#i like dry humor but i have been a casualty many many times

[conceptofjoy]

roach is so funny but i could never send him an ask he could easily vaporize your ass in a sentence. satisfied watching from behind multiple layers of lead and through a grainy cctv camera thank u

[eyayah-oya]

Return to Me

Clone Ship Week | Day 6 | Post-Battle - @cloneshipweek

Cody/Rex

Rating: G

Warnings: mentions of Point Rain, canon typical violence, disgustingly cute happy ending

Ao3 link

           Geonosis was just as awful as every vod had ever described. It was hot and dusty, of course, but Cody didn’t really care about any of that.  It was the number of brothers he’d lost on the way to Point Rain, the hundreds more killed by the bugs and their weaponry, on top of all the droids that seemed to come in never-ending waves.

           Cody and the rest of the 212th were going to join General Mundi and the 21st Nova Marine Corps on the other side of the planet while Rex and his men worked with Gree and the 41st under General Unduli.  They would be taking on the enormous droid factory the next day, and Cody would not be able to help any of them.  He would have his own mission to run.

           There were hundreds of vod’e all over the fortified base they’d managed to find and set up camp in.  Brothers from all four battalions mingled and shared increasingly exaggerated stories.  Cody had spotted Corporals Fives and Echo talking to some boys from the 21st, and he’d seen the medics fussing over the injured vod’e and generals.  But there was no sign of Cody’s cyare.

           “Lieutenant!” Cody called to 2nd Lieutenant Jesse of the 501st.

           Jesse snapped off a sharp salute.  “Sir!”

           “At ease, Lt.  Have you seen Rex around recently?” Cody asked.

           Thinking for a moment, Jesse slowly nodded.  “I think I saw him over by the remaining gunships, sir. He was talking to General Skywalker about half an hour ago.”

           Cody nodded and clapped the trooper on his shoulder. “Thanks.  Make sure you take some time to rest, Lt.  We’re in for a rough campaign.”

           “Of course, sir.  You do the same and see if you can get Rex to sleep, too.”

           As Cody walked away, he chuckled to himself.  Little brothers were getting uppity.  At the start of the war, there was no way any trooper, let alone one from a different battalion, would have talked to him so casually.  It was a testament to how well the men of the 501st were relaxing around their Jedi and learning how to be something besides soldiers.  It was nice.

           Cody prayed to whatever gods watched over clones bred for war that Rex hadn’t gone back up to the Resolute already.  He needed to see Rex and make sure his cyare was alright. Too many vod’e were walking wounded, and even more were severely injured or dead.  As much as he knew it was a real possibility, Cody did not want to ever consider a reality where Rex marched on ahead of him.

           “Hey, Commander!” Commander Tano chirped from out of nowhere.  She smiled up at him with bright eyes that hadn’t been weighed down by war yet.  She still had hope and Cody prayed that she would never lose that.  Yet another thing he prayed for to unknown gods.

           “Hello, Commander.”  Cody dodged a pair of vod’e carrying a crate full of supplies and glanced down at Commander Tano.  “Can I help you with something?”

           “Jesse said you’re looking for Rex?  I know where he is!  But we have to hurry before my Master pulls him away again.”

           If Commander Tano was willing to help him find Rex, Cody was definitely not going to say no.  Especially after the massacre they’d just faced.  “Thank you, Commander,” he said, warm affection warming his chest briefly. “I appreciate it.”

           Commander Tano waved away his thanks.  “It’s no problem.  I get it.  Master Skywalker practically ran to Master Kenobi’s side as soon as we got here, and I know Jesse went to go find a batchmate of his from the 41st. Sometimes, you just need to make sure everyone’s alive.”

           “That is very wise, Commander,” Cody said.  He really shouldn’t be surprised, but in his mind, the Commander was just so young.  She shouldn’t have insights into how war worked, and why they needed time to recuperate after a bad battle, if only to reassure themselves that their loved ones made it out alive or to mourn the ones that hadn’t.

           There were far too many mourning vod’e.

           “I have a great teacher,” Commander Tano said with a warm smile.  “Rex said you taught him a lot of what he knows and he’s been passing some of that down to me.  It’s helped me in some tough situations, so I should be thanking you, Commander.”

           “No thanks necessary, Commander,” Cody managed to say without choking or giving away his emotions.  Not that it probably mattered since Jedi were attuned to the people around them.  Only General Kenobi had ever thanked him for anything, and Cody was convinced that his General would thank Ventress after she stabbed him with her saber.  Karking di’kutla jetti.

           “Anyway, Rex is over in that tent, hopefully taking a nap. Coric was threatening him earlier with sedation, so he might have followed through on that threat.”

           And with that, Commander Tano skipped away, most likely to terrorize some poor shiny who wouldn’t know how to deal with an overly friendly shiny Jedi Commander. Cody privately wished he had a holo of their flailing.  It would provide some good laughs in the future.

           Cody strode over to the tent Commander Tano had pointed out, and knocked on the frame.

           “Come in,” Rex called and something inside of Cody’s chest loosened.

           He undid the fastenings and stepped inside, taking his bucket off immediately.  Rex was sitting on the cot, a datapad in his hands, likely going over the initial casualty reports for the battle.  Most importantly, he was very much alive.

           “Rex,” Cody gasped out with a strangled breath.

           Rex jerked at his voice and then a second later, Cody had his arms wrapped around his cyare, breathing him in as he held on as tight as he could.

           “Cody!  You’re okay!” Rex said.  He pulled back to give Cody a sharp look.  “You are okay, right?”

           “Yes, I am.  I didn’t end up getting injured.  That was purely my General,” Cody said, trying for some dry humor but it fell flat in the face of their combined relief.  “What about you?  I heard you got thrown off a wall?”

           “Karking Fives and Echo,” Rex growled.  “General Skywalker and Ahsoka caught me, so I wasn’t hurt.  Nothing beyond a few bumps and bruises.”

           Cody ran his eyes over Rex’s body, as though that would tell him if Rex was hiding any injuries with the armor in the way.  Once he verified that there wasn’t any gaping hole or crack in Rex’s armor, Cody dropped his helmet to the ground and pulled Rex into a bruising kiss.  His cyare responded eagerly, clinging desperately to the hard, sharp planes of Cody’s armor.  There was no finesse, no sweetness in the kiss.  Just pure, heady relief and a desperation to prove that they really survived.

           Rex gripped Cody’s hair tightly with one hand, the other wrapping around his waist to pull him as close as their armor would allow. He sucked on Cody’s bottom lip and gently nibbled before letting go and pressing his head against Cody’s in a soft keldabe.

           “I was so worried when we heard that most of your gunships went down, including General Kenobi’s.  You’re usually flying with him.”

           “We decided to split our forces.  It was a really close call a few times, but we made it.  We both made it,” Cody answered.  He was shaking from relief at having Rex in his arms, alive and unharmed.  Nothing would ever be able to beat that heady feeling of overwhelming gratitude to whatever gods were listening.  They’d listened to at least one of his prayers today.

           “Stay alive tomorrow,” Cody demanded after a moment of just breathing each other in.  “That factory is going to be really dangerous.”

           “I know.  Gree is a solid vod, though.  He’ll have my back and I’ll have his.  Plus, we have the Jedi to help keep us safe.”

           Cody very carefully didn’t think about the many times General Skywalker had gotten men killed by doing something reckless or stupid. The R2 droid was not important enough to sacrifice his padawan, Rex, and three other men to General Grievous.  Out of four, only Rex and Denal had made it back, and Commander Tano had nearly been killed by Grievous when she kept Grievous from killing Rex, all for a droid.  Cody was skeptical, but he also had faith in Commander Tano and General Unduli and her padawan.  They’d protect the men while Skywalker handled whatever crazy idea he had.

           “We will be safe,” Rex said, giving Cody a shake. “While you’re off with the Marines, you should talk to Bacara.  They’re out of contact with most of the GAR.  Only Neyo and Jet can get through the blockades to deliver supplies and intelligence to Nova.”

           A frown carved the worry lines on his face deeper as Cody absorbed that information.  “I’ll talk to him.  See what we can do,” Cody swore.

           Rex nodded.  “Good.  He’ll keep you alive.  Bacara already told me he’s planning on sharing all of my embarrassing ARC training stories to you while you’re on campaign together.”

           Cody grinned.  “I’ve been trying to pull those out of Neyo, Keeli, Thorn, and Thire for ages now.  And Bacara’s the one to spill the beans?”

           Rex grumbled and buried his face against the crook of Cody’s neck.  “He said I don’t have enough blackmail material on him to keep him from blabbing. He also said I don’t scare him because, and I quote, “I’m as terrifying as a sleepy baby nexu cub buried in a pile of nip”.”

           “That—is strangely accurate,” Cody choked out, laughing at Rex’s offended growl.  “You’re a little prickly, but everyone knows you’re just a softy.  I mean, you’ve been teaching Commander Tano what I taught you?”

           His cyare shrugged.  “She’s in the middle of a war, and she doesn’t have the training we do. I don’t want to see her die when I could have prevented it.  Nor do I want to see my vod’e die because she makes a bad decision.  I’m giving her all the tools she’ll need to be successful and survive this war.”

           “You’ve adopted her.”  Cody couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before.  Rex had always loved with all his heart, as evidenced by the numerous vod’e who loved him unconditionally.  Of course, Commander Tano would have made the list.  “If she’s yours, then she’s mine, too,” Cody said. “We’re in this together.”

           Rex finally peeked his head back out from where he’d hidden it against the small sliver of skin on Cody’s neck.  “Really?”

           Cody didn’t hesitate.  He nodded and bumped their foreheads together.  “I promise.”

           For the first time since their first kiss, Cody had the amazing opportunity to see Rex completely and totally flustered.  He blushed bright red, sputtering and coughing as he tried to find something to say.

           It took a few minutes for Rex to completely compose himself and then it was Cody’s turn to be flustered.  “Are you asking me to be your riduur?”

           “What?” Cody spluttered.

           For a second, Rex faltered.  But then he squared his jaw and firmed his spine as if he was facing the worst of odds in a battle.  “We are one when together.  We already do that, and have done that since we were cadets.  We are one when apart.  At this point, I don’t think there’s anything that could separate us, even when we’re fighting on opposite ends of the galaxy.  We share all.  We tell each other everything.  You said it yourself.  What’s mine is yours, too.  We will raise warriors.  We are raising Ahsoka together, since we share all.  Not to mention all of our men that we’ve both trained since this war started. If that doesn’t count, I don’t know what would.

           “So, are you asking me to be your riduur?”

           As Rex laid out each point, Cody found himself agreeing. He and Rex were already married, they just hadn’t said the vows to each other yet.  And honestly, there wasn’t a better time than now.  Cody would rather be married to the love of his life for a few hours, then never have married him and watched him die in battle.

           “Yes, Rex of Torrent.  I am asking you to be my riduur,” Cody said, determination in every cell of his body.

           Rex lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Cody, bringing their foreheads together.  “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde,” Rex swore fervently, his whole heart bared for Cody to see.

           “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde,” Cody echoed the vow, offering Rex his heart with every breath.

           They shared the same space for a moment, pressing into the keldabe more firmly before their lips brushed together.  Like a firework had been set off in his bones, Cody tugged Rex into a passionate, over-whelming kiss that stole their breath away.  He could feel his heart swelling with the amount of love he felt for Rex, bursting out from behind the dam he kept on his emotions most days.  It rolled over him until the only thing he could think of was that Rex was alive, in his arms, and that they were now married.  What more could Cody care for in that moment?

           Eventually, air became a necessity, and they broke away from each other to breathe.  Rex gave a soft chuckle.  “You do realize that means you’re going to have to adopt Ahsoka, too, right?”

           “YES!  I get two dads AND Cody has to call me by my name now!”

           “Shh, they can hear you, Soka.”

           “Oops!  Everyone scatter!”

           Cody laughed.  His heart couldn’t contain the joy he felt, and he would carry that joy throughout the war as a hopeful flame for when they could all have peace again. But in that moment, he had all night with his riduur, and Cody planned on making the most of it.

[metanoiamorii]

❛Maybe we are not meant to be, not yet. Maybe we’re stars, waiting to collide in another life.❜

♧ Title: Be Still My Foolish Heart [BSMFH]

♧ Status: Brainstorming & Drafting

♧ Point of View: Third

♧ Genre: Fantasy, Action, Drama, Romance

♧ Warnings: Violence, War, Death of major and minor characters, nudity, past abuse, generational trauma, generational healing, racism, transphobia, homophobia, character corruption arcs, ethics vs morals, star crossed lovers, tragic endings, codependent and complicated relationships.

♧ Featuring: Diverse LGBTQ+ characters, enemies to friends to allies to lovers slowburn, complex and complicated characters, fantasy religions, plenty of symbolism, complex world building, ethics vs morals, a whole lot of moral grey can be fit into this bad boy, character redemption and corruption arcs, some found family, learning to separate one from their family's trouble and taking control of their life, soulmate trope, setting the groundwork for future generations.

♧ Setting: An Ancient Chinese inspired, fantasy setting

♧ Synopsis:

In Oidien there has always been a defined split against the Heavens and Ghost City. No one can remember what sparked the feud between them, it's possible after all these years of the fighting and endless war... they don't even remember themselves. They know it's tradition to keep fighting, to ensure the cycle of violence continues. So that is what they do; they keep fighting.

In recent years, the King of Ghost City has drawn back from the fields off battles and distants himself from politics. He leaves the affairs in his eldest children: Lianhauzi holds the crown, Lutaizi knows his way around the court, Suming’qiu is gifted with the army, and Taixuan is there to ensure everyone takes a break, to take care of her family.

A fight against children is how the Heavens view it... To their surprise, these children are more than gifted than their father. This isn't a game to them, it's a livelihood. They know how to secure a victory within minimum casualties, and they know how to balance one another's weakness.

The Heavens cannot take another loss. No matter how many battles they have lost, they have always managed to win this war. Each time. But on this account? They're afraid to admit they've been beat. So they come to a resolution: they have to take out one of the links. Take out one and the rest should crumble.

It's...

Not as easy as one would imagine. Or so their spies in court relay. The four know to keep their distance in public, and if they meet in private no one knows. They handpick their servants carefully, and they ensure each servant knows their tasks and do not overstep. They've taken every precaution necessary.

Even when it works, when one of their spies is welcomed inside that well guarded, hidden court... no one expects the game of cat and mouse to transpire. Their spy is humored until she's willing to change her allegiance and eventually is brought into the family by marriage... In the very least, she offers the weakest link to exploit to destroy the family.

♧ Tease

Of all I have done,

Forgettable they to none;

Has it now begun?

No, not forgiveness.

That I would never ask for, love.

I wish, regret comes.

You know as I do,

Games I once played, have turned you,

A pretty face blue.

I made no mistake,

You know as I do, the stakes

Required; played.

Once, for you, my rule

To survive, I broke, for you;

That forsaken dual.

My conscious it haunts;

My sleep, in dreams it will taunts

And it brings your scorn.

Pour me a wine glass,

For my sanity to last

And my wrath? To trap.

For me, preform; dance

Distract me with your nice laugh

Until I collapse.

And leave, in silence,

See to it, quiet your lips

Of the truth won't slip.

Allow me my sleep,

Don't be cruel, do not slight, cheat

You ugly she-beast.

A single night, peace,

That is all I ask for, please...

Better, just leave.

I have discovered,

Regret? No, I now confessed

Not for you, coward.

♧ Excerpt:

Her booted feet pattered against the puddles of rain droplets as she hugged the umbrella close to her shoulder, protecting herself from the storm. In a hurry she rounded the corner, following after the image of a soaked cat that had caught her attention and ran before she could approach it properly. It had been the first time in awhile since she had taken to sprinting, to follow the cat. Around the corner Xihuli came, brought to an abrupt halt when she turned into another person, as insane as she was to be out in the midst of a storm.

Her umbrella clattered to the floor, dropped as she staggered back a pace. The bright red silk was out of place, spinning upon the rain soaked ground. She gained her footing, no longer staggering to place distance between them. Her head threw back, an angry look quick to find purchase upon her features. Having yet to reach for her umbrella, the rain begun to soak the bright red and white silks she wore, drenched and sticking to her figure. "Watch—"

Her protests are so abruptly cut off. She watches the man tilt back his own umbrella, dark as the stormy sky with red spider lilies imprinted upon the fabric; the hanging tassels brush against his form, parting to expose his face. A youthful face that should have been smiling, with those eyes— so red to match the spider lilies upon his umbrella— staring at her as if she were a lesser being. The umbrella sits back upon his shoulder, head tilted forward with his chin forward, a sign he was in fact superior to her.

"Don't you know better, Zhuque?" The tone he speaks in, it's unlike that rambunctious voice he's known for, full of laughter that becomes too obnoxious for the ears. How serious it is, no jest spoken, no room for his games. He stares her down, staring through the dangling tassels of his umbrella. And how unkind that look is, a look that's no better than a wolf staring at a lamb. "You should never be out so late."

The two men, another prince and his own dog. Wine and lilac gives him away, wearing the golden lotus crown in his hair. Face unfriendly, a natural scowl he had been born with. He stands beneath the umbrella held above his head, keeping him dry from the rain. Held by that fucking bastard, smug and vain, with the bones acting as hair pins. He's uncaring if he gets wet, of course he is. When he controls the ocean why would he care about a little storm?

Lianhauzi pulls back his hood as he now stands blocking the last exit, Lutaizi and An Huli keeping the woman pinned in. He takes a step forward, Xieyuan moves with him, holding the umbrella in place. When he steps forward they all watch Xihuli push herself back, struggling to press her back into the wall, able to stare in each direction where one was coming from. "The fear in your eyes betray you... You know why we are here."

♧ Characters:

Love Interests

Shenguai Suming’qiu; Heizhao-jun

Amab • Agender • He/Him • Asexual • Reciproromantic

The Fourth Master of the Phantom Palace; that has earned the name of Black Sinister Claws. Said to be cursed from birth, as he has come to age and stepped into the politics and warfare, he has come to be their lucky charm. A conniving young man with a sharp intellect, and a shaper wit. For his family, he has taken up the role as master of intelligence and handles all correspondence, planning, and diplomacy. As a front, he appears an apathetic man, detached and void of all emotions, only hellbent on his work; only his siblings and a selected handful are able to see another side of him.

Yi Xianzi; Courtesy Name Ke’ai

Afab • Genderfluid • She/They • Pansexual • Demiromantic

The Young Mistress of the Yi Manor is a woman with high and strong morals, and lives to maintain peace for the Heavens, and secure a future for the younger generations. She bears conflicted emotions of supporting her mistress’ less than moral ambition, but often does not speak of them and turns a blind eye instead; she tries to justify these actions for the greater good, despite knowing better. Often at times, she is torn between her loyalty to her household, and her own sense of justice and morality.

━━━━━━━━━━

Phantom Paradise

Shenguai Bixie’e; Guiwang

Amab • Nonbinary • He/They • Pansexual • Apothiromantic

The King of Ghost City. Despite years and generations of war with the Heavens, he remains undefeated and stays alive. Defying the odds, many believe he is unkillable, and quite well, untouchable. He has retired, for the most part, from the battlefield, and remains within the Phantom Palace, allowing his children to helm the war. He spends his time with his concubines, or with his council. Few see his face, fewer are able to gain an audience with him.

Shenguai Lutaizi; Heige-jun

Transmasc • Genderfluid • He/They • Omnisexual • Demi-Homoromantic

The unorthodox First Master of the Phantom Palace; that has earned the name of the Lord of the Black Song. First in line to the throne, he has conceded his right to it, and would concede his own royalty if not for his siblings. Despite being a Prince of Ghost City, he is nothing like his father. Carefree and reckless, he would prefer to spend his days drinking, goofing off, and living life to the fullest, uncaring of a familia grudge that makes little sense to him.

Shenguai Taixuan; Duandaojian-jun

Transfem • Nonbinary • She/They • Demisexual • Panromantic

The Second Master of the Phantom Palace; that has earned the name of the Princess With A Broken Blade. She takes greatly after her elder brother, and refuses to partake in a war that has not personally done her wrong. Despite her heritage, she is a woman with a strong sense of justice, morals, and honour. She protects her family from harm, and she will not turn away someone in need, no matter their origins. Opposed to being a sister and a daughter in her family, she fills the role of mother and acts as the woman of the household.

Shenguai Lianhauzi; Baoli’jífeng-jun

Amab • Agender • He/They • Asexual • Akioromantic

The Third Master of the Phantom Palace; that has earned the name of the Violent Tempest. Pressed by his elder siblings, he has taken up as their father’s heir to the throne; the Crowned Prince. He is known for his bad temper and strict nature. At heart, he has good intentions, he lacks the best judgement to execute his intentions.

Shenguai Kuangre Ai Du De; Dubo'mogui-jun

Amab • Genderfluid • They/He/She • Pansexual • Cupioromantic

The Sixth Master of the Phantom Palace; that has earned the title of the Gambling Demon. He is a man unaffected by grudges, politics, responsibilities. He prefers to take a page from his brother, Lutaizi’s, book and spend his time enjoying life to its fullest. He is very much a hedonist, and a compulsive gambler. Everyone he meets, he is obligated to gamble with them, at least once. The catch? He’s capricious, he’s erratic, and he will always change the game and stakes with every person.

Shenguai Jiaxiu; Mei-jun

Amab • Genderfluid • He/She/They • Pansexual • Frayromantic

The Seventh Master of the Phantom Palace; that has earned the name of the Beauty Lord. Arrogant and narcissistic, he is a very conceited man. He enjoys simple flattery and having others fawn over him, being the center of attention. Out of admiration he has taken after his brother, Suming’qiu’s, footsteps and assists him with his tasks. Himself, he carries out the more… darker duties called for, and gathering information; assassinations and spying tends to be his expertise.

