on a pair of sunglasses–, got the fishing gear, and proceeded to go in. The staff welcomed the older man, as he was a regular there; and was asked about where did his teammates were as well as who his new companion was. It didn’t take them longer to realize he was the leader of Shibuya division, because Ramuda soon started to behave like, well, like him. The room was soon filled with cheers echoing how cute he was, as the designer was laughing and taking pictures with everyone that wanted one.

“I’m glad you’re already having fun, Amemura-kun. I can’t wait to see how will you react to fishing itself”

Jakurai waited for the crowd to calm down, heading right to his partner and gently reminding him what were they going to do. The smaller man put his phone back on his pocket, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand and going with him to the ponds.

“Since it’s your first time, I should tell you about this place”

The older man led the way, waltzing around fellow fishermen and families that went to enjoy their day.

“This is the Ichigaya Fish Center. People from both Shinjuku and other places frequent it, and, as you can see, it is family friendly. That’s because they don’t have a focus on professional fishing, having a small pond with goldfish that’s very popular among children”

Seeing his usual spot free, Jakurai went there, placing everything –starting by opening their chairs– down. Ramuda launched himself to the chair, enjoying the remains of his lollipop while the doctor continued his explanations.

“Since it’s your first time fishing, I’ll guess you don’t know how a rod works, am I right?”

“Yup! I mean, I know that you have to use a bait and things like that…”

Ramuda stopped mid-sentence, appearing paler and frowning.

“Wait wait waaaait a minute there. I’m totally NOT touching a worm, for your information!”

Jakurai laughed, sitting by Ramuda’s and starting to assemble both rods.

“Rest assured, it is not allowed to use live baits. They only permit mashed baits, so you will not be touching any worms”

The young man let out a relieved sigh, now intrigued by the doctor’s assembling task. He would ask him whenever he got a question, no matter how silly it could be; and Jakurai replied with pleasure, thanking Ramuda’s interest. It didn’t take them long to be completely ready, Jakurai handing Ramuda a rod and making sure he was holding it right.

“Always make sure to tie the knot tightly. A bad knot may make you lose a good catch. Understood?”

“Right and clear, mister!!”

And, like that, Jakurai taught his partner how to throw the rod, what led to a couple of failed attempts –where a fisherman’s hat was related, as well as an apology for “fishing” his hat– and a final success that made Ramuda enthusiastic enough to keep going.

“It’s important to know that fishing takes patience. Do you think yourself capable of such thing?”

Jakurai joked, receiving a pout as a reply from the pink haired man.

“I can be pretty patient if I want, humph!”

“Alright then. Keep an eye on your bobber, and if you see it shaking, then a fish is nibbling on the bait. If you see it going completely under the surface, quickly set the hook before losing the fish”

“Aand… How do I do that?”

His question was answered with actions: a fish happened to nibble on Jakurai’s bait, and he took that as an opportunity to teach Ramuda.

“It’s simple. You just have to do this–“

As soon as the bobber submerged completely, the doctor quickly rose the pole, pointing it straight in the air.

“By doing this, the fish will swing to you. Like that, you will have successfully catched a fish”

The designer looked at him in awe, amazed by the scene –and by how hot the doctor when he rose the pole–. He set down his rod and rushed to Jakurai, who was now holding his catch gently.

“Remember to hold it carefully. Pond fishes don’t usually have sharp teeth, but you may find fishes with spiny fins and, overall, they are very slippery. You have to hold them behind the head, without fear and gently”

Ramuda looked at the carp full of curiosity, admiring how his partner was holding it. He estimated that it was about 60 centimetres long, and laughed at the sight of its moustache.

“Before releasing it back, we remove the hook with these–”

Jakurai motioned to his other hand, showing a pair of needle-nose pliers. He took out the hook with ease, showing his skills and how accustomed he was to the activity, leaving Ramuda to wonder for how long he has been fishing.

The younger man took out his phone, making the doctor pose for a picture. Jakurai agreed happily, letting him take a picture.

“This is bringing back some memories! I used to be your teacher, but you’re the one teaching me now!”

They both smiled bitter-sweetly, remembering the old TDD days. The bitterness didn’t last long, because now everything was in the place it should be. No more misunderstandings that could make everything tangle up the way it was tangled before.

“Now it’s your turn, Ramuda-kun. Show me what you can do”

As soon as the picture was taken, Jakurai put the fish back on the pond, watching it swim away before sitting back and launching again his rod.

“Alright! Well then, here we go!”

Ramuda launched his pole, looking to Jakurai occasionally in order to check if he was doing it right. After he reassured him, he gazed again to the bobber, frowning as he focused on the task.

“UGH! This is taking forever! Why don’t they come faster?! Silly fishes!”

As the older man had anticipated, after 10 minutes motionless, his partner lost what little patience he had.

“What was the first thing I told you before starting, Ramuda-kun?”

“That it takes patience…”

He replied, somewhat irritated and frustrated.

“And what did you answer?”

Jakurai kept the conversation going, taking his chance to bicker the designer.

“Geez, I know, I know! I gotta wait! Now shut up, old coot!”

The lilac haired man laughed, launching his rod back in the water and providing Ramuda with small talk to help him overcome dullness. As someone who had lots of energy, he needed to be in constant movement; and activities such as fishing could be frustrating due to long waiting times and needing to be calm and quiet. For that, they kept talking about whatever topic they could find, keeping the designer entertained and focused –not losing his patience was the main goal–.

Their counting, after a while, was still negative for Ramuda. Jakurai managed to catch three medium sized carps and a big one, whereas the younger man only had a couple of failed attempts.

“I swear if I don’t get one the next time, I’m launching this stupid rod to the pond and never coming back!”

The doctor could notice how this was more frustrating than entertaining for his partner, and started to feel sorry for bringing him here. But the feeling didn’t last long, because soon enough Ramuda’s bobber went underwater again.

“Now, Ramuda-kun! Do it as I taught you, quickly!”

The designer reacted swiftly and, thanks to his efforts, he finally succeeded and raised the pole straight, catching his first fish. He grabbed it just like Jakurai told him to, and right after taking out the hook, he started to jump enthusiastically, laughing with pride and showing off his “prize”.

“Look!! I got it, I got it!!”

He couldn’t help but laugh, smiling widely for his picture. The doctor felt relieved, letting his recent thoughts go away, washed by his lover’s laugh.

“Yes, you did it very well. Congratulations on your first catch, my love”

Moved by the adrenaline, Ramuda jumped to kiss him after releasing the carp, clutching to the doctor’s neck and trusting him to hold him. The kiss was eagerly replied, Jakurai caressing his hair after putting him down again. The designer’s broad and sincere smile was something he would never get tired of watching.

“See? You just needed to be patient”