━━━━━━━━━━

The Four Calamities

An Huli; Chui Feihong

Transfem • Agender • She/They • Homosexual • Homoromantic

Little Fox, as she’s called, is the favored of Prince Lutaizi, and the oldest of the Great Calamities. She is a woman who knows what she desires, what she is determined to do, and she refuses to allow anything or anyone to stand in her way. She comes off to be blunt, spiteful, angry; a she-devil, some claim in kinder terms than a bitch. Ahead of her time, she refuses to hide herself behind a mask, to be perceived as a gentle woman when, in truth, she is a walking storm, and for that, many frown upon her.

He Ruxie; Hei Xieyuan

Amab • Agender • He/They • Demisexual • Gyneromantic

Lord Black Water, as he is called, is the favored of Prince Lianhauzi, and the second of the Great Calamities. Formally a scholar in his past life, he experienced a string of bad luck, costing him his family, his wife, his daughter, his livelihood, his freedom, and soon his sanity. When he perished in his mortal life, he returned as a malicious spirit, and soon came into the service of the Shenguai family and serves loyally and viciously

Da Chen; Nitu Guiguai

Transfem • Nonbinary • They/She • Asexual • Demiromantic

The Enlighted One, as they are called, are the favored of Princess Taixuan, and is the third of the Great Calamities. In their previous life, they lived the life of an honest priest, surrounded by corruption and sin. When they met their end, their resentment for their peers remained and thus they rose to power to root out the corruption and seek retribution. Of the four, they are the amicable. They often forgo emotions and act only in rationality. Their mind is never clouded, and each act they make are in good conscious. Good will is shown to those that live an honest life, no matter their origins; ruin is shown to those are decide to live a dishonest life.

Wusi Linghun; Bai Wulian

Closeted Transmasc • Agender • He/They • Akiosexual • Demi-Akioromantic

The White Devil, as he is called, is the favored of Prince Suming’qiu, and the youngest of the Great Calamities. Formally a young lord in the Heavens, he turned his back on a betrothed he held no affection for. Openly, he cast aside his previous life, to serve the Shenguai family, and became a quick aid to the Fourth Prince. He is said to be two-faced, in some encounters being ruthless and apathetic, and other times he is genuine and compassionate; a toss up upon which side someone will see when their paths cross with him.

━━━━━━━━━━

The Heavenly Host

Meng Zhang; Courtesy Name Amnizha

Transfem • She/Her • Demisexual • Demiromantic

The First Master of Dongbu, and the acting Qinglong. Kindness is the one rule she lives by: kindness to her family, kindness to her allies, kindness to a stranger, kindness to her foes. She sees no reason to rule with fear and hatred, and actively will not promote negative emotions. She is a stern and serious woman, she takes pride in her knowledge, her power, and securing the truth. Behind closed doors, she opposes Xihuli and the Emperor, knowing both have secrets they would prefer to keep buried, in public she maintains an appearance of being a close ally.

Ling Guang; Courtesy Name Xihuli

Cis-female • She/Her • Demisexual • Apothiromantic

The First Master of Nanfang, and the acting Zhuque. Openly, she is perceived as a compassionate woman, who puts the needs of her people before herself, and acts selfless; in truth, she is surprisingly violent and vulgar. She continues to fuel the war, slandering and starting rumors of false deeds to rile the public, and gain the support of her supposed allies. There is nothing she is not willing to do to gain fame, support, and what she desires.

Jian Bing; Courtesy Name Cixia

Afab • Genderfluid • She/They • Asexual • Demiromantic

The First Master of Xibian, and the acting Baihu. She is known for being a compassionate woman, she wears her heart upon her sleeves, and acts out of the goodness of her heart. She openly encourages peace, to cease endless war and bloodshed; to make amends. For which, she is seen as an enemy to Xihuli, but is a close friend to Amnizha. Her only downfall are her chronic illnesses that have left her sickly since birth.

Zhi Ming; Courtesy Name Lu'yongshi

Amab • Agender • He/They • Closeted Homosexual • Homoromantic

The First Master of Beifang, and the acting Xuanxu. He has a reputation that precedes him as an honorable gentleman. He is a man of his word, he acts in accordance to justice and honor, and rarely strays from it. At heart, he is a warrior, and lacks the delicacies for social greetings; he comes off as blunt, uninterested, distant, and often lacking a heart to care.

Zhi Shi; Courtesy Name Yansbi

Cis-female • She/Her • Asexual • Aromantic

The younger sister of Lu'yongshi, the Second Master of Beifang, and acting Xuanshe. She happens to be her brother’s polar opposite. She is less than honest, she lacks honour, she craves power, she will use blackmail to get what she desires. As, she is not above blackmailing and guilting her own brother to act in accordance to her own agenda. She is also a close associate to Xihuli.

Long Jianhong; Courtesy Name Canren

Cis-male • He/Him • Bisexual • Apothiromantic

The current Emperor of Zhongxin, and the acting Honglong. A prideful man that cares more of his own person than his own people. Often, he turns a blind eye to all suffering, and allows Xihuli to do as she pleases. He is a womanizer, with various concubines’ , and elicit affairs with others. He was loveless to his wife, as there are rumors he was behind her untimely death. Whether these rumors are true or not are unproven, and few challenge them out of fear.

Long Shisan; Courtesy Name Li Busengren

Amab • Genderfluid • He/She • Quoisexual • Quioromantic

The Fourteenth Prince of Zhongxin. With twelve siblings in line of succession to the throne, Li Busengren acknowledges the chances for him to be the heir are little to none; this is added by the factor of being, from birth, his father’s least favorite child. With a will to prove his father wrong, and desperate for his father’s approval, he’s ready to do anything for an ounce of recognition.

Taglist

BSMFH: @writings-of-a-narwhal, @kittensartswriting, @inkflight, @qelizhus,

General: @endlesshourglass, @writerray, @poore-choice-of-words, @alexwritesfiction, @primusesgiantmetalballbearings

Both: @cecilsstorycorner, @little-boats-writes, @hazard-writes, @egg-shark

[generalfoolish]

We Go Together

General Dameron!AU

Chapter 1: A Welcome Party of One | Chapter 2

Rating: General for now! It gets more spicy later, and I’ll update accordingly.

Summary: OC character starts flying with the resistance, and happens to meet General Poe Dameron. Eventually, they'll do more than just talk and badly flirt.

A/N: Hey guys! This is my fic from AO3, and I wanted to add it to my master list. It’s a work in progress! Also, we deviate a bit from the actual story of the sequels, but I try to stay pretty close to the lore of the SW universe. 

The explosion burned too bright against Darial’s eyes. The darkness of space enveloped the blinding whites, and glanced sharply against her radiation shield. A red laser shooting from the wreckage jerked her back to life; and in seconds she was maneuvering away from the burning ship behind her.

Dary heard the crackling in her ear piece, and she breathed deeply to steady herself. The casualties would be many. They were increasing ten-fold after each mission. This re-con had gone sideways, fast. She cursed under her breath and banked a hard left against a Tie Fighter shooting near her rear. Her eyes followed the green beams coming from her own X-wing, and smiled when they found their mark.

“Green Two!” The static garbled the words, but she made her call name out.

“Green Two responding,” She grimaced at her own croaky voice. She needed water, and badly.

“Green Two, disengage. Pulling back.” The words were more chewed up this time, her commander getting lost in the static.

“Pulling back, Green Leader.”

“Settle for Base.”

“Base bound, Green Two off.” She eased off the thrusters and checked the nav. Deftly, she punched in the coordinates for Ajan Kloss, and rolled her neck as hyperspace engaged.

She had enough time to glance around and see her team doing the same, before she was flung into the dazzling rush of white jets of light. She could never get over hyperspace. The urge to jerk out of the tunnel, she realized dimly, had never gone away either. Dary knew that the only reason she preferred hyper was that space was too inky black for her comfort. In her years as a pilot, she had never found comfort amongst the stars. She was always unsettled in the darkness, and felt uneasy in the absence of any celestial bodies.

“Something to keep my mind off the dead, at least.” She murmured to herself. In the brightly lit cockpit, there was nowhere to hide those dark thoughts. Her orange jumpsuit glowed, nearly reflective, as if to prove her point.

The nav system started beeping, and gave her the respite she needed to ignore the deep seated survivor’s guilt building in her stomach. She punched a few buttons, flicked a few switches, and dropped out of hyperspace. She found herself laughing, and wished flying was as easy as dropping out of hyper. She nosed her X towards the green moon.

Dary hadn’t had the opportunity to see Ajan Kloss yet, and she had heard it was a beautiful moon. The landscape rushing up to greet her after her descent into the atmosphere was a welcome sight. The rumors weren’t true, though. They left too much unsaid. The whispers of a jungle had missed the devastation of how mesmerizing the moon was. It was so alive, that Dary felt a sob stick in her chest. She shook her head slightly, and focused on the landing pattern.

“Green Two, requesting landing.” She breathed into her mic; still moved by the beauty of the greenery around her. A welcome sight after days of barren space.

“Green Two, welcome home. Head to bay 4.” The gruff voice told her. She was glad to hear Basic in a friendly tone, and never happier to get rid of the undertone of urgency or panic. She docked down in Bay 4, and noted that it looked like every other bay in the resistance, before switching her engines off.

The astromech popped the radiation shield for her, and she pulled her helmet off.

“Thanks R6.” Dary smiled warmly at her droid. He beeped in response. She left him for now, and knew he was in good hands. The Resistance loved their droids, and pilots doubly so. She had left her helmet in the cockpit, and climbed down the ladders a mechanic had pushed, over after she had touched down. The mech was nowhere to be found now, and she decided not to take it personally. She wasn’t anyone special, and the mission had been a failure to be sure. Plus, she didn’t know anyone on this moon. She rolled her eyes at herself.

“What? You expectin’ a welcome party, Dary? A full roll out?” A hardness settled in her chest, and she screwed her eyes up as she jerked the zipper of the flight suit down. She had just stepped out of the suit, focusing singularly on her muddy boots, when she heard the throat clearing cough come from behind her. She turned slowly, making a mental note to clean her shoes later. She was annoyed. She wanted to cry in the shower. She wanted to find her new quarters.

“Yes?” She was sharper than she meant to be, but she was tired.

“Yes, sir.” He said, a smirk dancing on his lips. She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t echo his request. “Because I’m Poe. General Poe Dameron.” He continued, and she realized he had expected her to know him.

“General Dameron!” She exclaimed with as much forced enthusiasm as she could muster. “What can I do for you, sir?” She asked, snapping to attention. Her flight suit still bundled around her boots. He dropped his smirk.

“You’re Green Two, right? Ardan?” His voice had lost nearly all traces of the humor from before.

“Yes, sir.” Dary answered quickly, not wanting to get into real trouble. She held his eyes for a moment, before stooping to grab her flight suit. “How can I help you, sir?” She asked genuinely, folding her suit as she talked. He smiled again, and she couldn’t help but notice he was that much more handsome for it. He was slim, but muscular beneath his loosely fitted button up. The light material really made his tanned skin glow in the bright sun.

“They tell me you saved a lot of lives doing something very dangerous and very reckless.” Her mouth fell open, and she snapped it shut with enough force to rattle her back teeth.

“Sir, I was taking calculated risks to ensure that my fellow pilots made it back in one piece.”

“You were outmanned and outgunned, why would you try to take down a Starfighter alone?”

“I reasoned that if I were successful, then it would be a great advantage for my team.”

“What if you weren’t?” She couldn’t read him, and so she tried pleading her case earnestly.

“Then I would have done everything in my power to make sure that I at least bought my team a few minutes for a retreat.” She swallowed painfully; her throat was tight and dry.

“Good work out there today, Ardan. That kind of honest fighting is how we’ll win.” He took her by the shoulder, and simply held it for a moment. It wasn’t lost on her that his palm devoured her shoulder, and engulfed her more than she thought possible. His words filled in her a sense of pride, and her heart hammered against her ribs.

“Thanks, sir.” She squeaked out, and immediately regretted how she sounded. He only smiled, and opened his other hand in a gesture. He swept his arm back, indicating she was to move that way, and somehow her brain registered the signal and started walking. Her steps felt as clumsy as a newborn banthas.

“Have you been to the base before?” He asked, his hands swinging lazily by his side. She struggled to match his long stride, although he seemed to be moving at a leisurely pace.

“No, but the view flying in was something else.” She told him, shyly moving her hair behind her ears.

“It always reminds me of Yavin.” He told her, a small smile lifting to his eyes.

“I’ve never been,” She admitted freely, “It must be lovely to be comparable to here. Is Yavin another base?” He chuckled a little, and studied her face.

“I was born on Yavin, but it does have a...rich history involving resistances. Look, not to be forward, but I was on my way to dinner. The brass has me doing some drills at an unbelievably early kriffing hour, and so I plan to turn in early. You can say no, but you’d be doing me a pretty big favor. We don’t get a lot of new faces, especially pretty faces. Whaddya say, take another risk?” He laughed, and any doubts she had were gone. If it was inappropriate, surely he wouldn’t ask.

“That sounds lovely.” She told him before she could reconsider. Her eyes trained on her boots as they walked forward. She didn’t know how her boots had gotten so dirty. There isn’t mud in space, she breathed out her nose in a sort of snort laugh, and caught Poe’s eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Something funny?” He asked, amused

“Just...well it’s dumb, but my boots are filthy. No idea how, I’ve been in space for days. No mud in the cockpit.” She told him aimlessly, the words falling out easily. She couldn’t help it; he was impossibly easy to talk to. He grinned at her, nodding along.

“Forget being clean. The first rule of the Resistance is to be as dirty as possible, but also you must always be absolutely presentable.” He laughed, pointing a finger at her in a menacing way. She liked this. She hadn’t really fit in on her last post.

“Let me stash my suit,” She managed between laughing fits. His stories were coming more freely, and the long walk to the end of the terminal was almost over. She jogged to a locker and found her code name. Green Two. Impersonal, but perfect. Especially, she grimaced, in the heat of battle. It was a precaution, just in case the First Order happened to tap the comms. She stashed her suit quickly, and turned on her heel to find Poe just waiting for her. Patiently, he was watching her. Her breath caught, and before she could let that color her face she forced her legs to close the distance between them.

“Hungry?” She groaned.

“So, what happened after you got caught?” She asked, picking up the last thread of conversation easily, as they started the last leg of the walk to the commissary.

“Well, what you need to know is how to confuse a bageraset--I escaped, of course.” He shrugged, throwing her a smirk. She could smell the stew now, and knew that it would be just edible. Her stomach growled in anticipation, though. Which earned her a shoulder nudge from her companion.

“Starving, actually. I wasn’t joking about being in space for days. All I’ve had are those dreadful ration bars.” He laughed in response.

“That won’t do. The food here isn’t as bad as some of the posts. The cook is trained, so he does alright.” He opened the right side of the double swinging doors with one arm, and gestured her in with the other. The bustle of the canteen hit her right away.

Laughing, yelling, eating, drinking, and just a general buzz of life. She normally prefered the quiet, but the energy was contagious. She turned a quick grin to Poe before ducking past him.

[aj-writes-here]

To forget about this bitter feeling for a while, I wrote this in less than 30 minutes because I needed it and I hope you guys enjoy this one 😢 

It’ll Be Fine.

It seemed as there was anything to do. Was that the end? All of the efforts, the suffering, were for nothing? His own voice echoed in his head as he saw the reddish landscape in front of his eyes. So many casualties, impossible to reach to a concrete number. Erwin, Mike, his old and new squad, you being injured. He tried to stay steady, not letting his emotions took over him, but it was hard. The fear of losing those whom he cared about, to be alone. Again. And then it happened.

''Commander Hanji!'' He heard screaming, and then looked at the inert body about to be crushed by a titan.

Levi sat in the bed faster than he could ever imagine, his heartbeat racing like crazy. It was hard to tell if he was sweating because of the weather or his strong emotions. Looking at the corner of the room, he saw the air conditioning on. So it wasn't the heat. He touched his face, his cheek, and his eye to be more precise. There was no scar. Both of his hands were in front his eyes, ten digits. Outside the window a turquoise lake was shinning at the sun rays, clear sky, and green trees swinging softly and the slight summer breeze. The clock told it was past ten am, had he slept that much? His body was still shaking, and he was alone on the big bed. Levi got rid of the sweaty shirt, noticing at how his chest was going up and down in an attempt of calming himself. That wasn't his home, but then he remembered. Holidays. Summer holidays. Running a hand through his hair he took a deep breath, repeating to himself that it had been just a dream. A quick shower could work, he thought as standing up and walking to the bathroom. The war water washing his body helped his muscles to relax after all of that unconscious tension. Once he was out, he remembered the plans for that Friday, you were all going to the lake, and some other friends were joining the cabin you were staying that same night. Wearing a black short and a black tank top, he opened the door and got down the stairs. Everything was quiet, and suddenly the images of his dream were hunting him again. What if something had happened? What if that dream was an analogy of something that he had lived? He couldn't tell, but then, a voice hit him.

''Jean just called, he said they managed to fix the car and that they're arriving before ten pm'' He recognized that voice, it was Erwin. Levi noticed that the voices were coming from the kitchen.

''Call him again to tell him to bring some gummies! I forgot to buy them'' There it was. That was Hanji's voice and he sighed in relief. Even though he would never admit it.

''That's because you got excited with those smart light bulbs'' Your voice. Now his heartbeats were at a normal pace. 

''How many of those did she buy?'' Erwin asked looking at you with a smile.

''Only six! They were so pretty'' The four eyed woman exclaimed with excitement.

''I can't blame her, they were.'' You nodded, finishing what was left of your cookie.

''See? I'm not crazy,'' shrugging her shoulders, she asked again ''Mike hasn't arrived yet?'' ''No, he said he was going to the store in town. I'm sure he got stuck with the cashier'' Erwin added, washing his hands, fingers covered with peanut butter because of the sandwiches he was making.

''He's-Oh, the sleeping beauty is awake'' You interrupted yourself and then smiled widely at Levi standing at the entrance of the kitchen. ''You were finally sleeping, I didn't want to wake you earlier.'' A sweet smile was still on your face. He looked a bit paler, eyes with a mix of relief and concern.

''Uh... Are you good shorty? Or is it that this girl here didn't let you sleep?'' She gave you a flirty look, lifting her eyebrows two times.

''Hanji!'' ''Are you ok, Levi?'' This time was Erwin's turn. ''You look as if you saw a ghost.''

''I kinda did.'' The three of you laughed at his dry comment, but you knew something else was up.

He helped packing some sandwiches and fruits on a bag, it was a sure thing that you all were going to get hungry after swimming at the lake, and honestly having breakfast there was going to be more interesting than staying at the cabin, and it that way you could use the rest of the day to make lunch, and wait for the rest to come. Once at the lake, Hanji was the first of getting into the water.

''Oi, be careful you idiot. Try not to step on anything poisonous.'' Levi shouted from his spot on the grass, making her laugh.

Erwin got to the water as well, just until the water touched his knee since he was still using his phone to call Mike and let him know that you were at the lake in front of the cabin. You were about joining Hanji, but a lost gazed Levi caught your attention. His eyes were caught on his friends at the lake, and he just moved his eyes to analyze his hand one more time. No digits were missing. Sitting next to him, you kissed his exposed shoulder thanks to the tank top. He looked at you and suddenly all of his confused emotions felt calmer.

''Are you sure you good, love?'' Your calm expression was a light to his life, he could just stay there and look at you for hours.

''I am, brat. Just go there and enjoy the water.'' He replied, looking back at the lake.

''You had another nightmare, didn't you.'' Those words made his head look at the grass below him. ''You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.'' you held his hand, caressing it softly.

''I...'' He stopped for a moment ''It was one of the shittiest nightmares ever.'' Levi was still looking at the grass, and then his eyes went back to Erwin and Hanji ''Those idiots. I care about them. They are important to me, even if I don't show it.'' 

''The fact that you helped Hanji choosing her smart lightbulbs before coming here tells me that you do show it.'' you smiled a bit, remembering how Levi was reading the specifications of different brands to help her. ''Or when you answer the phone at two am because Erwin needs you to check some urgent files because he is busy with something else.'' You kept your smile, comforting him.

''Do you think they know?'' 

''Of course they do. Otherwise, they wouldn't take your shitty humor and grumpy face'' You teased him and kiss his shoulder once again, hearing him scoffed.

''And you?'' This time, he turned his head to look at you.

''Me what? tilting your head to the side, you gave him a curious look.

''Do you know that I care about you too, right?''

''You don't even have to ask yourself that question. I have no doubts about it, Levi.'' Despite your friends being a few meters away from you, you gave him a short and innocent peck on his lips. 

''That's good, then.'' He mumbled, daring kissing you for a while longer. Just a delicate dance of lips against lips.

''I love you. And they do too. Don't let your nightmares make you think the opposite'' You caressed his cheek as he grabbed your hand to squeeze it lightly in his way of saying I love you back.

You got distracted when Mike arrived, an obvious mark of red lipstick on his neck. You stood up and ran towards your friend.

''You dirty man! I bet you didn't even buy the wine!'' You teased him, trying to look if the mark was a kiss. Hanji joined you too, trying to look for more signs of the lipstick.

Somehow the two of you managed to get him to the water, splashing it towards him, even making Erwin ran to hide his phone as the war water began. Levi looked at the scene with peaceful eyes, knowing that those awful things were only inside his head. The group splashing water against each other meant everything to him, and he couldn't deny he felt the same way about the other group of younger idiots that were arriving later. He even smiled to himself while you tried to tackle Erwin, failing monumentally.

''Yo, Levi! Come here before we make you!'' He heard Hanji screaming at him and waving a hand. 

''Do it and then you'll spend the rest of the holidays tied to a tree, four eyes.'' He shouted back, huffing at her hysterical laugh.

You smiled looking at him more relaxed, you were not forcing him on going to the water, sometimes he needed his space. But he knew that you were always going to be there for him, and seeing you being happy and laughing with the people he most cared about was enough to let himself know that everything was going to be alright. One way or another, things always found a way to be alright.

[exaltatuss]

“I have found my limit a thousand times, and still I press further.” -Arlene

General Info:

Name: Arlene Carnelian Title: Scarlet Revenant Occupation: Dimensional Traveler (Current) Race: “Human” (As she claims herself to be, still) Gender: Female Age: Appears to be in her early 20s Height: 192 cm Morality Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Eye Color: Both Gray (Formerly), now heterochromic (Right Eye Gray, Left Eye Red, although both eyes can shift into Red at times)  Hair Color: Red Misc: Has a few scars on her face

Personality;

Level-headed, calm, and otherwise stoic, Arlene certainly is one who had seen better days. However, she’s far from being cold, as she’s someone who also is able to display some humor every once in a while, whenever she feels like it. Sometimes, the humor passes off as dry, but its nevertheless humor. 

Having a steel temperance hardened by experience, she’s one who doesn’t really yield or break under pressure, at least in regards to pressure many others are unable to act calmly on. Thus, she would be able to still choose the best course of action possible. This, also helps in fights whenever she cannot possibly avoid them.

However in terms of the inner workings of her mind, she repeatedly affirms herself that she’s still human. That she IS human, as if clinging on to whatever remains in her that’s retains her humanity. Others who reiterate that she isn’t human would find it the easiest to set her off. After all, the events that had culminated to her being now would still be fresh from memory. 

 Call it obsession, a delusion even, but it is undeniable that she has enough fortitude to believe that she still is human, despite evidence suggesting otherwise.

Background;

Hailing from a world that’s plunged into conflict with otherwordly invasive beings the people of that world had dubbed as the Kyropterans, Arlene was no stranger to battle and survival. Having been orphaned at a young age, and witnessing her younger sister die from a Kyropteran attack, it was her driving force on why she wanted to survive and be strong enough to help others in the fight against them to repel them. 

Sure, there was deep seated anger against such creatures, and indeed, as a child, it was natural to voice out her strong yearning for vengeance against them. Most of the children her age who had gotten the same treatment as such did display such bravado at that time.

However, as she aged, such feelings mellowed out. A subversion, if one may. She knew that such a mentality, when brought along with her, would become a baggage, and a liability, for she had seen this on some of the people she knew upon growing up. Thus, after serving her time on studying, she would join her kingdom’s defense force against the Kyropterans, in which she would be able to form fire-forged and tempered friendships, the squadron she was in being what she considered as close to family as possible.

During one of their incursions, on one of the Kyropteran hives found by the scouting team, they got blindsided and ambushed, with Arlene having been separated from the rest, and trapped in some sort of underground temple ruins. While finding for an alternative route that leads back up, her further inspection in the ruins, along with the inscriptions etched on the wall, this seem to line up with a legend she had read in books in her earlier years. Accounts speaking of a fabled “Scarlet Spear”, that pierces through the thickest of hides, that can break through any form of armor, and most importantly, it having the power to slay gods.

The Kingdom she was part of had such strong belief, no, the rest of her world strongly believed of the existence of such Scarlet Spear, as she recalled, with every major power treating it the ‘Holy Grail’ of weapons, for not only legends, but also historical figures that had claimed to have wielded it, had felled beasts that now form this very world’s ecosystem, and landmarks, the fauna growing over their massive bodies after countless generations.

However, said historical figures also met untimely deaths, and such, some believed that said weapon should not be wielded by mortal hands.

Alas, call it wishful thinking, but Arlene did thought that if such a weapon still existed in this world, if such a weapon hasn’t been buried to oblivion and forgotten by time, then it would be very pivotal to have it, in order to finally drive the invasive Kyropterans out of their world.

Interestingly, instead of looking for a way out, its as if something had beckoned her to march deeper on the underground ruins, guiding her safely across trapped hallways, rooms, and the like, up until she had reached the chamber where the supposed Scarlet Spear resides, and there she found... a woman. A woman who claimed to be the spirit of the spear that this world revered so much. Interestingly enough, said spirit also claimed that she’s exactly what she had been looking for to take it up, and relieve this world of the Kyropteran invasion, that had plagued them for a few generations down the line.

Of course, Arlene had asked about those that wielded it in their history that had died mysteriously after some history of wielding it, to which the spirit had answered simply that their souls are not truly pure, and such seeds of impurity eventually manifested as rot, in the spiritual sense, and that of all potential wielders it had seen in its existence, Arlene was the only one who had a pure soul.

Thus, it struck her an offer. To wield it, with but one, simple, trivial condition:

“Open yourself to me, so I can see what you cherish most. What you strive to protect.”

The spirit’s voice being soothing and compelling, Arlene would accept, taking the hand of the spirit subconsciously, and before she knew it, the spear is now being held by the hand she had extended, along with it, a surge of power she hadn’t believed she could feel herself in her lifetime.

Power unimaginable.

Thus, bursting out of the ruins, she had returned to assist on getting rid of the Kyropteran Hive, and with her newfound powers, that which the spirit had taught her to use telepathically, there were but very minimal casualties on their end.

Of course, with what Arlene had displayed with her new arsenal, everyone believed without doubt that the fabled Scarlet Spear had chosen her.

Several days, and months have counted on, and several Kyropteran territories were recaptured, the invasive species’ range of control and influence becoming less and less suffocating for them. However, along the line, some people from Arlene’s squadron, that which she had grown fond of, died along the line, too, with all leads pointing to it being the handiwork of the Kyropterans.

Soon enough, they would reach one of the central hives of the Kyropterans. One of the pivotal ones. Successfully eliminating this central hive would deal a huge blow on the Kyropteran’s forces, and strength, in general, as well as a chunk of territory reclaimed for Arlene’s kingdom.

However, during the climactic moment of the incursion, the spirit of the spear had manifested, and drove her arm through Arlene’s chest.

The shock from such suddenness, of course, prevented her from reacting accordingly, only managing out to utter out why did the spirit do such. To which the spirit simply replied with

“Haven’t you caught on? I lied.”

And thus, everything was clear now to Arlene.

The gibberish she had heard from way back then was clearer now, from when she had contracted with the spear:

“Open yourself to me, so I can see what you cherish most. What you strive to protect. So I can see what I can take pleasure taking away from you.”

The ‘spirit’ is not really a spirit, but the spear itself, given flesh, given life. A humanoid entity, an Immortal Slayer, whose name goes by Sangria.

Not wasting any more time, Sangria had sent thousands upon thousands of barbs piercing every single one of Arlene’s veins from the inside, before leaving her to die.

At least that’s supposed to be the end of it.

The moment Arlene had woken up for who knows how long, she really can’t believe that she was still alive, somehow. Yet, the moment she had looked around, she had seen nothing but ruination. The central hive was down, yes. But so is the kingdom she had called home in the distance. Thick smoke enveloping it, and its territories.

Everything taken away from her.

Now she realized that the deaths of the people she had cherished weren’t from Kyropterans, but from Sangria herself, from right under her nose. Of course, it was something Arlene would grieve about, for quite some time, as this struck just as hard as when she was orphaned before.

Several years onward, that which number Arlene had given up counting, the moment she had enough grieving, she had discovered several of the abilities she had learnt while wielding Sangria was till intact with her, along with some new ones, as well, abilities that very much mean that she isn’t human anymore...

No... no, that’s something she would deny. She is human. She’s still human. That’s what she believes in, and that’s something she affirmed herself during those years.

Thus, with her world plunged into even deeper conflict, and her kingdom now burnt to the ground, and in ruins, Arlene traveled from one world to another, with one constant was her having the title and been called as ‘The Scarlet Revenant’, who claims to be a “passing-by warrior”, heading where the wind leads her.

Trivia:

-Having survived from the supposed lethal blow from Sangria, Arlene was able to keep what she had learned and acquired from the Immortal Slayer via ability sharing, which are, to name a few, but are not limited to: Portal Creation, Enhanced Strength, Speed, Durability, Perception Blocking, Cognitive Blocking, Regeneration, and Invisibility. Of course, she is also able to wound and/or kill what can be considered as immortal now, too, but that depends on the degree of injury she inflicts. Sometimes she wonders if Sangria really inflicted a lethal blow on her that time, too.

-Despite her claims that she’s still human, she’s far from being human this time, her body composition being similar to that of what she had wielded, minus the part of her turning into a weapon too, or having a weapon form. One can consider her a Quasi-Immortal Slayer, to be precise: Seemingly similar in structure, composition, and function to such, but not quite, as she is not truly such. An accidental creation due to Sangria’s apparent failure on killing this individual who used to be one of her many wielders, for some reason. An existence that should not have been.

-Alas, due to the above, Arlene now has a personal weapon that she can use, that which she claims to be from “the remnants of that spear’s flesh that were once stuck within her in the form of the barbs that had supposedly done her in.”:

Such weapon takes the appearance of a sword, crude in design, and an amalgamation of flesh and steel, a representation of the wrongness of her existence. It can appear and disappear on her will, and thus, make it come in handy whenever she requires of it.

-Due to her status as not being a human anymore, that does certainly would mean that Arlene had stopped aging, which would also mean that her well-developed body would remain as is, as well.

-Another indicator of her not being fully human now is the fact that her eyes have different colors. She was never heterochromic, up until her rebirth, that is. Sometimes, both eyes would be red, but that only happens whenever she’s really in a heated battle.

[entering-mymind]

Chapter 5 - The Gunslinger

This is the fifth episode of the series where I have inserted my OC character (Mando’s daughter) into the Disneyplus television show. With her addition I believe this helps the viewers understand the choices Mando makes in the series. Would love to hear feedback! I do not own these characters and the story and dialogue goes to the respected credit of the screenwriters and creators of the show.

“Turn right, dive, dive, spin now!” young Mando spewed out maneuvers in a panic while her father tensely piloted the Razor Crest away from the perusing bounty hunter.

“Hand over the child, Mando,” the hunter demanded when he had the Razor Crest locked in his scope and fired rapidly.

A huge blast rocked the ship as Mando tried to keep it steady, firmly gripping the wheel, hoping not to lose control.

“The left engine is hit!” she exclaimed.

“I can see that,” Mando tried to stay calm but found it difficult with his over reacting daughter detailing every casualty.

“I might let all of you live,” the hunter said deciding their fate.

Several alarms continued sounding through the cockpit loudly, with this the child whimpered in fear while young Mando kept repeating, “We’re gonna die.”

Mando switched over power, giving the left engine some time to cool when he took his daughter’s advice, “Hold on,” he twisted the wheel making the Razor Crest spin wildly hoping to get out of the hunter’s scope, “Come on,” Mando said to himself unable to believe he had not shaken this guy.

“The accelerator is leaking and we’re losing fuel!” young Mando continued informing horrific details about the ship’s condition.

“Mando, I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” the bounty hunter suddenly became cocky because he was locked in for the kill, but Mando had one last ace up his sleeve.

In an instant, Mando braked mid-air and reversed the thrusters, wielding them backwards to get behind their attacker. With this quick maneuver, the Razor Crest took out the right engine of their assailant whose trajectory continued forward, now giving the Crest the drop.

“That’s my line,” Mando informed when he had the hunter’s ship now in his scope, taking the shot and blowing their attacker to space dust.

“Whoa I haven’t seen you fly like that in ages,” young Mando exclaimed, “Good thing everyone kept their cool,” she said trying to get control of all the issues manifesting in the Crest, “Nothing’s working,” she said banging the controls when the ship powered down, “I did not do that.”

Freely the Razor Crest floated through space, silent and stagnant. The child giggled and cooed while young Mando laid her head on the console feeling defeated and frustrated with the child’s inability to know the severity they were in.

“Hey, relax,” Mando told his daughter as he got up and pressed the emergency backup power.

Slowly coming to life, the console beeped, screens illuminated, and the engines powered up, while they drifted towards a desert planet. Mando clicked a few controls when an operator came over the comms.

“This is Mos Eisley tower. We are tracking you. Head for bay three-five, over.”

“Copy that, locked in for three-five,” Mando repeated.

With a trail of smoke spiraling from its engine, the Razor Crest hiccupped and sputtered all the way down to the bay. Landing safely, Mando lowered the hatch in order to discuss business with the mechanic when he was met by three pit droids instead. Immediately he fired a warning shot at the droid’s feet sending them in a panic and automatically retracting into themselves.

“Hey!” a loud woman’s voice screamed, “Hey!” Peli Motto emerged from her quarters angered as the three pit droids unfurled and scampered away, “You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it,” Peli said while thrusting her tablet at him.

“Just keep them away from my ship,” Mando demanded while pointing his finger at the bothersome droids.

“Yeah? You think that’s a good idea, do you?” Peli sarcastically said, “Let’s look at your ship.”

Peli began her analysis, banging on certain parts, inspecting others while making horrendous expressions.

“Oof! Look at that,” she pulled out a scanner, “Ugh, you got a lot of carbon scorin building up top,” she walked closer to the ship getting a better glance, “Yeah, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in a shootout.”

“And that you’d be right,” young Mando appeared out of nowhere putting a real fright in Peli.

“Geez, where’d you come from?” Peli put a hand up to her chest catching her breath.

“Obviously from the ship,” young Mando pointed confused on the mechanics question.

“Just didn’t expect anyone else on board, that’s all,” Peli clarified.

“I’m sure that’s what my Papi envisions all the time, but he can’t get rid of me that easily, it’s not like I’ll be receiving my independence anytime soon,” young Mando playfully bantered but her father wasn’t having it.

Without a word he raised his arm and pointed vigorously for her to get back in the ship.

“Looks like I’m being ordered to go back inside, let me know if you need any assistance. It’s not like I’m doing anything with my life,” young Mando said to Peli as she meandered her way slowly inside the vessel.

“Okay,” Peli looked on in confusion but went right into a thorough inspection, “Let me get a diagnostic, I will need a special tool for that one. Yeah I’m gonna have to rotate that. You got a fuel leak. Look at that, this is a mess. How did you even land? That’s gonna set you back,” Peli walked up to Mando.

“I’ve got 500 Imperial credits,” Mando handed them to her.

“That’s all you got? Well, what do you guys think,” Peli asked her pit droids when they chattered back,” That should at least cover the hangar.”

“I’ll get you your money,” Mando promised.

“Hmm. I’ve heard that before.”

“Just remember…”

“Yeah, no droids. I heard yah. You don’t have to say it twice. Geez,” Peli stated in annoyance, but kept her tone low so the Mandalarian didn’t hear as he boarded his ship.

                                                     *   *   *

“What was that back there?” Mando stood over his daughter who sat in her workspace.

“What was what?” she ignored his question full fledgy knowing what he meant.

“What’s gotten into you? Where is this disobedient attitude coming from?”

“Oh I don’t know maybe it’s the second time I’ve been abruptly uprooted from a stable home life, or could it be that you denied me my independence something all Mandalorians achieve, or maybe its because I’m a ticking detonator set to go off at any given moment without warning. Take your pick. I have no control over my life or even over myself, do you know how terrifying this is? I could have killed Winta, Omera, Cara, the child, you! So many times I could have killed you,” young Mando put her helmet in her hands hiding her sorrow.

Mando bent down to her level reassuring her instead of her accomplishment, “Did you ever think on how you saved them,” Mando tried to draw her out of hiding, “We were pretty much beaten when that AT-ST didn’t fall into the trap. There was no way in beating it without multiple casualties, until you, you saved the village,” Mando moved her hands so he could look upon her.

“I sometimes feel like I don’t know who I am,” she honestly said.

“You’re my daughter but mostly you are you, so just be you.”

“Are you sure, even with my snarky humor?”

“My life would be a bore without it,” Mando heard his daughter chuckle which was music to his ears.

Once he knew she was feeling better Mando rose figuring out his next play, he knew he had to find a job in order to pay for the Razor Crest’s repairs, but it was prudent to stay off the grid.

“Listen, I have to go find some work,” he started.

“Say no more Papi I know the drill, stay on board.”

“Yes and I will need you…”

“To watch the kid, already covered.”

“Okay, good,” Mando couldn’t believe how quickly she turned around, but was happy with the result.

Mando wasted no time and left the hangar to find any kind of work, he knew his best bet would be to hit the cantina, practically, where all the shady deals went down.

                                                        *   *   *

Young Mando kept focus on her painting, finishing up the last few strokes and then she set it aside to dry. She began collecting her newly favorite pieces to stick in her satchel when she witnessed the child take hold of an opened jar of paint. In curiosity he wanted to make a pretty picture also when he spilled the pigment all over her recent finished piece.

“NO!” she screamed crawling over and snatching the now empty jar out of the child’s hands, “Look what you did, you ruined my painting, oh geez,” she saw the pigments serpentine along the ship’s surface, “Dad is going to kill me for getting paint all over the floor.”

She noticed the child about to stick its little hands in the mess and create an even bigger one. She quickly picked him up and placed him on the opposite end just so she could start cleaning up in frustration. The child looked on upset, he waddled back towards young Mando in order to help but she came off a bit hostile.

“No, you did enough damage, now go and sit down,” she pointed towards their sleeping quarters instructing him to comply when he hung his head in sadness and let her be.

                                                     *   *   *

“I’m in,” Peli told her three pit droids when they were playing a card game called Sabacc, “And I am gonna raise you three bolts and a motivator,” when everyone heard some commotion coming from inside the ship.

“Hey, you alright in there?” Peli questioned but then something small walking down the hatch caught her attention. Gradually she moved closer analyzing the little creature as it held up its arms to be held.

“Oh alright,” Peli cautiously picked up the child, “How many others are on his ship?” The pit droid started squawking when she replied flustered, “How do I know what it is? Give me a second. Where’s that other Mandalorian? Umm excuse me, I think you lost something,” Peli shouted in the ship but was greeted by a determined young Mando.

She threw a satchel over herself while chipping away dried paint that was stuck to her gloves, “Or more so that you found something. I have a proposition for you. If you look after the little one while I quickly venture my way into town then I will help update your pit droids,” she purposed.

“What’s wrong with my droids?”

“Nothing, its just I have the latest upload for service droids stored in my gauntlet, how I acquired it doesn’t need to be disclosed, and I thought it would be a great boost for your business. All the latest starships, cruisers, speeders, freighters schematics automatically uploaded to their system instructing them on how to fix the ships efficiently and quickly. It’s a win-win for both of us,” young Mando opened a small compartment in her gauntlet and showcased the chip.

“Now just because my father hates droids doesn’t mean I do, so if you allow me to sneak out, do my business and then sneak back in before he gets back then it’s a done deal. What do you say?” young Mando held out her hand to finalize the proposition.

Peli pondered for a while but then positioned the child to her hip in order to free a hand and shook.

“Excellent,” young Mando was about to exit from the front when Peli stopped her.

“That’s your first mistake to getting caught, use the back door,” Peli escorted her to a hidden entrance, “I’ll leave it unlocked.”

“Thanks,” young Mando tilted her head in appreciation and made her way towards the town where she hoped she could finally sell some of her artwork and make a name for herself.

Peli returned her attention back on the little creature as it continued cooing happily it was receiving some attention.

“I am going to look after you until the Mandalorian gets back, do you like that bright eyes? Yeah we’ll have some fun,” Peli stroked its forehead and bounced it gently before she got back to her card game with the droids.

                                                         *   *   *

It didn’t take long until Mando reached the extremely dead cantina, only a few attendees occupied the seats as Mando approached the bar.

“Hey droid,” Mando addressed the bartender, “I’m a hunter. I’m lookin’ for some work.”

“Unfortunately, the Bounty Guild no longer operates from Tatooine,” the droid informed.

“I’m not looking for Guild work,” he clarified.

“I am afraid that does not improve your situation, at least by my calculation,” the droid finished.

“Think again, tin can,” a voice spoke from a corner booth as Mando turned around to inspect, “If you’re looking for work, have a seat, my friend,” the baby faced young man acted tough, feet on the table like he owned the joint.

“Name’s Toro, Toro Calican. Come on relax,” he offered the seat opposite of him and ignited a puck, “Picked up this bounty puck before I left the Mid Rim,” Toro went straight into business, “Fennec Shand, an assassin. Heard she’s been on the run ever since the New Republic put all her employees in lockdown.”

“I know the name,” Mando said snidely.

“I followed this tracking fob here. Now the positional data suggests she’s headed out beyond the Dune Sea. Should be an easy job,” Toro seemed very confident.

“Well good luck with that,” Mando rose to leave.

“Wait, wait, wait, hey. I thought you needed work?”

“How long have you been with the Guild?” Mando questioned suspiciously.

“Long enough,” Toro most likely lied.

“Clearly not. Fennac Shand is an elite mercenary. She made her name killing for all the top crime syndicates, including the Hutts. If you go after her, you won’t make it past sunrise,” Mando said truthfully while turning to leave.

“This is my first job. You can keep the money, all of it. I just need this job to get into the Guild. I can’t do it alone,” Toro honestly said.

Mando pondered and then came to a conclusion, “Meet me at hangar three-five in half an hour. Bring two speeder bikes and give me the tracking fob,” Mando outstretched his hand for it when Toro smashed it to bits. Mando glared at the newbie with scorn but Toro quickly rectified his actions.

“Don’t worry, got it all memorized,” he pointed to his head.

“Half an hour,” Mando reminded and exited the cantina as Toro exclaimed one last statement.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me now, partner,” Toro smiled pleased with his outcome.

                                                       *   *   *

The marketplace wasn’t booming as young Mando would have liked, not to many vendors occupying the streets, which would make it harder to sell her works. She approached several shops but none seemed interested. Even with her exaggerated truth of being a respected artist, which was hard to swallow coming from a bounty hunter Mandalorian.

Young Mando knew she was running out of time plus she didn’t want to come up empty handed, she had to show something for her works. She spotted one last store ready to repeat her pitch. Upon entry she was met by a Mirialan who was ready to do business.

“Hello young traveler, what may I help you with,” the female shopkeeper said in a friendly tone.

“Actually what can I do to help enhance your sales,” young Mando approached the check out counter and began displaying her works, spreading them out so the shopkeeper could gaze upon their beauty.

“Imagine having these works of art lining your store. These are one of a kind, a rarity from a very popular artist from the Core World, just from her name alone will draw flocks of new customers who will line up at your door,” young Mando hoped she was using her artistic words to paint a different kind of image.

“Oh really and why would a famous Core artist want their works sold in the Outer Rim?” the shopkeeper questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Merely so everyone in the galaxy can lose themselves within the piece, taking themselves away from the daily grind and image themselves within the serene scenery,” young Mando lifted up one of her paintings showcasing the way the brushstrokes created movement, how the colors ignited the viewers gaze in awe, and how the realism allowed the viewer to imagine being immersed in the landscape as they could hear the sounds of waterfalls and distant birds.

“Nice try,” the shopkeeper had seen plenty of hustlers in her days and shooed the Mandalorian off with the wave of her green hand.

“Oh sure,” she sighed heavily, “Well thank you for your time,” young Mando collected her pieces and proceeded to exit when the Mirialan stopped her.

“Hey kid, wait,” in surprise the shopkeeper had never seen a Mandalorian this passive or creative for that matter, the bounty hunter wasn’t forceful or rude instead she showed enthusiasm, politeness, but mostly pride in her work.

“It seems like you travel a lot in your profession and unfortunately I can not. I haven’t been to my home world of Mirial in decades and miss it very much. Do you have a representation of my planet within your collection?” the shopkeeper asked.

Eagerly young Mando dug deep in her bag rummaging through and finding her customers request, luckily four years ago she was able to accompany her father on a job and was able to remember the lush landscape of the shopkeepers home world.

“You’re in luck, I have one left,” young Mando said businesslike but quickly dropped the act noticing the Mirialan was taking pity on her, “Sorry old habits die hard, that will be seventy credits please,” Mando truly believed her works were worth that much but no one would pay for an amateurs talent.

“How about twenty?” the shopkeeper bargained.

“Well what do you know twenty credits is my friends and family special, it’s a good thing we became such quick friends.”

“It is.”

The two made their transaction as young Mando practically skipped out of the shop pleased with herself on finally selling her first piece of art. Time was fleeting and young Mando knew her father would be heading back to the hangar any time, she cut a few corners while making her way down some shady corridors catching a strangers eye.

Too excited to pay attention to her surroundings, young Mando kept patting the twenty credits in her pocket ecstatic she had achieved a sale. She kept pondering over when her possible next sale could be and began envisioning other works she would execute.

In this dream like state, young Mando never picked up on the tale she acquired, who was ready to ambush her, ready to abduct her. Closer and closer the spurs clanked on her assailants shoes, practically warning her himself but she was to self-involved.

The moment had come, no one would see, no one would hear and she would be gone in three…two…

“Where have you been,” Peli shouted down the street pin pointing the young Mandalorian who had just stepped out from the shadows.

“Sorry, took longer then planned,” young Mando jogged the rest of the way reading the urgency in Peli’s voice.

“He’s just getting back, now get inside before we both get in trouble,” when Peli clutched onto the child while shoving young Mando through the back doorway, unaware of the danger that lurked right around the corner.

                                                      *   *   *

Mando returned to his ship, checking up on his daughter and the child before he left with Toro, he wanted to give his daughter the rundown but she wasn’t by her art space or anywhere on the ship, neither was the child. Panic inflicted Mando when he saw Peli holding onto the child while heading for her quarters.

“Hey!” Mando shouted and startled Peli who jumped and awoke the child.

“Where is she?” Mando angrily asked a passing droid but it recoiled into itself.

“Quiet, oh it’s okay. You woke it up,” Peli said while walking towards Mando, “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it to sleep?”

“How did you acquire him, where’s my daughter?”

“I’m here,” she said in the far corner finishing updating the last pit droid.

“I specifically told you to watch him,” he pointed his finger scolding her.

“Yeah, I know but Peli needed help with her droids so I offered my services. Since my attention would be occupied I couldn’t let the little womp rat run amuck so Peli said she would watch him for me, no harm done,” young Mando said while cleaning off some access grease from her gloves, which had been left by the messy droids.

Mando just glared at his daughter unable to fully believe her story. Peli sensing the tension escalating she pulled Mando’s attention to his ship.

“I started the repair on the fuel leak,” Peli said while fiddling with a machine, “There you go. I had a couple setbacks I want to talk to you about. You know, I didn’t use any droids, as requested, so it took me a lot longer than I expected.”

Mando went on the ship to gather some items he would need for his upcoming job as Peli still talked, “But I figured you were good for the money since you have extra mouths to feed.”

“Thank you for taking on my daughter’s responsibility,” Mando said as he walked off.

“Hey, I resent that,” young Mando stormed after her father blocking his path, “You know I use to do more than just babysit the kid and your ship. Can you blame me for being restless, wanting to help, go on jobs with you instead of me keep getting sidelined,” young Mando expressed.

“Oh, I guess I was right. You got a job didn’t you?” Peli interjected.

“Are you finished?” Mando said to his daughter and ignored Peli.

“Am I ever?” young Mando said tilting her head annoyed.

Mando stepped to the side and walked passed her as both woman followed him outside and stated their cases simultaneously.

“You know, it’s costing me a lot of money to keep these droids even powered up,” Peli informed.

“You know I don’t appreciate being ignored so I’ll keep running my mouth until I drive you into insanity,” young Mando declared when someone else joined in the conversation.

“Hey, Mando, what do you think? Not too shabby, huh?” Toro said proudly showcasing the two speeder bikes he acquired.

“And where’d you pick up this amateur?” young Mando said not hiding her distain.

“Amateur? Who you calling an amateur?” Toro puffed out his chest insulted by her comment.

“I call them like I see them,” she said to Toro and then addressed her father, “Really, you pass me off for this,” she pointed at Toro analyzing the rookie mistakes he had already made.

Young Mando noticed Toro had no gear with him such as water or perishable foods. He had no protection from the intense two suns that hung in the sky, and most importantly he had no comms to radio in case he became stranded out in the desert.

“It appears he’s tired of working with a twelve year old and wants to upgrade to a professional,” Toro approached her trying to make himself look bigger, but he only stood a few inches over her.

“A professional? Failure reeks all over you. I can’t even stand being in your presence,” young Mando scrunched up her face but knew Toro couldn’t see.

The two continued their squabble as Mando leaned against the speeder, arms crossed and watched their debate escalate.

“I don’t have to answer to a child, you don’t scare me sweetie,” Toro belittled.

“And this is why you’re an amateur because you’re so focused on my mouth instead of where my hands are,” young Mando informed.

Suddenly Toro’s face contorted when he felt the end of her blaster poke in his belly and the tip of her Vibroblade prickle the skin of his neck. Peli inched closer to Mando wondering why he was allowing this.

“Aren’t you gonna stop her?” Peli questioned.

“Let’s see where this goes,” Mando said practically swelling with pride for his daughter.

Realizing the Mandalorian wasn’t going to do anything Peli stepped in while still cradling the child, “Alright, I can’t have someone’s blood stain the entrance to my shop, bad for business.”

Young Mando kept her position as Toro stood still actually afraid of what she could do to him.

“You’re right Peli, it would be a shame to kill this amateur before he actually learned something in this profession,” young Mando removed her blaster and blade, she stepped back watching Toro rub his neck in distain while Mando shook his head playfully.

Toro turned to Peli and thanked her for her hospitality while noticing the strange child in her arms. In anger, Toro mounted his speeder as Mando finished securing his gear in the back when young Mando saw him off.

“Have fun Papi,” she spoke as sarcastic as she could.

Mando just tilted his head and then mounted his own speeder following Toro who sped off in embarrassment.

                                                       *   *   *

The two rode through the Tatooine desert, hovering above the sand, and making their way towards the target when Mando signaled to halt.

“What’s going on?” Toro questioned.

“Look. Up ahead,” Mando pointed out something in the distance.

Toro dismounted his speeder and took out his binocs and spoke under his breath, “Who’s an amateur now?” he was proud of himself and tried not to let the comments from the child Mandalorian get to him.

Toro walked a few feet and peered through the lens to see two Banthas and Tusken Raiders, “I heard the locals talking about this filth,” Toro stated harshly not taking other cultures into consideration.

“Tuskens think they’re the locals. Everyone else is just trespassing,” Mando informed.

Toro scoffed at Mando’s statement and continued to insult, “Well whatever the filth call themselves they best keep their distance.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you tell them yourself?” Mando said as two Tusken Raiders snuck up on Toro ready to attack.

Jumping back a few feet, Toro was ready to draw his blaster but Mando knew how to deal with Tuskens, “Relax,” Mando insured Toro when he began to sign language to one of the Raiders.

“What are you doing?” Toro asked confused.

“Negotiating,” Mando finished signing as the Raider signed back.

“What’s going on?” Toro had no clue what was unfolding before him and if Mando wasn’t there to help who knew the situation Toro would have been in.

“We need passage across their land,” Mando watched the Tusken finish signing when Mando outstretched his hand, “Let me see the binocs.”

“Why?”

Mando only had to give a look at Toro when he surrendered it.

“Hey! What?” Toro stammered in anger as Mando gave the Raider the binocs, “Those were brand new.”

“Yeah? They were,” when Mando hopped on his speeder and drove off.

The two continued their journey riding through the desert as Mando signaled to stop. Mando hopped off commanding Toro to get down. Confused on what to do Toro followed Mando as they laid on a sand dune scanning the perimeter.

“All right, tell me what you see?” Mando quizzed Toro really seeing for himself how skilled this kid was.

“Dewback. Looks like the rider is still attached,” getting the answer correct Toro and Mando saw a large creature dragging a deceased body, “Is that her? Is that the target?”

“I don’t know. I’ll go. You cover me,” Mando drew his blaster, “Stay down,” he instructed when he made his way towards the Dewback.

In caution Mando tried to settle down the creature so it wouldn’t run off so he could get a look at the body. From afar Toro peaked over the sand dune to get a clarification of the situation.

“Well is it her? Is she dead?” he shouted.

“It’s another bounty hunter,” Mando informed.

“Hey, I hope you don’t plan on keeping all that stuff for yourself because I kind of packed light and if need be I might have to borrow some supplies from you,” Toro kind of realized now why the young Mandalorian thought he was an amateur, since he didn’t prepare for the journey quite well, “Can I at least have that blaster?”

But Mando wasn’t listening instead he found a tracking fob beep rapidly on the deceased hunters belt when Mando peered up and realized his exposure.

“Get down!” Mando exclaimed as he got shot in the armor, scaring off the Dewback.

Mando ran for cover but got hit again in the back from a long-range shot as Toro questioned on what happened.

“Sniper bolt. Only a MK-modified rifle could make that shot,” Mando explained.

“Are you alright?” Toro casually asked.

“Yeah. Hit me in the Beskar, and at that range Beskar held up.”

“Wait, I don’t wear any Beskar,” it dawned on Toro.

“Nope,” Mando said.

“Well, so what do we do?”

“You see where that shot came from?”

“Yeah, it came from the ridge,” Toro pointed in the distance to a long chain of mountains.

“Okay, we’re gonna wait until dark,” Mando was formulating a plan.

“Well, what if she escapes?”

“She’s got the high ground. She’ll wait for us to make the first move. I’m gonna rest. You take the first watch and stay low,” Mando instructed as he made way to the speeders and left Toro perched on the dune.

                                                       *   *    *

Day turned to night, Toro knew now was as any good of time to attack, “All right, suns are down. Time to ride, Mando,” he peered behind getting a look at the sleeping Mandalorian.

“Come on, wake up,” Toro approached Mando who propped himself against one of the speeders with his legs outstretched, “Look at you, asleep on the job, old man. Huh and I’m seen as the amateur, pathetic brat.”

Toro chuckled to himself and began drawing his blaster as if in a showdown with Mando. Pleased with himself, Toro pulled his blaster several times believing his antics weren’t being viewed when Mando turned his head.

“Are you done?” Mando said annoyed.

Embarrassed Toro put his blaster away and scratched his head hoping Mando didn’t hear him call the other Mandalorian a pathetic brat, “Yeah. I was just, you know, waking you up. Come on,” Toro tried not to look at him but Mando drew near.

“And don’t call my daughter names, it’s not nice.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Toro put his hands up in surrender not wanting to pick a fight.

“Now get on the bike,” Mando began to reveal his plan, “Ride as fast as you can, towards those rocks.”

“That’s your plan,” Toro scolded, “She’ll snipe us right off the bikes.”

The two of them mounted their speeders when Mando threw an item at him, “It’s a flash charge. We alternate shots, it’ll blind any scope temporarily. Combine that with our speed and we got a chance.”

“A chance?” Toro was starting to believe that this Mandalorian wasn’t all what he was cracked up to be.

“Hey, you wanted this. Get ready,” Mando reminded.

They both revived up their bikes and flew at high speed towards the ravine.

                                                        *   *   *

Fennac Shand was at the ready, she had the two assailants in her scope, but was getting repeatedly blinded by flash charges being propelled in the sky, not giving up she fired blinded and missed her targets. Luckily one flash charge faltered and allowed her to knock the Mandalorian off his speeder, but he was able to fire one last flash charge in order to get his partner to safety.

Fennac allowed the charge to settle when she had the Mandalorian back in her scope and took the shot knocking him off his feet. She kept him in her sights just about to take him out permanently when a voice spoke behind her.

“Not so fast, Fennac,” Toro had his blaster drawn on his target pleased he had the upper hand when he never expected her to fight back.

Quickly Fennac flung a small blade making Toro step back in surprise, giving her a window to attack. The two became intertwined in a hand-to-hand combat as Fennec was over powering Toro easily.

She got him in an arm lock just about to break it when Mando made his presence known, “Nice distraction,” Mando said to Toro as he slightly was making fun of Toro’s rookie mistakes.

Fennac put her hands up in surrender knowing her time was up while Toro massaged his bruised arm and ego.

“Yeah, good work, partner,” Toro tried to make it seem like he had everything under control.

“Cuff yourself,” Mando threw Fennac some binders when he reminded Toro to go find his blaster.

Following orders Toro left as Fennac started to speak, “A Mandalorian. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of your kind. Ever been to Tolarian? How about recently to Nevarro? I heard things didn’t go so well there, but it looks like you got off easy on Nevarro.”

Mando just stared at her silently, understanding how she heard about the situation on Nevarro but how was she aware about Tolarian? He knew he had not been marked.

“You don’t have to worry about getting to Tolarian, Coruscant, Nevarro, or anywhere else, once we turn you in. You know, I really should thank you. You’re my ticket into the Guild,” Toro said to Fennac enthused but she just responded with a dry ‘you’re welcome’ as Mando lead her away.

The three walked down the mountain towards Mando and Toro’s form of transportation when Fennac stated the obvious, “Uh-oh. Looks like one of us has to walk.”

“Or we could drag you,” Mando pushed her hard to the ground showing his authority.

Toro and Mando walked a few feet away in order to discuss their situation.

“All right, so what is the plan?” Toro asked unable to come up with any of his own.

“I need you to go find that Dewback we saw.”

“And leave you here with my bounty and my ride?” Toro pointed out, “Yeah, I don’t think so, Mando. Your daughter might think I’m an amateur but don’t take me for a fool.”

Realizing Toro wouldn’t bite Mando scanned the desert for a thermal reading and spotted the Dewback miles away, “Okay, I’ll do it. Watch her, and don’t let her get near the bike. She’s no good to us dead,” Mando ended when he headed out into the desert on foot.

                                                         * *  *

The suns were beginning to rise, Toro sat relaxed on his bike, his feet kicked up while watching the bored Fennac sit in the sand when she began to talk, “ Oh, it’s been a while. Oh, look the suns are coming up,” she made small talk but Toro wasn’t having it.

“Quiet.”

“Look, there’s still time to make my rendezvous in Mos Espa. Take me to it and I can pay you double the price on my head,” she offered.

“I don’t care about the money,” Toro blatantly said.

“Oh so the Mandalorian keeps all the money for himself.”

“Only because I let him.”

“Doesn’t seem that way,” she scoffed, “I mean, it seems like he’s calling all the shots.”

“Shows what you know. I hired Mando, this is my job,” Toro was getting frustrated, “Bringin’ you in will make me a full member of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild.”

“You already have something the Guild values far more than me,” she planted the seed, “You just don’t see it.”

“What?”

“The Mandalorian. His armor alone is worth more then my bounty.”

“I already told you, I don’t care about the money,” Toro reminded but realized there were two Mandalorians with two sets of armor.

“Then think what it would do for your reputation,” this got Toro’s attention, “The word is two Mandalorians shot up the Guild on Nevarro, they took some high value target and went rogue.”

“That Mandalorian?” Toro pondered, “And the one back at the hangar?”

“Like I said, you don’t see many. You bring the Guild those traitors, and they’ll welcome you with open arms. Your name will be legendary,” Fennac hoped she sealed the deal.

Toro was perplexed, he didn’t know what to do, “How can we be sure Mando and his daughter are the ones?”

“Word is, they still have the target with them. Some say it’s a child.”

Just as she said those words Toro remembered the woman mechanic holding onto a small child like creature, the only confirmation he needed.

“Look, if you’re afraid to take them on, fear not. I can help you with that. Take some advice kid. You wanna be a bounty hunter? Make the best deal for yourself and survive,” Fennac could see she had won him over.

Toro put his blaster away as the two walked towards each other, Fennac held up her hands so Toro could unbind her. They stood face to face, analyzing each other before Toro point blank shot Fennac.

“That’s good advice,” Toro spoke as Fennac dropped to the sand, “But if I took those binders off of you I’d be a dead man,” he knelt in front of her displaying his authority, “And if the two Mandalorians are worth more than you are, well…who wouldn’t want to be a legend? Thanks for the tip,” Toro left her body right where it fell and instead sped off to put his formulating plan into action.

                                                       *   *   *

“Can you take the kid for a bit, if I’m ever going to finish your dad’s repairs by hand with out my droids I am going to have to work,” Peli said handing the child over to young Mando.

“Sure thing,” young Mando took the child with her into the ship and put him in his sleeping quarters, hoping he would fall asleep.

Luckily the kid stayed put while young Mando waited up for her father. She decided now would be any good of time to rebraid her hair, it was getting to long for the style she preferred and would have to come up with a new one to hold her thick hair back. Removing her helmet, young Mando released her locks, peered into her tiny mirror, and used her fingers as a comb. She sectioned off a portion of her hair, braided it and wrapped it in the back of her head, securing it with multiple hair accessories.

She began to repeat her previous action when she heard approaching footsteps. Quickly she put her helmet back on and tucked her remaining loose hair up into it. Hearing the footsteps draw closer these didn’t sound like her father’s, his was quiet practically soundless, only attuned ears – like hers – could distinguish his, no these were someone else’s.

In apprehension young Mando had her hand on her blaster as she peered around the corner to find the amateur partner, her father teamed up with, roaming the ship.

“Hey what are you doing here? Where’s my dad?” young Mando questioned with her hand still on her blaster.

“Here you are,” Toro began, “Your dad wants you to help us with our bounty, she’s a real handful.”

“Isn’t that why he has you, to do the grunt work, my father only gives me the pristine duties.”

“Like what babysitting,” Toro fired back while slowly approaching her.

“Bravo, you actually came back with an insult, but the real insult is you because I’ve been in the Guild since I was fifteen, how old are you?” young Mando started to chuckle seeing this guy as not a threat at all.

“Wow you got me good,” Toro waved his finger at her as he stood face to face, “But if I have learned anything from today it would be from you.”

“Really? And what did your thick skull actually obtain?”

“It’s just you’re so focused on my mouth instead of watching my hand.”

Young Mando peered down but noticed his right hand was empty.

“Made you look,” as his left hand was in his pocket hiding a stun gun.

Before she even realized the sneak attack, Toro got off one shot immediately sending a blue electric shock from the barrel directly into young Mando’s body. The shock intensified because of her armor, which was unable to absorb any of the energy, and instead sent it through her structure. Immediately young Mando seized up and fell unconscious to the ground, while she faintly heard Toro tie her up and slip her grappling hook around her neck.

                                                         * *  *

Mando tamed the Dewback easily as these creatures were use to riders, he trekked his way to the ravine where Toro waited only to find Fennac’s dead body. Mando sighed in frustration not knowing where Toro went and why he killed their bounty. Not seeing any other option, Mando rode back to town and straight to the hangar where he saw Toro’s bike. Not wanting to take any risks Mando drew his blaster wary of what may unfold.

Slowly Mando walked in when he noticed no one around apart from the three pit droids who were hiding in Peli’s quarters, he continued towards his ship when he heard Toro’s voice echo from inside the Crest.

“Took you long enough, Mando,” from the darkness four images emerged as they walked out onto the platform.

Peli pushed young Mando – who was strung up by her neck ready to be hanged – to the edge of the ship’s platform because Toro had his blaster dug in Peli’s back while he held onto the child.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now. Huh, partner?”

Furious, Mando pointed his weapon directly at Toro ready to take the shot but young Mando stood on her tiptoes, struggling not to go any further because with one more push she would hang.

“Drop your blaster and raise’em,” Toro instructed of Mando.

Seeing no other option Mando did what he was told when young Mando shouted through gritted teeth, “Don’t do it!”

Toro was impressed that she had more guts than he thought because death literally was staring her in the face, but she didn’t seem to be bothered in the least.

“Quiet!” Toro said inching her forward making her tighten her neck further trying to lessen the tension.

Young Mando felt like a ballerina, dancing on the tips of her toes, but the finale could be her last.

“Cuff him,” Toro demanded of Peli when he shoved her with his blaster.

Peli made her way towards the Mandalorian and noticed him, discretely, double tap the tip of his blaster in the sand before he let it go, finding this odd she followed Toro’s demands when he continued talking.

“You both are Guild traitors, Mando and his annoying brat,” Toro poked her with the end of his blaster nudging her to certain death with a chuckle, “And I’m willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape,” Toro pointed to the child in his arm.

Peli made her way behind Mando, binders in her hands when she understood the double tap he did with his blaster, it was a warning for his daughter to shut her eyes.

“You’re smarter than you look,” Peli whispered pretending to bind Mando’s hands as he hide a flash charge behind his head.

“Fennac was right. Bringing you two in won’t just make me a member of the Guild, it will make me legendary,” Toro held his blaster directly at Mando ready to make his kill but Mando struck first.

He ignited the flash charge temporarily blinding Toro when he began firing recklessly any which way, but repeatedly missed Mando. Understanding the situation he was about to be put in, Toro slide young Mando off her feet and used her as a human shield.

She withered like a fish on a hook but Toro stayed firmly behind her, knowing her Beskar armor would take the blow so then he could line up the perfect shot to kill Mando.

Time was of the essence, Mando had to think quickly before his daughter lost consciousness and then her life. He saw his window of opportunity and took it. Rapidly he fired the wire above cutting young Mando loose and sending her plummeting to the ground. With this exposure Mando took a few shots to the chest but nothing his Beskar armor couldn’t handle. Once Toro’s shield was taken out of play, he believed he still had the high ground but was quickly taken out with one shot.

Both Mando and Peli ran towards young Mando hoping she was okay as she coughed and simultaneously gasped for air. Mando cut her loose and removed the wire around her neck looking her over for any signs of serious injuries. She waved him off and squeezed out two words, “The kid.”

Peli immediately ran towards Toro’s still body while Mando warned her to stay back.

“Gotta get it,” she said in worry as Mando turned Toro’s dead body over, revealing no child in his arms, “Where is it?”

The two of them searched when they heard a cooing behind some boxes. The child peered around with a smile on its face waiting to be discovered.

“There you are,” Peli said in joy while the child raised its arms to be held,” Are you hiding from us? Huh? Look at you,” Peli picked him up bouncing him in her arms, “That’s all right. I know. That was really loud for your big old ears, wasn’t it? It’s okay,” Peli stroked the child’s head as it joyfully babbled and cooed.

Mando inspected Toro’s body before looting a small satchel off of him. Mando went to his daughter and helped her up.

“I’m okay…really,” she said in a strained voice.

He nodded his head knowing he couldn’t coddle her and went to collect the child.

“Be careful with him,” Peli said handing him over to Mando,” So, I take it you didn’t get paid?” she said awkwardly.

Mando reached for the satchel he took from Toro and released the overflow of credits in her hands.

“That cover me?” Mando asked.

“Yeah. Yes, this is gonna cover you?” she said in shock watching the three of them board the Razor Crest, “All right, pit droids! Let’s drag this otta here!”

The pit droids squeaked not knowing how to dispose of a body when she responded, “I don’t know, drag it to Beggar’s Canyon.”

The engines fired up nicely, all issues with the Razor Crest seemed fixed as Mando took it to the skies, unaware of the mysterious being – who tailed his daughter from before – was inspecting Fennac Shand’s body in the desert.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, DAVE! You’ve been accepted for the role of EDMUND. Admin Rosey: There's something that makes Edmund such a powerful figure in his own right and Dave, I don't know how but you managed to capture it in the span of this one application. The prose, the voice, all of it was present from the plot points to the interview. His voice was so very poignant throughout the whole thing it made my heart ache a little. I am well and truly enthralled by the Edmund that you have presented to us and cannot wait to watch you dive deeper and show us what makes this boy who he is and how he'll give Verona a reckoning to be feared. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Dave

Age | 23

Preferred Pronouns | He/him

Activity Level | On average a few hours every other / every third night. I have kids so it will likely be after I put them to bed.

Timezone | EST

How did you find the rp? | My sister Kat lead me in your direction

IN CHARACTER

Character | Edmund / Easton Craven

What drew you to this character? A man built from resentment, bones compressed from the ashes of an others mistakes, a cold structure of stone engraved with rage. Teeth that never unclench, a jaw so tight it threatens to break into fragments. Animosity is the dangerous life raft holding together a bitterly broken character, mania stemmed from a lifetime of repudiation. An obsession potent enough to cover years of aching ribs; the soft tissues under the bones filled with a fire harrowing enough to stifle hurt. He craves revenge as if a child reaching out to their mother. Comfort being found in the promise of reunification. If only he could reach, if only his stiff limbs would meet the soft, consoling ones that he felt reciprocating the assignation, he would feel peace. Delusion of contentment driving passionate precision, carefully planned collisions that cause wise, crooked smiles that meet the eyes of madness.

He knows the storm is raging. The thorns sprouting from his blooming roses; depriving the buds of the little sunlight they initially had. He’s feeling just as suffocated and trapped now. Everything around him is whirling in the chaos he created but he won’t let it break him. Even in the blinding darkness he makes himself big, thrashing about so that even those who can see clear as day stay far from his reach. He lives with the actions of a stubborn child; allowing the haze of red fury to cloud his mind as he surrenders his better judgment. Every time he drink the poison he loses another piece of himself to make room. The pressure builds inside of him like a volcano and when he erupts; his pride and joy are the only casualties. He’s sacrificed everything for his cause, his battle cry drowning out the grief but he’s no longer even sure what threat the enemy poses, forcing a blindness on him more dangerous than the dark.

Taking the risk, stepping up to the plate and taking his best shot. When pressed with his back against the wall, Blood betraying him or perhaps the other way around; what choice is one left with? Perhaps the anger lies only with himself but his innate strength fuels the fire of his inner flames and he utilizes them. He makes these flames dry his tears, forces them to dance beneath the spotline, start forest fires to the granite floors beneath his feet. He uses them as his shield and a deadly weapon all in one curve of his lip. He uses them to carve art onto every inch of the elegantly draped walls that enclosed him so that the world can see how wrongly it had mistaken him, all while making the error of not once giving him the satisfaction of knowing he wields with the strength of mind, unaware of the fear that would bestow his enemies. He fights for himself rather than the cause, drawing those who abandon him back to his wake so that opportunity can present itself in the cruelest twists of fate. He will win back his power, giving himself the choice to crush it to ash or feed it to his fire so that it grows in size. They will beg for remorse, what he will do with them he doesn’t know but someone will burn alive; of that he is sure.

Years of neglect and deprivation leave scars, deep gashes in ego and emotional stability. Easton is broken, deeply hurt by being denied by those who were meant to hold him close, being inevitably punished for the actions of others. To pretend he isn’t aching over his loss would be an injustice. Deeply buried insecurities burrow deep in his bones with the aching torment he shoved away.  Still, anger is a much easier emotion to handle, it carries more dignity, a false sense of self control. There’s something there in that deeply rooted delusion of control, believing it so wholeheartedly that it becomes a reality, that I’m immensely drawn to. An emotional whirlwind with a powerful mind, twisting together in dangerous ways. I see so much potential for him developmentally, so many layers to explore. I really want to be able to flesh that out and bring him to life.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? 

“Yet Edmund was beloved” - Villains amongst disastrous plot, all alike in wicked bitterness. Written to be disliked, to cause mouths to turn down with force, muscles to tense in distaste. A rarity amongst his breed, they found a moment of remorse. Weakness was found and admittance to their sinful deeds, an eager audience was forced to face questions of morality.

I think what makes Edmund throughout literature to stand out so strongly was his repentance. It was a rare quality among Shakespeare’s literature and it’s something I feel is important to keep intact to his plot. It made its audience question whether he was truly a cold, cruel man or if he it was driven by a misdirected desire to be accepted. It’s a theme I plan to show throughout the plot, but I would like a bigger when the time is right to showcase his humanity.

Double edged sword- Sly crooked smiles and sparkling eyes, they crave the game, the slipping of cards into a deck undetected, the chips inconspicuously gathering in front of patiently folded hands. Winning the game does not raise feelings of satisfaction, spirits don’t rise at the chips that twirl between his narrow fingers but at the bitter eyes that narrow in his direction as he does so. Pleasure found only in the woefulness of others, misery causing teeth to show greedily, sparkling eyes falling dark with revelation.

I was to do a lot of scheming with him, a lot. Carefully planned betrayals, shady business deals, cunningly undermining those around him. I want a few of these, and I expect nothing less than a few Enemies as a result.

Blood over blood - Empires built steadily over a name that cursed his existence, pressed him back into a crevasse, covered him thick in wool as if to conceal even the heart that beat within his chest. A name placed on his head as if it were to quench the thirst of question, to satisfy the growing hunger for bloodshed that was soon to breed within the expanding chest below. The indefensible half of the term son. Cast down upon with fury and iron fists by all but his counterpart. Antipathy baking in the fires that nestled between fragile ribs, desperately attempting to replace the warmth his brighter half consumed without question or consideration. Confliction of blood contemplated incautiously.  Blood had betrayed him, or perhaps it was the other way around.

There is a lot to be said about Easton’s relationship with his brother. I feel there is true feelings buried deep under the poisonous vines he’s planted within himself. I think it is the single relationship that will reveal that rage is used to cover fear, fear that stems from loss and betrayal.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes.

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

In-Character Interview: The following questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would if you were playing the character.

What is your favorite place in Verona? | “Places are places, are places.” Words fell from casually loose lips, flat muscles and eyes rested upon his face as he took in the response of his interviewer, gave himself a moment to enjoy their frustration, the needle of his words knitting the space between their brows together. A dilatory moment of this passed before his lips unsheathed far too-perfect teeth. “The twelfth night.” Amusement laced his words in a way that sounded like a chuckle, spread far across his face to meet his eyes like beams of sunlight, brightening the pale skin it touched. Eyes casually emigrated to the cuff of his sleeve, long narrow fingers fiddling to straighten the small metal clasp that held it in place. ‘Home’ felt like an obvious answer, one that comes from a place deep within one’s soul, one given from utter personage. It was a word used to describe a dwelling of comfort, safety. Ah, but no person or place provided such a vast sensation. All that resided there was a bitter taste that weighed him down as strongly as desire did. He found himself on those places, however pesky, simply prioritized. “I like art.“ He added, blue orbs flickering up from under thick dark brows. There was a great truth in this set of words and yet in the cruelest twist of fate and fallacy he continued with an almost crude sense of humor. "And other historical entertainments."

What has been your biggest mistake thus far? I "Ah, mistakes.” Air left eager lungs as if to sound off sighs of relief. As if voracious for the topic, his lungs pulled in another large breath. “I can attest to many, many mistakes.” It was a topic that engulfed his life, his very breaths taken in vain of the word. It echoed off the walls of his skull, pounding itself into the bone it reached, engraving the term ad nauseum so that he could never forget. “My greatest mistake is the sins of another. Unfortunately, all my own will seem pale in comparison. Boring really.” Far too warm hands folded over his knees, well-practiced politeness plastered across his features. “But I’m sure I’ll even the score eventually.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you? I  “Difficulty stems from incompetence.” Bold statements were made from confidence, a strong belief that burned in his chest. Neatly trimmed fingernails tapped the dark stained wood of the armchair he poised himself in, Hack stretched out against the opulently draped bolster. Many difficult tasks had been asked of him, several that flashed about his mind in a rapid myriad, pressed up against his smooth forehead so that the pressure built like cotton. Difficult not in question of morality but in the conflict of agenda.  The undertakings themselves brought little burden to his mind but the consequences must always be taken under consideration. The butterfly effects that carried with each accord left the stains of spots on his own broken wings. None were to be taken unnecessarily. “I suspect you aren’t accusing me of that.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues? I “The war between the two?” Vibrant eyes narrowed with the flow of words from his parted lips. As if the question brought some offense, pierced through a more obvious concern, a more prominent affair.  It was much easier separated into two parts of one whole, easier but untrue to the nature of this particular footing. To new eyes, the crimson stains would seem so easily poised from a clear separation, Capulet and Montague. Ah, but Easton’s eyes were nor new or untrained. They had seen the blood that pooled from open veins, the carnage and rot that baked in the warm midsummer sun. He tsked as if to scorn the ignorance of those who would ask such. You could not start a book from the middle, nor could you an end. Blight had long held the minds of those from each party. Betrayal bubbled and burst from within each seam, pressed at authority and delegation alike. “It’s easier to blame others for our actions, surely.” As if talking to a child he turned his lips down, the incomprehension something of an irritation, the need for explanation an inconvenience to his own time. “Do you not consider the wars amongst ourselves?”

In-Character Para Sample: Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

(this is a kinda lot? and not something a situation i see happening incredibly often at all but I write it nonetheless so I included it)

A dream is defined as a succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during a state of unconsciousness. This was otherwise known as sleep. The term would never relate to himself, however, as sleep was a luxury only available to the poor, the deprived. The same word, conversely, is a wild or vain fantasy. This definition seemed more appropriate when associating the word, dream, to himself. Wild and vein, indeed. His egotistical nature seemed to be everywhere at once as he closed his eyelids. It burned there in the pictures that were painting themselves in his mind. And suddenly it was as if he were hearing his own thoughts. Thoughts, that seemed obscure and twisted to himself muffled by choking screams. Ah, but his mind was not absent at all. In fact, the image that was painting itself in his mind was both behind his eyelids and in front of them. It was as if his dreams poured out from his mind to spill on the floor. Or more suitably, nightmares.

Air flared his nostrils, filling his lungs with a sudden force so powerful it was audible as he opened his eyes, his rough thumb trailed the skin on the side of his mouth with anxiety as he turned. Deep-set eyes were thoughtful, dark brows pulled together in a pucker from a tilted head that stares down the man who was bleeding out on his new carpet. He looked as if he hadn’t noticed, not the man bleeding, not the ruined carpet. Easton knelt down beside him, his lips pressed together as he flicked his phone back on. “Have you seen this girl?”

His voice was too casual, too kind for the scene, too worried. Headlight with adrenaline, the preternatural display causing reality to feel more like a hallucination. The other didn’t look up, clearly too occupied with the blood that came up with every cough to entertain the deranged man leaning over him.

“She’s red hot I know.” He said in a breathy chuckle. The sound was innocent, lustful even as he shook his head in disbelief. “She’s slippery though. Always hard to find. Not mine either. Not really my type but-” Easton sighed, slight frustration lacing his tone as his eyes trailed away from the phone to stare at still choking interrogatee.

“You see that’s the thing. She’s been ignoring someone for the past 24 hours, it’s like she completely disappeared.” There in his iris’ you could find a new, growing intensity. It was slow at first, a sense of seriousness that within a matter of words became terrifying, unhinged in the deep pits of his pupils. “Here, take a look at her.” Easton shoved the phone further in the man’s face. The light from the screen reflecting off the red stream, almost close enough to engage in it. He knew very well it still wouldn’t be seen, that the blood pooling in this man’s eyes would have him seeing red, not quite in the way Easton was expecting to himself; certainly, there was more of a disadvantage in it. “She’s beautiful right?”

“Anyway,-” Easton’s tone dropped off again with a sigh, the phone going dark so that the men own eradicated state was staring back at him with a click. “She doesn’t report back last night. No text, no calls, nothing. So people start asking around, when’s the last time people heard from her. We don’t like the responses. You know, there’s something about the tone of a person’s voice.”

Easton stood, the now accumulating sweat from his palms being wiped on his dark crisp pants as he began to pace. “My imagination starts running wild. I start thinking of other guys I’ve seen her look at, other associations she’s hung out with, other friends of hers she doesn’t know we know about. You know, I started thinking about what I would do to someone if I found out that he paid her off. I would shackle the fucker up for a year and I would slowly and systematically torture him every morning and every night till he finally shut down. I mean I would burn off all his fucking skin is what I would do.” Something about the tone of his voice insinuated he was talking to a friend, a casual comfort emulating from him in waves that got cut off by sudden bursts of insanity.

“You know, these are the classifications of things I’m thinking about. I’m thinking about bad things.” Feet were trailing in small circles by this point, shiny shoes walking through pools of claret, dragging it with each pace. A heavy sign caused the motion to stop, silence falling in its place as crystal slowly rose to Easton’s lips, a thoughtful sip seeming to bring him back to his purpose.

“So, do you recognize her?” He waited a long moment. “Hm?”

“Yea.” The man responded in response in a choke. Easton quickly rushed to kneel by his side again. “You do?” He asked eagerly, his chest beginning to rise and fall with expectations.

“Uh, Yeah, I see her around sometimes. I mean, I don’t know her, but –” His eyes focused on almost anything but Easton’’s face but Easton kept moving his eyes into the line of sight.

“Hard to miss right?” Easton smiled almost confidently, proudly.

“Right.” The other coughed out again, his fluids seeming to stay inside him for once. The stench of iron and violence still fresh on his breath.

“It’s the little things that get you, the arguments. There had been this little spat about nothing – I don’t even remember what and then poof, she’s out the door, she’s gone. You know where she goes?” Easton didn’t give a moment to respond. “She goes to your side of town.”

“Really?”

Heartbeats were becoming more frequent, patience suddenly running low as if they were thin to begin with. The cause wasn’t a lack of control but a lack of interest. The cards were being dealt too slowly,  passion only residing when there was something to be won. The room already smelled like victory and the fight he received in return was none. The anger now came from a place of disappointment. “Yea.”

Suddenly his voice was getting louder, quicker. The urgency became something of a result of annoyance twisting around his chest, crushing his ribs. Easton’s face flushed red, pressing closer to the others, enclosing some of the space between them with a furious gaze.

“She goes over to that shit hole. She sends a text that she found her friends and then that’s it, that’s the last time she’s heard from. And you know what? I know some of these ‘friends’ over there and you know what they tell me? They tell me she goes over around 1 AM and then doesn’t come back – So she comes in, but doesn’t come out. At least not through town.” He ran his tongue over his teeth as he caught his breath. His tone finding another spasm of normality. His finger lifted, head tilted to the side as brows furrowed once more. “You were down their last night, right?

Easton’s company simply nodded in reply, cringing at the pain that seemed to ache through his muscles at the action. Easton’s head nodded in return, lips tight as he took in the words. “Did you see anything?”

“Did I see anything?”

“Yea, did you see anything.”

“Did I see anything?  I don’t see much of anything ever.“

Easton stared at him for a moment as if he were taking this in.

“Right, but you didn’t answer my question.”

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

I am pretty dyslexic so larger bodies of text tend to get grammar and spelling mistake. They are usually minor and people usually have no issue comprehending my work but if there ever is an issue I just ask that you let me know so I can fix it!

[legobiwan]

ok but obi wan turning sith during the war - what does the 212th do?? how shell-shocked would anakin be?? (which jedi win bets??)

Ah, apologies for the tardiness, this turned into a ficlet! 

——–

They had won.

Mace surveyed the ruined landscape. Iohopia’s lands had once been a rolling chaparral, undulating sandy hills spotted with clusters of green shrubbery poking up from the ground - stubborn plants well-adapted to the planet’s hot, dry summers and damp, mild winters.

Now it was nothing more than a flattened, beige plain tattooed with black ash, with the ugly outlines of fallen ships, weaponry, and clones. Smoke rose from a few persistent fires in the distance, the awful smell of burnt flesh mixing with the potent aroma of ship fuel in an unholy combination.

They had won.

But at what cost?

Iohopia had been secured, had not fallen to the Separatists. Objective achieved.  Mace frowned, uneasy. Even if he chose to ignore their catastrophic losses, the violence, the civilian casualties - it had been too neat, too easy.

And that was not how he operated. That was not the character of man he knew.

The man he thought he knew.

The Jedi fluttered his eyes closed, reaching out with the Force. Bloody, jagged edges of destruction cleaved at his body as the silent wails of the dead screamed in his ears. Mace jerked back, reaching out a hand to steady himself, his fingers grasping at something damp and slippery.

He glanced down. Vacant eyes stared back at him in horror. Mace recoiled, quickly wiping the blood from his hand, striding away from the crash site.

He did not look back at the bled-out body of Master Kiel’s Padawan. Could not look back, knowing who had been responsible for her death.

This was no battlefield. This was an apocalypse.

Mace rubbed his fingers together. They were sticky with death, with blood, with the life force of a young Jedi, who had not asked for this.

Bile rose from his throat before he could stop it, his abdomen spasming with each heave, again and again, until it was all he could do to keep from collapsing.

Dust and blood burned in Mace’s nostrils.

This had been no battle, no strategic foray.

This had been a message, etched in revenge and destruction.

———————

Anakin paced. The faster he walked, the faster he would come up with some kind of answer.

He stopped in front of the large window near the entrance to the bridge.

This was the thirtieth time he had passed this viewport, and nothing had changed.

Space. At one time he would have called it exciting. The stars, their light so bright against the unending darkness - the stars which had held the promise of the future, of freedom, of a life beyond his bondage on Tatooine.  

And now?

Anakin stared out the window.

Light was dark. Up was down. Droids were human, humans were droids and just what the kriff had given him the right to -

Bionic fist met durasteel wall with a thud. Anakin observed his own handiwork, momentarily detached from his outburst, as if he were looking at a set of crossed wires and not the dramatic evidence of his complete loss of composure.

He took a deep breath, extracting his hand from the newly-created crater in the ship’s wall.

The release of air was more of a sob than an exhale.

It wasn’t fair. He was the one who was supposed to fall, he was the one who had murdered the Sandpeople, he was the one who had married Padmé in secret, breaking every dictate of the Jedi Code.

The perfect Jedi. That’s was what Obi-wan was, what he was supposed to be. The one Anakin looked up to, idolized, rebelled against, detested. His pillar, the center of his moral universe, for good or ill. Obi-wan wasn’t allowed to change, not like this, never to become -

His legs turned gelatinous. Anakin slumped against the wall, head in his hands.

He was never supposed to become the portent of his nightmares.

And now Anakin had no foundation, no rock, no one to tie him to the Jedi Order save Ahsoka. And she could not take the burden of saving his soul - he would not allow it.

Never.

He clenched a fist.

Anakin would not drag Ahsoka down with him.

But what was he supposed to do now?

—————

The 212th was grounded, barred from any further combat operations and restricted to their base on Coruscant.

Cody sat in a waiting room. It was a sterile place, all white walls and bright lights. Waxer had walked out a minute ago - stalked out, to be more accurate, his brow furrowed in frustration, cursing under his breath. They hadn’t exchanged words, but one dark look was enough to give Cody the whole story.

Psychiatric evaluation.

Clones were bred to fight, to ultimately follow command, were conditioned to obey their Jedi leaders.

And now they were now dangerous, tainted.

When Pong Krell’s betrayal had been revealed, the 501st was taken off the front lines for two weeks, undergoing every form of mental evaluation at the disposal of both the Jedi and the Republic military leaders. After all, the clones had disobeyed the Jedi, had refused to cooperate with Krell (had done more than that, Cody knew, but that was a secret he would take to the grave, along with every other vod who knew what really happened that night).

The fear of a clone uprising, once whispered in the corridors of the Senate (and in a few hallways of the Jedi Temple), was now a frightening reality to many in the Republic. How many thousands of clones had been deployed throughout the galaxy, how few Jedi and Republic military were with them? Even with the Jedi’s legendary powers, it would not be enough to overcome an army of his brothers.

That was the first time the “Kill Switch” bill had been introduced into the Senate by Senator Piemal. Charming fellow, Cody thought. His entire look, which consisted of a long, red velvet robe and ostentatious pointed hat would only be improved with a vibroblade sticking out from his stomach.

Cody had not voiced this opinion.

Ironically, it was a Jedi who had saved the 501st from further investigation. After all, Pong Krell had only been a temporary commander to that legion, and had been issuing orders in direct conflict with what the Republic knew of Anakin Skywalker. General Skywalker would never act as Krell had, would never force clone against clone, even by mistake (the General was never that sloppy, never that free with clone lives to ever slip like that). And, thanks to some deft maneuvering by Senator Amidala and General Koon, that particular piece of legislation had been quickly buried, and the 501st restored to active duty.

But this time…this time it was different. This time there was no shadow leader to hide behind, no excuse of temporary command. The truth had been in the ruins of the battlefield, in the black-and-red clad man who had cut through clones and Jedi as if they were nothing at all.

The Holonet broadcast that had followed that particular slaughter dispelled any lingering doubts.

General Kenobi had turned, had become Sith, had joined Dooku in a righteous campaign to rid the galaxy of the Republic’s corruption, of the Jedi Order’s rot.

And every member of the 212th was now suspect in the eyes of the Republic.

This wasn’t like Krell, they said, this was Kenobi. Their commander, their leader. How long had this been festering in the former Jedi Master, what evils did he indoctrinate into his army? Would they turn in battle, would they join him?

As if the clones couldn’t think for themselves, as if they didn’t have their own opinions on General Kenobi’s defection, their own grief, their own rage.

Cody allowed his head to fall back, the bright ceiling lights shining in his eyes.

They think we’re just like droids - automatons, expendable, willing to obey any order that comes our way.

But that wasn’t true, the clones were sentient, they had ideas, personalities, opinions.

The problem was, Cody thought, what if Obi-wan was right?

——————

“I don’t want to be right, Master Unduli! But I think it’s something to consider.”

Adi Gallia crossed her arms with a huff. It wasn’t the Jedi way, letting her frustration get the better of her like this, but Luminara was being obdurate.

“Really, Master Gallia. Master Kenobi’s reputation is only eclipsed by his actions, which we all have been witness to, here and on the battlefield. The fact that you are even intimating that he might be compromised - “

Adi dropped her arms, voice rising. “I’m not saying he is compromised, I’m saying he has the capacity to be. The Council is demanding too much, spreading him in too many directions.”

“We are all being spread in too many directions, that is the necessity of this conflict.” Luminara folded her hands together, her face the perfect mask of a patient teacher humoring a stubborn Padawan. “Might I suggest you undertake some additional meditation, perhaps speak with Master Yoda about your concerns?”

I will not strangle Luminara, it is not the Jedi Way.

“And say what?” Adi demanded. “There are few enough of us on the Council who feel that matters are quickly unraveling beyond our control. Speaking with Master Yoda about a decision he has already made will not make him change his mind.”

“Then why are you speaking with me about it?”

All at once, the fight rushed from Adi Gallia. She sighed, allowing her posture to slump.

“Because,” Adi said quietly, “we need to look out for each other. I grew up with Obi-wan in the Temple, I know that he hides behind this screen of ‘perfect Jedi Master.’ There’s something off with him in the Force, even Master Plo has felt it.” She turned to Plo who only nodded, hands in front of his chest.

“You weren’t there, not on that day. There was a heated row between Master Jinn and Dooku, before he left the Order. I only heard parts of it, but Obi-wan was at the center of their argument.”

Adi let her gaze travel back to Luminara’s.

“Dooku wants him, Luminara, and he will use any means necessary to get what he wants.”

The Mirialan Jedi smiled softly, taking Adi’s hands in hers.

“Obi-wan is in no danger of falling to the Dark Side, Master Gallia.“ She glanced over at Plo Koon, who had remained silent, but observant. “I would even place a bet on it, if that behavior were acceptable within the Jedi Order.”

Adi grimaced, gripping Luminara’s hand tighter than she meant to.

“That is not a bet I would want to take, Master Unduli,” she whispered.

[vagrantblvrd]

Take What’s Broken (Make It New) 1/1

Summary: There are dead and dying agents in the halls, alarms blaring and they’re down to backup power that won’t last much longer now because Gavin’s a thorough son of a bitch. 

Notes: Prompt fill for the two different Anons who asked for Freewood with these prompts:

29: “There was never an us."   and  23: “Why did you spare me?”

I hope you don't mind that I combined them, or that I've set this fic in this mess of an AU. :D?

AO3

There are dead and dying agents in the halls, alarms blaring and they’re down to backup power that won’t last much longer now because Gavin’s a thorough son of a bitch.

Better than anyone here gave him credit for because he’s managed to fool all of them, hasn’t he.

Played the part of the charming British agent over from MI6. A bid to foster good will and strengthen ties with their allies that should have been a good thing. (Ryan’s own agency on shaky ground given the multiple investigations it was under, desperate enough to snatch up the offer without bothering to read the fine print)

And they’d all fallen for it hook, line and sinker because Gavin was just that good.

The right amount of charming and funny, self-deprecating sense of humor. Even Ryan had fallen prey to it, lowered his guard even though he should have known better. Allowed Gavin to get close to him and he’s paying for it now, that lapse in judgment.

They’d fallen for Gavin’s act, and it’s costing them as agents and security throw themselves at him hoping someone will be able to stop him.

Headed for the heart of the agency, planning to take all it’s secrets, and clearly wiling to do anything to do it. (Anything.)

Ryan feels sick at the thought and shakes his head to clear it because he can’t think about those stupid, naive could have beens he’d imagined for them.

Ryan’s head snaps up at the sound of gunfire down the hall. Hears a body hit the floor checks his own weapon before creeping closer. He can hear muffled yelling coming from one of the storage closets and no sign of movement down the hallway.

For a moment Ryan considers moving on, but the building is on fire and there’s too much chaos around them for him to think anyone else will come this way in time.

There’s a chair tucked under the doorknob - low-tech but surprisingly effective. When Ryan opens the door, he’s greeted with the familiar faces of office and cleaning staff. A mail-room worker.

Non-combatants, all shoved in here to keep them out from underfoot when Gavin could have just as easily killed them. (Should have, when it’s the smarter option.)

Ryan ruthlessly quashes that tiny sliver of hope lodged in his chest because locking them in here saved Gavin bullets. Created a distraction for anyone pursuing him and buying him time. (Efficiency and strategy and nothing more.)

“Peters,” Ryan says, grabbing the shoulder of the only one of them who looks like they have their head on straight. “Get them out of here. He’s headed to the data center.”

And Ryan’s going to stop him.

Peters looks like she wants to protest, but Victoria from reception lets out a choked sob and Ryan can see Peters’ priorities shift. Looking after her people in a crisis the way she’s always done, trusting to the agents to do the same.

“Take the service route,” he tells her, and slips out of the storage closet before she can say anything.

He stops down the corner to listen. Waits until he hears her coaxing the cluster of people into the hallway and towards safety before moving on.

Ryan comes across a pair of agents a little further down where they must have confronted Gavin. Sharpe is dead, and her partner is sprawled brokenly across the floor, choking on his own blood, but they managed to hit Gavin at least once.

Blood spatter on the wall and a trail leading away, glistening in the dim lighting.

Ryan hesitates, but Gavin knows Ryan’s coming for him – can’t not, after everything he’s done – and the bullet Ryan puts in one of his own is mercy. (Tastes foul, black and bitter and weighing Ryan’s soul down, down, down.)

A few feet on and there’s a bloody hand print on the wall, little smears where he must have leaned against it before pressing on. The blood trail stops at the elevator bank, but Ryan knows where Gavin’s headed. (No need to follow breadcrumbs to get there.)

Ryan takes the stairs, leery of being caught in the elevators between the dwindling power and Gavin’s deviousness. When he reaches his destination, he doesn’t bother with the main doors, bolted and locked down as they are when there’s an easier path.

Remembers Trumbull bitching to Newbern about major security vulnerabilities surrounding the data center and server room. Valid concerns that had been dismissed in light of more immediate matters.  (After all, how in the world would anyone be able to get that far in a building full of trained government agents?)

There’s an old conference room down the hall from the data center that hasn’t been used for official agency business in years, decades, maybe. Turned into something of a storage area for the techs, a perfect spot for a clandestine meeting and all too often overlooked.

Ryan uses a filing cabinet to give him a foot up, and pulls himself up into the small space, careful where he rests his weight as he moves toward the data center. He’s almost there when impatience and desperation combine and he misjudges how much weight he can put on a support.

Feels it start to give under his foot, but he’s too slow to move and he crashes through the ceiling tile to land in an ungainly sprawl. Gun jolted out of his grip, pain screaming through his shoulder and side head rebounding against the cold tiles, stunning him.

The sound of someone crossing those same tiles until they stop a foot away from him.

When he opens his eyes, Gavin’s standing over him.

The sleeve of Gavin’s arm is dark with blood, tie wrapped messily around the bullet wound there, courtesy of Sharpe and her partner.

“Hi, Gavin,” Ryan says, anger and frustration beating against his ribs, fury howling in his mind at this person who’s brought his world crashing down like this.

Gavin tips his head to the side, oddly birdlike.

“Hi, Ryan.”

There was a time Ryan would have said Gavin wore his heart on his sleeve. Gave too much of himself away and that he should take more care, what with the way the world is.

Not anymore.

Not with the way Gavin’s looking at him. Eyes colder than Ryan’s ever seen, expression so perfectly blank and unreadable.

Not the Gavin he was partnered with all this time.

The one he laughed and joked with. The one he shared more of himself with than anyone else because Ryan’s a hypocrite. (Trusts too easily, too quickly, when he allows someone close.)

The one he -

“You were supposed to be in DC.”

Ryan laughs, imagines he’s choking on things like regret and guilt and self-recrimination rather than the smoke rising from the back of the room.

Too late to stop Gavin then, because that’s become a trend with him. (Too late to see what had become of the agency he thought he loves enough to sacrifice for. Too late to argue Newbern down from his conviction that partnering with Gavin’s agency would save theirs. Too late to stop himself from falling helplessly in love with Gavin.)

“We wrapped up early,” Ryan says, staring at the hole in the ceiling. Broken and jagged and crumbled bits of ceiling tile drifting down on him. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Ryan pushes himself to his feet, and because he’s just that stupid, he lifts his hands and does the world’s saddest jazz hands.

“Surprise.”

Gavin’s eyes narrow, a muscle jumps in his jaw, and Ryan stares at him while the agency’s servers burn.

Years, decades, of information and secrets (Jesus Christ, so many of those), turning to melted plastic and metal and fouling the air. (Fitting, considering the agency’s slow, painful decline from nearly noble to what it is today.)

“Why?” Ryan asks, even though he knows he won’t like the answer. “Why do all of this?”

Why go along with the subterfuge of some bizarre agent exchange program? Why put up with the humiliating cases they were handed to keep Gavin from getting too much of a glimpse of the way the agency operated? Why -

Gavin’s eyes go to the door when the sound of voices reaches them. Noise of running footsteps and barked orders. Something heavy impacting the doors that Gavin’s blockaded with useless server racks and filing cabinets.

“Why us?” Ryan asks, and it must be the smoke drying out his throat that the words come out so cracked and brittle.

Gavin looks at him as the doors rattle under another impact. The blockade shifting with the sound of metal scraping against tile, and again, and again.

One last push to stop the traitor in their midst.

Gavin’s lip curls, hand steady as he aims his gun at Ryan.

“There was never an us.”

Ryan wants to say he sees something like regret in Gavin’s eyes. Deep down, under that terrible blankness, but that would be another lie to tell himself, wouldn’t it?

Gavin fires.

Once.

Twice.

Ryan grunts as the bullets hit him, breath punched out of him and pain blooming bright and sharp across his chest as he falls.

He sees Gavin hesitate before tucking his gun away, and moving to grab a bag off the floor nearby. Watches helplessly as Gavin pulls himself into the ceiling just as the agents break through his blockade to spill into the room.

He tries to follow, stop him, but his body’s already shutting down on him, pain and stress dragging him under as the agents open fire on the ceiling where Gavin disappeared, gunfire sounding loud as thunder.

========

Cracked ribs and a mild concussion on top of other unimportant injuries make Ryan just one of many casualties.

One who could still walk, no matter how unsteadily. Wasn’t actively dying, so they sit him down in the ER’s waiting room while seeing to those more critically injured.

Mind clearing after the second hour of waiting, Ryan realizes the precarious situation he’s in. What was bound to happen when the dust settled and people started looking for convenient scapegoats. (Newbern’s flunkies keeping an eye on him and the other wounded feeling more ominous as time passes.)

Hospitals are easy enough to get lost in if you try hard enough. It’s easy to slip the unformed police officers. Newbern’s chosen trying so hard to look concerned for their fellow agents and not what secrets they might spill to the wrong people.

It occurs to Ryan as he’s packing essentials, ghosting through the city withdrawing money from his bank accounts and preparing to disappear, that he’s been building up to this for a long time, now.

Without attachments (Gavin), it’s painfully easy to cut ties with his life here. Too much of his life put into his work, thinking he was doing the right thing and blinded by what had happened to the agency he loved so much. (Chipping off pieces of himself bit by bit until he was barely recognizable anymore.)

Ryan’s learned a lot, working for the agency. Knows exactly where to go where he won’t be found, the kind of city that won’t mind another lost soul.

He knows the money he managed to bring with him won’t last, and things are still too dangerous for him to look for a respectable job, not that he wants to.

Angry and bitter and he’s really only been good for one thing, Newbern and every other superior he’s ever had taking advantage of that, and honestly, that should have been a warning sign in and of itself.

Still, Lost Santos is the perfect kind of place for someone like him, and he starts building a reputation for himself there using what the agency taught him.

Good at killing people and keeping secrets he wants to keep. Good at surviving things that should have killed him a dozen times over.

Eventually, he catches Geoff’s attention, and when Geoff comes around and asks if Ryan wants to work for him, he says no.

Ryan’s not looking to throw his lot in with another organization, never forgets what happened the time he did.

He says no again a week later when Geoff tracks him down to the bar Ryan likes to go to every now and then. Grabs a booth in the back and sips his diet soda while he watches the patrons, keeps his skills sharp.

And Geoff.

Geoff drops down in the seat across from him with a shit-eating grin and asks Ryan if he’s reconsidered since the last time they talked. As though Ryan wasn’t very clear about things, didn’t make himself heard.

And he keeps doing it, finding Ryan wherever he goes, little grin on his face as he asks if Ryan wants to join the Fakes, like it’s some kind of club instead of a dangerous criminal organization.

Ryan tells Geoff no a dozen times in as many weeks, until he gets tired of it and says yes, just to see the look of shock on Geoff’s face.

“One job,” Ryan says, firm, unyielding. “Then you and yours leave me the fuck alone.”

It doesn’t work like that, of course.

Not with these assholes.

No.

Geoff’s already gotten under his skin, but the job Geoff brings Ryan in on is a big one. Requires weeks of prep, and that’s when the others get their claws in him.

All of them bitter bastards who have been fucked over by life one way or another, this look to them Ryan knows.

Jack’s the most upfront about things, no reason not to be when Ryan goes with him to steal a Cargobob and it comes out he used to be military. Flew special ops team on missions that never happened until Geoff came along and things got even more complicated, because Geoff’s good at that.]

Little things the others let slip, old habits they haven’t quite broken and he knows he’s the same. Quirks and oddities from the life he’s left behind that – ironically, hilariously – make him a better criminal than the agent he used to be.

In spite of himself, Ryan sticks around when the job’s over. Claims he’s interested in another haul like the one they just made, but they all know he’s full of shit. (Breaking his own rules all over again like it didn’t end badly the first time around, but Ryan’s that kind of stupid.)

Ryan likes them, thinks he could learn to trust them, given time.

And honestly, they make a good team, this crew.

========

It takes six years and a broken down warehouse in Los Santos before Ryan comes face-to-face with his past.

What’s left of it, anyway. His old agency ripped wide open and all its secrets laid bare in the aftermath of Gavin’s betrayal.

========

Ryan’s been out of town helping Fakehaus with a little problem, when Jack calls him back to Los Santos because Geoff goes missing.

Something to do with a rival crew (there’s always one of those) getting a little too ambitious and Geoff being a little too Geoff.

Disappears somewhere between leaving the penthouse and meeting with one of Burnie’s people, and a phone call from the fuckers who took him just to gloat.

Getting back to Los Santos is a nightmare, pileups on the freeway that backs up traffic for miles.

By the time Ryan gets back to Los Santos Geoff’s been found after Burnie’s man went looking for him. Jack sends him the address in the industrial district where Ryan comes across a ghost from his past.

Six years since Ryan’s world came crashing down, and Gavin hasn’t changed that much.

Stupid frosted tips and obnoxiously gaudy sunglasses and douchebag ensemble aside, he knows Gavin. (Or did. It’s complicated.)

The beard’s new, along with the scar on his face bisecting his eyebrow.

There are bodies scattered around them. Members of the crew stupid enough to challenge them like this, and for a moment he’s back in the agency’s hallways, smoke and fire and blood all around. (The impact of the bullets and Gavin’s cold gaze on him.)

“Vagabond!”

Michael, sounding startled as Ryan draws his gun and stalks toward the pair of figures in the center of the warehouse.

Geoff tied to a chair and goddamned Gavin standing over him.

He can feel Geoff’s eyes snapping to him at Michael’s yell. Pulling himself upright even though it has to hurt with the way he was curled down over his ribs.

Gavin turns to look at him. Clearly unfazed with the threat of the Vagabond pointing a gun at him and Ryan almost, almost, laughs at that.

Of course he wouldn't be scared of someone like the Vagabond, not when he’s a million times worse. Done things the Vagabond would never dare.

Six years ago Gavin burned Ryan’s world down, and now -

“Vagabond!” Michael yells again, hand on Ryan’s shoulder holding him back, grounding him in the here and now.

Jeremy’s beside him, gun drawn and head cocked to the side, question in his eyes. Ready to say fuck it all and back Ryan up here no matter what because Battle Buddies.

Jack walks up to the three of them, quiet and watchful and Geoff.

“Ryan,” Geoff says, doesn’t bother with calling him the Vagabond because Gavin must know who he is. (Or maybe he’s more worried about Ryan’s mental state than anything else at the moment, who can say.)

Beaten all to hell and still watching Ryan carefully, like he knows how close Ryan is to that edge he’s been teetering on for a long time now. (Six years, give or take.)

Gavin shifts, moves away from Geoff in case Ryan does snap. Does something he shouldn’t and doesn’t want Geoff to pay for it, get caught up in the crossfire.

“Ryan.”

Ryan drags his eyes away from Gavin to look at Geoff. Adrenaline buzzing through him and this bone-deep fear clawing at him because this stupid bastard gave back what Ryan thought he’d lost.  

The only person he’s truly respected enough to follow since the agency burned. (Maybe before then, when Ryan was still lying to himself.)

“...Boss?”

Geoff’s gaze moves between Ryan and Gavin, and he can see the wheels turning in his head, filing information away for later.

He knows about the agency, knows Ryan’s story because they all have ones like that. Pasts where everything fell apart around them leaving them to pick up the pieces and carry on best they could.

“Get me the fuck out of here, buddy,” Geoff says. “I want to go home.”

========

Ryan tracks Gavin when they’re back at the penthouse.

Nods along when Jack and Geoff take him aside and tell him Gavin’s trustworthy, that he’s been one of Burnie’s most trusted people for years now. (That Gavin saved Geoff’s life.)

Makes little noises of assent when they tell him Gavin’s going to be working with them now, and or God’s sake Ryan, please don’t kill him or they’ll have the Roosters to deal with.

When they’re done talking, Ryan goes looking for Gavin, because he’s paranoid enough to worry about history repeating itself here. (Knows it would kill him this time around, too attached to these assholes to be able to go on if something happened to them.)

Six years is a long time, and not long enough.

He finds Gavin talking to Matt. Looking over his shoulder as Matt talks him through this project he’s been working on for the crew. Gavin offering bits of advice and suggestions.

Matt’s grinning up at him, laughter soft and warm, and Ryan’s voice comes out sharper than he means to when he speaks.

“Matt.”

Ryan likes Matt. This stupid kid who is braver than he thinks he is, and so damn smart. Full of potential, and Ryan can tell that Gavin already has him wrapped around his little finger.

That smile Ryan remembers too damn well, soft and harmless and no real threat, honestly.

Matt blinks up at him, confused little frown on his face.

“Ryan?”

Gavin gives Matt’s shoulder a squeeze, flashing him a reassuring smile.

“I think he wants to talk to me,” he says, like Ryan popped by for a quick little chat between friends.

“Uh, okay?” Matt says. “We can pick this up again later, I guess?”

Gavin tells him it’s a promise as Ryan turns and leads the way down to the shooting range. They’ll have something like privacy there, the others smart enough to stay away when Ryan’s off balance like this.

Gavin doesn’t say anything when he realizes where Ryan’s taken them. Tension in his shoulders, the way he watches Ryan carefully.

Just stands there and watches Ryan. Waiting for him to start things off, and it’s -

Painfully familiar.

“Long time no see,” Ryan says, going for light and casual. Nonchalant as hell, because Gavin’s one of them now, isn’t he. On loan from Burnie for the foreseeable future and the thought of what that means terrifies Ryan.

Gavin hums.

“Six years,” he says, like Ryan doesn’t know.

If Ryan didn’t know any better that Gavin is nervous. (As scared about this as he is.)

Six years is a long time.

Changes you.

Gives you perspective on things you never expected, and that’s a bitch of a problem, isn’t it.

Before, Ryan wouldn’t have hesitated to put a bullet in Gavin’s head back in the warehouse, consequences be damned. He would have killed him then and there for what he did six years ago, what he might do now.

Now, though -

Ryan doesn’t fucking know.

Scared as all hell about Gavin being here, so close to the people Ryan’s come to think of as family. This life he’s rebuilt from the ground up, still a work in progress. (That raw, aching wound in his chest where Gavin used to fit so perfectly.)

He knows now, how bad things had gotten with the agency. How immoral and corrupt it had gotten without his realizing.

Too close to see the truth for himself, but aware something had shifted. This growing sense of unease he couldn’t explain, didn’t know who to go to about any of it.

It doesn't excuse what Gavin did because Ryan knows some of the people who died that day were just as in the dark about things as he was. (Doesn’t know why Gavin let him live, when others weren’t offered that mercy.)

But Gavin’s standing in front of him now, isn’t he. Waiting for Ryan’s questions, whatever he has to say like he’s been expecting something like this, so why not ask?

“Why did you spare me?”

Gavin breathes out a quiet little sigh, a laugh that’s anything but amused.

“Should have known you’d start with something like that,” he murmurs.

Ryan waits, lets Gavin get his thoughts in order.

“You know, don’t you?” Gavin asks finally. “What your agency was up to. You know.”

Ryan does.

He’s spent a lot of time wondering what happened to send someone like Gavin to the agency. What horrible things they’d been doing to spur that kind of action.

So much of it in the open by the time Gavin was done, dirty little secrets and awful truths. Shady dealings and worse, the agency digging itself in deeper and deeper as time went on until they left agencies like Gavin’s no other option.

Discovered that the agency had quietly dealt with the agents and staff who’d realized something wrong was going on, had tired to speak out, go to someone who would expose the agencies crimes. (Secrets piling up and only matter of time until they spilled into the open.)

All the files the agency assumed were destroyed in the fires Gavin suddenly appearing in the hands of people who could do something about things. Make sure justice was carried out, or as close to it as possible.

He’d learned that Gavin hadn’t been from MI6, was working for an agency better at hiding its tracks than Ryan was at uncovering them. Ryan looking, and never able to find him again, no matter how hard he looked. (Never really knowing what he would have done if he had, and maybe it’s for the best he didn’t.)

“Newbern found out about me,” Gavin says. “My cover was blown, and I had to finish my mission. Couldn’t risk him deleting anything that would incriminate him or the agency, and it all went pear-shaped on me.”

It sounds like regret in his voice, because a lot of people died that day at Gavin’s hands.

“The agents who broke into the sever room,” Gavin says, eyes darting away from Ryan’s. Talking around the matter of Ryan laying on floor at Gavin’s feet, bullets in his vest and cracked ribs. (Gavin shooting him.) “Do you know who they were?”

Newbern’s favorites. Handpicked and loyal to him before anything else.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, flexing his hands because he remembers all too well.

“They would have killed you,” Gavin says, meeting Ryan’s eyes unflinchingly. “They would have killed you if they thought you’d known what I was up to. If you were working with me.”

Six of them and Gavin had been on the run for almost half an hour by then. Tired and injured with every able-bodied agent available sent after him, and in no condition for a gunfight.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Ryan says, and that sliver of hope he’s never been able to fully shake is still there.

Gavin smiles, this little thing sitting crooked on his lips.

“I’m not that good of an actor, Ryan.”

”You’re smart. You can figure it out,” goes unsaid, but Ryan thinks he knows what Gavin means anyway.

His own disaster of a life aside, Ryan leans in, because he has more important things to worry about now.

“Hurt any of them, and I’ll kill you.”

It’s not a threat, no.

It’s a goddamned promise.

Gavin snorts.

“Wouldn’t expect anything else,” he says, and it comes out sounding fond, of all things. “I’m not here to cause trouble, Ryan.”

That remains to be seen.

========

Gavin settles into the crew well enough as time goes by. Ryan’s both amused and touched at the way the others take care to make sure the two of them are never left along together after that moment in the warehouse.

Someone always around to run interference, worried Ryan might snap and go after Gavin again or vice versa, it’s never really clear.

And Gavin -

Gavin’s too much like the person Ryan remembers from all those years ago, and a complete stranger at the same time.

So many of the old habits, quirks, Ryan remembers and a whole slew of new ones that wreak havoc with what Ryan knows about him, or the things he thought he knew.

He watches the way Gavin interacts with the others, the easy friendship that develops between him and Michael, something a little more complicated with Jeremy. (Damned bizarre with Matt, the way they snap and snarl one moment and conspire like idiot kids the next.)

The sheer chaos that results when he’s around Lindsay, not to mention Trevor and Alfredo.

Watches Geoff treat him like the idiot son he never wanted. Learns to dread the times Gavin and Jack get paired up on jobs because it either turns out to be the best idea Geoff’s ever had or the worst, depending on the day.

This Gavin is more awkward, uncertain, and Ryan’s all too aware of the slow slide into something close to okay again when it comes to him.

Just as Ryan’s watching Gavin in all this, Geoff’s watching him.

Looking out for crew as always.

He doesn’t know the full story surrounding Ryan and Gavin, but he’s smart – clever – enough to piece things together.

Decides Ryan needs to know a few things, when it comes to Gavin.

Waits until the two of them are in a drafty after a heist and Geoff’s stitching him up to bring it up.

Tells him about this kid Burnie picked up a little over six years ago, or really this kid who went to Burnie.

All hollowed out by life, beaten down by it, and he’d heard about Burnie and his Roosters. Went looking for them because he didn’t have anywhere else to go after leaving his life behind.

Soft and quiet and just this little tidbit of information he drops on Ryan like it’s nothing. Inconsequential chatter while they’re stuck here waiting for the heat to die down before heading back to the penthouse.

This idiot kid who sought Burnie out and wormed his way into his good graces. Became an integral part of the Roosters before Geoff stumbled over him and realized he had this look to him like he was thinking of running. Didn’t trust himself around the others, like he thought it was a bad idea that had gone on too long.

Geoff convincing him to give Los Santos a try. See if there was something there for him, city like that.

Ryan wants to ask why Geoff bothers to tell him any of that, but he doesn’t. (He’s not that stupid.)

The timing of things could be something, Ryan thinks. Gavin leaving his agency so soon after destroying Ryan’s, if he just knew why.

“He wanted to leave, you know,” Geoff says, annoyed slant to his mouth as he ties off the last stitch. “No one knew to warn him about you, a few days after the warehouse that little asshole came to me. Said he was very sorry, but he didn’t see things working out – ‘didn’t want to cause trouble’ with my crew.”

Ryan’s eyes narrow, because that’s news to him.

“And then you and Jeremy came back all fucked up from dealing with Vickers leaving us down two idiots. We needed him to stick around until you idiots were back on your feet, and it just never stopped. ”

Things never stop for them, just go from one situation to another and on and on and on until the day they can’t keep up and everything falls apart.

“Geoff - “

“If you want him gone, he’ll go,” Geoff says. “The only reason he stayed this long is because we were short-handed. If you honestly can’t work with him – and I get it, Ryan, I really do – we’ll sort things out.”

Ryan sighs, because it’s too fucking late for that, isn’t it.

Gavin’s taken up the empty spaces in the crew they didn’t even know were there. Fits in with them like he was meant to be there, and on the good days Ryan thinks maybe it can last. (Maybe it’s supposed to be like this.)

“It’s fine,” he tells Geoff, which isn’t quite a lie because it will be, one way or another.

========

Whether Geoff intended for it or not, Ryan looks at Gavin differently after that.

Notices the way Gavin’s been careful to give Ryan the space he needs. Going out of his way to make sure he doesn’t cause problems between Ryan and the others.

It makes it easier for Ryan to work with him. This little pang in his chest the first time he volunteers for a job with him and Gavin throws him a startled look as though he hadn’t expected that.

They work well together on the job, but they always did.

Gavin’s changed, or maybe Ryan’s finally seeing the real him, but some things are still the same.

Ryan knows the others are surprised when the two of them go back to the penthouse. Whole and unharmed and successful job in the bag. (Money passing hands because there’s a pool on the two of them killing each other one day.)

Things evolve from there, bit by bit. Ryan learning to trust that Gavin isn’t going to turn on the crew, which is when Agent 14 calls them up.

Has a little proposition for them. (A little heist, just between friends.)

He knows too much about the crew for them to just ignore him, and when they meet with him it’s obvious he knows exactly who they are. (Who they were before they ended up here in Los Santos.)

Ryan’s skin crawls at the way Agent 14’s gaze lingers on Gavin and himself, seemingly surprise they haven't killed each other yet.

The way he looks at the others, eyeing Geoff and Jack with this little arrogant grin, and a sly smirk for Michael. Wonders at the flicker of regret on his face when he looks at Jeremy.

Tells them all about this little problem of his, and how their help would be greatly appreciated, if they know what he means.

It’s not a blatant threat, with what he knows about them, it doesn’t need to be.

Geoff tells him they’ll think about it, and they head back to the penthouse to figure out what the hell they’re going to do now.

Michael and Jeremy grab beers from the fridge as Jack putters around I the kitchen for a bit. Reappears with diet sodas for Geoff and Ryan, and something a little stronger for himself and Gavin.

“So,” Geoff says, staring down into his glass, nervous and fidgety and strung tight with this unspoken threat hanging over them. “What do you guys think?”

The Fake AH Crew is big enough now that they don’t have to worry so much about every little threat that comes knocking on their door, but Agent 14 is another thing entirely.

Possible ties to the FIB, although from the way he was acting Ryan thinks 14 might be IAA, and either way, they’re not up to that kind of fight just yet.

Michael scowls, not eager to be dragged into some shady government dealings like this, and Jeremy shrugs his shoulders. Unhappy with the state of things, but willing to do whatever Geoff and the others decide.

Jack looks annoyed, and Gavin -

It’s impossible to get a read on him as he sets turns his drink round and round in his hands, seemingly lost in thought.

This problem of Agent 14’s isn’t anything they should get involved in, but 14’s a shrewd bastard.

Knows how vulnerable their position is, and how easily accidents happen. (How the odd will increase if they turn him down now that they know too much.)

To his credit, he seems to favor the softer approach. Offering to pay them well if they succeed, and perhaps more work in the future if they’re amenable.

“Geoff - “ Jack says, angry and frustrated and hating Agent 14 for putting them in this kind of dilemma. Dragging them back into the kind of secrets and shady dealings they’ve worked so hard to leave behind. “This isn’t out business.”

Putting it out there, but his heart isn’t in it, because it’s not that simple.

“Jack’s right,” Gavin says, ignoring the looks he gets from Michael and Jeremy. “We’re not the last resort, Geoff. Just the easiest solution for him.”

Why not lay the blame at the feet of known criminals if things go wrong?

“True,” Geoff sighs. “But I don’t know if I trust these assholes to just go on their merry way if we refuse.”

========

They say yes, because they don’t have any other choice in the matter.

========

Ryan finds Gavin in the armory gearing up, hit by memories of seeing him like this before. Deciding in what weapons and equipment to bring with him, little frown on his face as he debates the merits of each one before making his decision.

Watches as Gavin passes over the body armor hanging up.

Ryan’s eyes narrow because Gavin’s always been careless when it comes to his body armor. Never cinches it tightly enough, like he thinks it won’t matter, and its always been -

They’re headed to McKenzie Field with Michael and Jeremy to...borrow a plane from the Vagos who aren’t exactly the Fake AH Crew’s biggest fans to start with.

Goddammit, Gavin,” Ryan mutters, going over to him because this idiot.

Gavin blinks up at him, startled at his sudden appearance.

“Always were particular about body armor, weren’t you,” Gavin murmurs, and when Ryan looks up, he sees -

Six years ago he thought he’d imagined seeing regret in Gavin’s eyes, but now he’s not so sure about that. Sees it plain as day right now, all bundled up with guilt and remorse and this aching thing Ryan’s all too familiar with seeing in his own reflection.

“Of course I am,“ Ryan says, has to clear his throat when the words come out rough, caught up on things he’s never been able to say because he’s always been a mess when it comes to Gavin. “It could mean the difference between coming home alive or in a body bag.”

He used to tell Gavin that over and over again, helping him with his body armor while Gavin humored him like it wasn’t important. Like Ryan wasn’t right. (Like Ryan didn’t wear body armor every time he went in the field, like he wasn’t wearing it in the server room that day.)

“I am sorry,” Gavin says, so soft Ryan almost doesn’t hear him, but they’re standing so close to one another it doesn’t matter. “I never meant for things to go the way they did.”

With Gavin, so much is in what he doesn’t say, in the things he does.

It would be so much easier to hold things against him, hold on to his anger and hurt, but -

Ryan’s tired of doing that.

Ryan wants to know where the lies end and where the truth begins, see if there’s anything to salvage (if there ever was), because he still loves Gavin. (Never stopped, and that’s what hurt the most.)

Ryan pulls the armor off its hangar and pushes it into Gavin’s hands. Helps him with the straps to make sure it’s snug and secure, will keep safe.

When he looks up, Gavin’s smiling at him, small and crooked and so very resigned like he thinks -

“I’m not that good of an actor, Ryan.”

Fucking Christ, the two of them.

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Me too.”

Six years and change. New perspectives on things, and it’s still a complicated mess, but he’s working on untangling it. Thinks he might finally be making headway.

“We should talk,” Ryan says, gathering up all the bits of courage he has left to him for this, them. “When this is over. We should talk.”

Gavin stares at him, and for a long, terrifying moment Ryan’s sure he’s going to break his heart all over again, but then Gavin smiles, this little heartbreakingly hopeful thing.

“I’d like that,” he says.

It sounds like the truth to Ryan, and a damn good start.

[allaboutshouto]

Title: Sky Thief

Day 3 (I know, I’m late af): One was a Book Thief. The Other Stole the Sky.

Summary: 

"How are things up in the sky?" Shouto murmured.

Izuku peeked open one eye, leaning to the left to avoid the sun in his eyes.

"Blue. The truest of blue. And fluffy large clouds like cotton candy."

A beat of silence before Shouto asked, hesitantly.

"What does cotton candy taste like?"

(Or an AU in which Izuku becomes a nurse and Shouto is a patient at the hospital he is working at. Tasting cotton candy sounds like a good idea for a first date.)

Tags: Quirkless Izuku, Pro Hero Shouto, Shouto is suffering visual injury and cannot see, so Izuku is currently being his eyes, First Date, Fluff, Deadpan Humor courtesy of Shouto

The first time Izuku saw Hero Shouto wander along the hall of the hospital, he promptly blacked out and was kindly dragged by the feet back to the employee room by his mentor.��

He had his reasons for fainting of course. It wasn’t everyday that he got to see one of the top heroes in the world in person. And certainly not Hero Shouto: the second strongest in the world of the next generation and everyone's heartthrob. He played a pivotal role in the downfall of the League of Villains. Hero Shouto was also Izuku's age and already, he had accomplished so many admirable feats. A hero seemingly unfailable, strong and capable; and yet here he was, padding along the deserted hospital hallway with slow careful steps and jumping at the slightest of sounds, white gauze wounding tightly around his eyes. Izuku knew the reason for Hero Shouto’s visual injury. He had followed the news of the Battle of Fushimi Inari — raid of the Villain Syndicate — very closely. With over 300 Pro-Heroes mobilized and all civilians evacuated, this raid had been even bigger than the raid of the League of Villains six years ago.

This raid lasted for two days and nearly grazed Kyoto to the ground. But the heroes emerged victorious with no casualties. Izuku had burst into tears when he’d read the news that day. This was the generation of heroes he grew up with, he didn't want to hear in the news that one of them had died in battle. All Might would forever be his idol but the heroes from his generation were the ones that he paid a lot attention to right now.

There were numerous injuries, both grievous and life threatening. The out of town hospital Izuku was employed at had deployed nearly all its personnel in aid. Izuku, only in his first month of employment, was asked to stay at the hospital. His mentor feared that he couldn't handle the rush and stress of on field healing. He didn't disagree but that didn't mean he hid his disappointment when he was told to stay put. He knew he could do more. He knew he was capable. If only he was given a chance.

Everything boiled down to the fact that all the heroes were in highly-facilitated hospitals, with the best and most capable medical teams aiding their recovery. Yet, here Hero Shouto was, in Izuku’s rural hospital, all while he was among the grievously injured heroes; his sight damaged due to a villain with a dust manipulating quirk. Hence, Izuku had every reason to believe that Hero Shouto was located in one of the fancy hospitals with newest equipments and top-tiered doctors,  which Izuku’s small town hospital was in no possession of. Then again, Izuku had full trust in his eyesight and brain capacity to process images. Because that was definitely Hero Shouto. Half white half red hair, the burn over his left eyes peeking beyond the bandage. That was definitely Hero Shouto. But he wasn't informed of Hero Shouto being here. At all... Did his mentor somehow forget this one bit of important information? This was unlike her, but Izuku sent the message on his phone anyway. He needed to know the extent of Hero Shouto's injuries and where his medical records were. 

The second time he met Hero Shouto, it was for a check up. His mentor had explained that she did indeed forget to inform him. Hero Shouto had requested to be moved to a quieter hospital, without letting the press and nosy paparazzi know, so he was moved in during the night. His mentor had been too tired to think about informing him. Not that Izuku blamed her, she had been on the field for a full three days with hardly any sleep. 

Izuku quickly flipped through Hero Shouto's medical report. Just like what the news had said, Hero Shouto was temporarily blinded and was waiting for a corneal transplant. His hearing was reduced and injured due to blastwave, luckily not too severe to require a cochlear implant, but he needed quietude for the middle ear fluid to settle down. Besides the injuries from the battle, he didn't have any chronic conditions. There were notes about his burn and the condition of his left eye, but Izuku didn't read through them. Somehow it seemed private, even though he had the right to go through the medical history. But something in him told him no, that that really was not for him and he could do just fine with the information he had now. Izuku flew up the stairs to the top floor, greeting in-patients and colleagues he encountered on the way with a polite nod. He had forgone the chirpy greetings. His voice wasn't working properly at the moment. If he opened his mouth, the chance of him screeching and squealing in anticipation was high. Room 453 was located at the very end of the hallway, overlooking the dense woods and glistening sea beyond. Izuku sprinted the last few steps, heart hammering wildly in his chest, until he stood in front of the door, breathless and suddenly questioning himself.

He couldn't believe this. He was actually meeting one of the best heroes of this age. Did he really have the skill to treat heroes with top priority as Hero Shouto? Had he learnt enough to treat a human? Unbiddenly, doubt flooded his mind. Suddenly it was hard to breathe, and his vision swayed, a mini panic attack. Izuku forced himself to lift his lips up. A smile, even fake and unreal, was enough to trick his brain into thinking everything was fine. All Might smiled through everything, even in the direst of situations. If All Might could do that, then Izuku definitely could too. Behind this door, there was a human needing his help and assistance. He would damn well smile his worry away and help him to the best of his ability. He raised his hand and knocked his knuckles on the door. In the empty corridor, the sound carried. "This is—" Izuku swallowed hard, cursing himself, and tried again. "Midoriya Izuku. May I come in for the morning check-up?" He did it, he managed to say it! In second try but he did it. He gave himself a pat on his back. Being proud of all the little accomplishments was how he got to this point today. From inside the room, a voice floated out, rusty and gravel like leaves running across pebbles, unlike the smooth tonal Izuku heard on the off chance Hero Shouto spoke in an interview. "Come in." With one final intake, Izuku pulled the door to the side. "Please excuse my intru —" Only to see Hero Shouto sitting on the ledge of the window, with his back to the door and his legs dangling over the edge, eyes still bandaged. The file in his arms clattered to the ground as Izuku raced over, hugging the midsection of Hero Shouto and bodily pulled him inside with ease. Izuku didn't know if Hero Shouto was really weakened or he was just humoring Izuku. Hero Shouto obediently sat on the sofa, turning his head in Izuku's direction, head tilting to the side in an apparent question. "What," Izuku wheezed, "do you think," he took another breath, swallowed and punched his chest repeatedly to calm his heart, "you are doing? You could have fallen to your death!" Hero Shouto had the gale to smile lightly, filled of interest, along with humor and something else Izuku could not decipher. But right this moment, he just wanted to shake some sense into this crazy hero. "I just can't see. My quirk still works. I can catch myself if I fall. I'm not helpless." "I do not care.You are my patient. And I put my patient's safety first even if they don't put their own first." Izuku balled his fists by his sides. This was just typical Hero's thinking, believing they could help themselves without ever thinking about others who cared about them. Izuku shook his head outwardly. He was the biggest hypocrite. Had life turned out differently, had he had a quirk, he wouldn't give two cents about his own safety and health. But that wasn't his life at the moment, his life now was to make sure everyone was up to their health. "So please don't put your life in danger. You worry me." He tacked on when Hero Shouto still donned that unreadable half smirk. He didn’t notice that smile falling into one of confusion, already busying himself with reading the vitals and measuring Hero Shouto's blood pressure. Izuku quickly fell into the spectrum of focus. This was what he was trained to do and he would do his job well. He was in the middle of taking out new role of gauze to redress the wound when Hero Shouto spoke. "I just wanted to watch the sunrise." "I see," was what Izuku replied, not really paying attention to what Hero Shouto said. He was busy applying antibiotic ointment on the gauze. An unnecessary step since they were medical class gauzes, but he was nothing if not double careful. "I can't." "Hmm?" "I can't see." Izuku finally looked at Hero Shouto, who wore a blank face. It took him a moment to run the conversation through his head. Once it made sense, he snorted and dropped the gauze on the tray. "Your sense of humor needs to be admitted to the hospital for being bone dry." "But you laughed." Hero Shouto smiled crookedly, as if he wasn't used to smiling. "Todoroki Shouto." He extended his arm toward Izuku. He didn't introduce himself as a Hero, Izuku noted and took the offered hand, blisters littering it. "Midoriya Izuku, nurse in training." "Happy to be under your supervision." "You can make me happy by not putting your life in danger and save my heart from early constriction," Izuku smoothly snapped back, stern and full of disapproval. In the back of his mind, he noticed how snarky he was being and shook his head. Kacchan was rubbing off on him. "Duly noted," Hero Shouto — or maybe just Shouto for now since he’d introduced himself that way — agreed with ease and leant back against the armchair. Izuku huffed but got to work untying the old gauze around his eyes. "I hope I don't need to have you sign an actual written agreement." Shouto chuckled but didn’t say anything else. They lapsed into silence, filled with comfort and ease. Izuku unwound the last layer of gauze and removed the cotton padding, wincing at the sight before him. Shouto's eyes were swollen red. It must have been painful, and yet he hadn't heard Shouto making any noise of discomfort. The corneas were braised with dust into permanent damage. A transplant needed to be carried out as soon as possible.This also begged the question as to why there hadn't been a corneal transplant carried out already at the moment of injury. Shouto was of enough importance to warrant first priority on the waitlist for a transplant the moment a donor for a cornea appeared. Izuku filed that question away to hound his mentor with later; he also was nothing if not nosy and refocused. He took out the anti bacterial solution and cotton balls, and hesitated. He hated that he had to hurt people so they could get better. "Please bear with me. I need to clean the wounds." He bit down on his lips. He knew Shouto wouldn't care, but he felt the need to warn him anyway. It was always a part of his procedure. "Don't worry. I'm used to pain," Shouto replied airily. That really didn't ease Izuku's nerves, but he took what he could get. Then, as gently as possible, he pressed the cotton ball around Shouto's inflamed eyelids. Shouto twitched but didn't jerk away. He sat perfectly still. Izuku cleaned the right eye quickly and moved onto the left, extra careful with his scar.. "What color is the sunrise?" Shouto suddenly asked, completely out of the blue. Izuku understood this as a distraction from pain and willingly went along with. He glanced out of the window. "Peach color. With smokey clouds. It is very blue too. Blue like the color of your ice, Shouto. You can actually hear the blue riding along the waves crashing against shore.” Izuku gently tucked stray strands of hair behind Shouto’s ears so he could clean the wound. “And lots of yellow, the yellow of a slice of lemon when you put it in honey tea." Shouto made an appreciative noise in his throat. "What about the trees?" "Very fresh. And green. Green like cucumber floating in sparkling water." "I hate sparking water, Izuku." "Me too." Izuku laughed, carefully placing two new pads over Shouto's eyes. "There's a gingko right next to your window. It looks ancient and supernatural." "You have horrible description skills," Shouto remarked, sitting straighter so Izuku could wound the gauze around the back of his head. Izuku barked out a laugh. Shouto was very straightforward. "Literature was never my strong suit. Should I continue or leave your imagination to do the rest?" "You're doing better than I ever could. Please continue.” Shouto made a vague ‘go-ahead’ gesture. “Tell me more about the gingko." "Tall, regal, beautiful and absolutely ancient." Izuku racked his brain for all the adjectives but there was only so many he could find that fit the description he was going for. "There's a small shrine at the base of it. Painted red. You can feel the oldness coming from this tree. We have a tale here. That every moonless night, the spirit of Inari appears and runs around the temple four times before disappearing. And in the morning after, a sprig of wheat, golden and blessed can always be seen from afar. But when someone comes closer to pick it up, it disappears. My mentor says that means that this land is protected." Izuku ended his story by clipping off the excess gauze and securing the end to another part of the wrap with a strip of tape. Shouto's breathing had slowed down, rhythmic. He was fast asleep. As quietly as possible, Izuku gathered his equipment and walked over to the door. He should have woken Shouto up so that he moved to the bed and could have a better sleep position, but he didn't want to disturb him. However, apparently Shouto wasn't as fast asleep as Izuku thought he was, for he suddenly spoke when Izuku was sliding the door open, badly startled him. "You will come — " the tray and scissors clattered to the ground with resounding clang, " —  back later?" There was a note of something there, a tinge of hopefulness shrouded under a curtain of nonchalance. Izuku bent over to gather his stuff. "Yes, of course I will." His cheeks felt incredibly hot the moment he said that and Shouto’s happy smile didn’t help cooling them down. 

Lunch was a slow and careful business for Shouto, but he managed without making a huge mess.

They were outside in the courtyard, under the shade of clustered bamboos "I like this sound." Shouto lifted his head to the sky, placing his chopsticks down on the table. Izuku guided his hand to where the chopsticks rest was. "Easy to fall asleep to." "That, it is," Izuku agreed, closing his eyes. The wind picked up, carrying with it a briny smell from the sea and running through the tightly packed leaves. High and low notes echoed against the rumbling background of waves crashing onto the shore, a natural orchestra. "How are things up in the sky?" Shouto murmured. Izuku peeked open one eye, leaning to the left to avoid the sun in his eyes. "Blue. The truest of blue. And fluffy large clouds like cotton candy." "Clouds can be pink?" Izuku shook his head and realized Shouto couldn't see him. "No," he said. "White. Like rice." "There are white cotton candies," Shouto breathed softly. And if Izuku allowed himself to be truthful, the statement was one of wonder too. Izuku made an affirmative voice at the back of his throat. And there was silence between them. But only for a minute before Shouto broke it tentatively. "What does cotton candy taste like?" The hesitation in his question was as clear as day. It was a strange question to ask. Izuku glanced at Shouto from the corner of his eye. He was biting his lips and circling his thumb on the table. A nervous move. Even though Shouto couldn't see, Izuku turned away, thinking hard to the last time he had cotton candy. "Sweeter than sugar and very sticky." The last time he had cotton candy was at a festival, years and years ago. "It melts in your mouth. If you could eat cloud, the texture would be just like cotton candy." "Fascinating," Shouto said appreciatively, then sighed. "I would love to try cotton candy one day." The feather of strangeness tickled the back of his mind at Shouto's simple wish. As far as Izuku knew, cotton candy was a part of everyone's childhood. Shouto’s statement strummed his curiosity fibers. He filed it away for later study and focused back on the conversation. He could potentially help Shouto fulfill that wish if the festival he was thinking about was happening tonight. He pulled out his phone and pulled up the calendar. Strike! "The midsummer festival is happening tonight downtown." He smiled to himself, scrolling through the event agenda. The stalls would be open until late at night. They would have plenty of time to stroll around looking for cotton candy. "I guess it's high time you tried cotton candy." The happy grin Shouto shot in his direction set Izuku's brain on fire. "Sounds like the date."

Izuku should have thought twice about taking Shouto, a public figure loved and admired by everyone, out onto the street. Then again, the past few hours he’d spent with Shouto just somehow made him more human, more real than the figure Izuku read and admired through press and interview. And somehow Izuku forgot that the rest of the world didn’t get to know Shouto the way that he did.

The moment they set foot inside the premise of the festival filled with bustling people and noise, Izuku realized his mistake. Shouto stood out in the self assured way he hold himself, the air he surrounded himself with, and the most important thing, his glaring telltale half-white-half-red hair. Before anyone could look twice at them and make the connection between Shouto and the Hero Shouto, Izuku thrown his jacket over Shouto’s head and led them away.

“Izuku?” Shouto questioned, startled, but didn’t fight against Izuku’s pull. “What’s going on? Where are we going?”

“Just some minor issues.” Izuku made a sharp left into a darkened alleyway when he spotted a group of girls heading their way from afar. He managed a smile when Shouto looked at him with lips turning downward in a frown. “Don’t worry, we will get the cotton candies in no time. I just need to figure out a, uhm, disguise.”

Shouto’s mouth parted opened. “Is it my hair?” He removed Izuku’s jacket from his head and subconsciously smoothed a hand over his hair.

"Sorry," Izuku apologized immediately. He hated seeing uncertainty on Shouto. "I forgot to think up disguises before."

"Don’t be. The fault is mine," Shouto said, draping Izuku’s jacket over his forearm. "I should have thought about this too."

A part of Izuku wanted to take all the fault onto himself, but he knew if he did just that, Shouto would get the fault back and they would end up in a never-ending tennis match of taking blame.

"We're both at fault." Izuku compromised, tapping a finger on his chin.

This didn't start off as well as Izuku had imagined, but he couldn't let that ruin the night. He was on a mission here. Shouto would need a something to cover his hair, the most distinct feature on him. A hat, maybe? Izuku couldn’t remember if he had a cap somewhere in the employee room in the hospital. And the hospital was close enough that he could make a round trip in 20 minutes if he ran.   

"You still there, Izuku?" Shouto's inquiry interrupted his train of thought, a note of uncertainty and fragility. He sounded... afraid.

Izuku cursed himself in his head. Shouto couldn't very well see right now.

"Yes, I'm still here." He took Shouto's hand in his and intertwined their fingers together. "I'm right here."

Shouto nodded tersely, but didn't say anything. He merely tightened his hold on Izuku's fingers. Izuku looked out into the street. A merchant was pushing her cart of handcrafted masks nearby. Then suddenly, an idea sparked itself into existence. A traditional mask would do the trick better than a hat could. Masks would blend right in with the festive crowd.

"Shouto," Izuku said, wrapping his other hand around Shouto's, "I'll go get a disguise. Count backwards from 25 to 1, I'll be back before you know it. I'll never abandon you."

He didn't think Shouto would agree, with how hard he was biting down on his lips. Having a sense robbed was not a pleasant experience. Izuku was all for Shouto to disagree and they would walk back to the hospital and have tea under the starry sky while Izuku practiced his poetic skills and wax heartfelt lines about the beauty of the moon. But Shouto nodded, hesitantly and fearfully, and started counting down.

"25, 24—”

"I'll be back before you know it."

Izuku unlatched his hand from Shouto's loosened hold and took off. He had never run so fast in his life. He caught up to the merchant, picked the two closest masks, and paid. He didn't even bother counting his change before he was sprinting back into the dark alleyway where Shouto was waiting, counting.

"7, 6, 5—"

"Back." Izuku bent down, hands on his knees, and breathed harshly. His heart was beating to the point his chest hurt. He looked up at Shouto, who was already smiling softly. In a corner of his mind, he noted that Shouto had smiled more during his short hours with Izuku than all the time he saw Shouto appear on interviews. "Told you I would be back in no time."

"I had full trust in you." Shouto whispered, completely at ease and peacefully.

It was ironic that both the masks Izuku picked were fox masks with a red and white color scheme. But as long as they did the job of concealing Shouto’s presence to the crowd, Izuku was not going to complain. With at most care, he slid one mask over Shouto's face and tied the bow at the back of his head to secure it. While Shouto was busy adjusting his to his preference, Izuku slid the other one on the side of his head. He rationed that if they went as a pair, less people would think of Shouto as Hero Shouto. He silently took hold of Shouto's hanging hand, again locking their fingers together.

“Are we good for cotton candy now?” Shouto’s voice, muffled through the mask, was filled with child-like excitement.

Izuku laughed, leading them out of the dark alleyway and into the bubbly crowd heading towards the night festival.

“Yes, we are very ready for cotton candy.”

[baekhyuns-abs]

His human, his protector [5]

(gif not mine credit to the original owner)

Hey you, longer than usual because I ramble when I’m stressed. You feedback is always appreciated. 

Mentions of abuse.

“How did you find this?” Richard flipped through the pages of the files, a crease forming between his brows.

She played with the sleeve of her jacket and stared out into the reserve. “I don’t know… It was just there for anyone to see.”

“Did anyone see you?” He asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay.” Richard came to sit next to her on the bench.

His face looked forlorn and she stared back, uneasy. She felt better now without the burden of the files but with the way Richard looked, she felt edgy.

“This is good stuff.” He began. “ It’s credible, it’s what we need and thank you - But, you need to be careful. This is actual Nova documentation you have taken away from the facility, if in any way this can be traced back to you it can cost you your life.”

Her mouth went dry and she drew in a breath slowly, taking in his worried and tired features as he looked at her with intent.

“My life?” She repeated in a low voice.

“We’ve had casualties before.”

She took a breath remembering her key goal, her reason for doing this. She recalled the lab tech, his desk scattered with files, to-dos, awaiting tests results and the out of place level 9 file. Why did he have it?

“Did anyone see you?” He asked again. “Can you remember?”

She collected her thoughts from that moment, remembering how no one paid her no attention, busy and occupied with their work.

“No one saw me.”

~~~

It took her longer to sleep that night. She felt on edge, checking multiple times that her door was closed, getting a fright whenever she bumped into her flat mate every so often in the hall. Kyle was in a bubble of his own to really notice his friend’s strange behavior - he was in his sixth and final year of his veterinary science degree, he had his own stresses.

She was glad she had the day to herself, till 6pm. She was apprehensive about her first night shift, thankful she had the Sunday day off to rest after. The drive to work was long and dreary, she leaned over every few seconds for the paper bag of nuggets on her passenger seat; pure fuel.

It felt weird stepping into the building so late, passing familiar faces as they went home. She waited in the line of people preparing for the mandatory security check. She was fidgety, chewing on her lip, holding the strap of her bag like a vice.

She stared at the tall head in front of her apprehensive about her night.

A hand on her arm, tugging her out of the queue startled her completely. She gasped turning to the culprit.

“What are you doing?” She questioned in a panicked tone.

She caught a glimpse of his face and her blood ran cold - the lab tech.

“Do you know Richard Francis?” He asked bringing her to stand in front of him by the doors.

His eyes looked wild, frightful as he stared down at her with desperation. She felt the eyes of security on them both at the scene he had created. A few of them began to walk slowly, cautiously towards them. She looked to and fro, unsure with how to reply to the technician clutching her arms eagerly. She felt scared, worried.

“I-- No…” She lied.

“Then why did you steal the file?” He asked, hushed aware of the approaching men.

She swallowed thickly, unable to find her voice through her choked up nerves. He shook her slightly. “Did you give them to Francis?”

She didn’t answer and he growled in frustration. “I’m in danger.” He rasped. “I need you to help me.”

She searched his face, the pure terror on his face, his voice - she couldn’t see a lie. “What do you want me to do?”

“They’re going to kill me.” He stammered. “I have notes in my locker, you need to get them before Nova gets hold of them. Do you hear me?”

She glanced down at his identification on his lab coat quickly, pushing lightly at his arms, getting him to let her go reluctantly.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

She looked to the intimidating officer and nodded, a little light headed at the information running through her mind.

She ran her tongue across her dry lips. “I’m sorry Wesley…” She saw confusion on his face as she stepped away, using his name. “It’s over.”

She caught sight of his face one last time as she stepped around the guard and saw his features relax; relief flooded him, knowing what she had done. Couple’s quarrel. Wesley was escorted outside and she felt her heartbeat rapidly pounding in her chest as his words branded themselves in her mind - they’re going to kill me.

“I wondered why I didn’t see you this morning.”

As she placed her belongings robotically on the conveyor belt her regular officer greeted her with his friendly smile. She forced a half hearted smile and a faked a laugh.

“Been tricked into taking some night shifts.” She tried to be humorous as she stepped through the body scanner.

The names of staff were always given to the security team at the beginning of each day as a sort of registration. It was to ensure a smooth system of checking up on the workers, seeing who was turning up, seeing who wasn’t; the more she thought about it, now that she was aware of Nova’s end game, she knew it was more to prevent anyone coming in when they weren’t supposed to, to monitor their staff.

She stepped into the locker rooms silently, head low and as the door closed behind her it fell silent. She was alone. The room brightened with light as she stepped inside, the sensors detecting her. The large room was split into male and female sections, privacy reasons and she wasn’t opposed to it having had many mornings of hasty clothing changes.

As she reached her locker, slipping on her coat and clipping her ID tag onto the front her mind wandered to the frantic lab tech. She had no idea where his locker was, what he meant by notes and why he thought this death was approaching. She knew there was a lab tech locker room somewhere in the building, like there was a nurses and a doctors.

But where?

~~~

The head surgical nurse had cornered her at the nurses station. “I need your help cleaning theatre 3.”

She scrubbed up, throwing used and bloodied scrubs into the washer. She disinfected the surgical tools and surfaces with a far away mind. She didn’t ask what surgery had taken place, who it was and why, she was too far away to register how peculiar it was that there had been a serious surgery - they were rare.

She sat for her break in the staff cafeteria not long after, happy for the cafe that was still open serving coffee. She took a seat by herself eyeing a bunch of faces of colleagues she barely recognised from her normal day shifts. She stared at a group of lab techs bunched together at their own table talking harmoniously amongst themselves.

Her legs guided her over to them before she could stop herself. When she reached the empty head of the table, all eyes turned on her as she took to long to speak.

“Hi.” She forced out. “Um, are you friend’s with uh… Wesley?”

A narrowly eyed woman spoke first. “No not really.”

Feeling increasingly small under their judgemental stares she shoved her hands in her pockets. “Oh well do you know where his locker is? He’s got some of my things.”

The same woman replied. “In the locker room.”

She heard the sniggers from her counterparts and a mixture of frustration and embarrassment made her cheeks red. The look of the labtech, her voice, the sarcasm in her tone struck a nerve. She didn’t have the time to be laughed at.

“I’m glad to see you’re not letting your education get in the way of your ignorance.” She spoke with conviction and the table fell silent, staring up at her with shock; shock she felt just as much.“So if you could tell me where the lab locker rooms are instead of being a completely dense moron, that would be great.”

~~~

She felt giddy walking to her subject’s cell. She couldn’t believe what she had just done, it was uncharacteristic for her to get angry, snappy even but she was so believable in her execution she was so proud despite all the circumstances.

She swiped her card and stepped through to the corridor of subject 10. It was just a routine nightly round, to check on the potentially sleeping subject. If they didn’t sleep it messed with the experiments and results she was told. If they didn’t sleep for a set amount of time, nurses were instructed to sedate them.

Subject 10 had no problem sleeping according to his records, but she was still required to check.

As she swiped her card the second time to step into the observation room she heard a shout. The hairs at the back of her neck stood up at the sound of a scream filled with agony could faintly be heard through the door. It pinged open at the recognition of her clearance and she stepped through, all of the breath in her lungs rushing out in a horrified gasp.

A bunch of nurses - male nurses - crowded themselves in 10’s cell behind the observation screen and her gut twisted at what they were doing to the poor defenseless subject. She pushed the door open and they all simultaneously turned to her.

10 was hoisted up by his arms by two nurses as the remaining few punched, kicked and tortured him. Blood dripped from his red mouth stained with already dried blood. His eyes were barely open, the skin around them swollen with damage. His white scrubs were stained with blood, ripped in places from cuts from a small carving knife.

“What- what are you doing?” She dropped her clipboard in utter horror.

A familiar face smiled at her - the male nurse that had asked her out a day ago. “The tests came back this afternoon, he can’t be killed! He can heal himself.”

The delight in his voice startled her and she couldn’t understand. He stepped towards her and she took a step back.

“His wounds heal quickly.” He smiled at her, turning back to point at 10’s face, the bruising around his eyes beginning to dissipate as he groaned weakly. “See! We’ve been doing this was hours and he’s fine!”

She felt a sob crawling up her throat and she blinked away the tears furiously. “Why?”

“It’s fun!” He replied as another nurse twirled a baton in his fingers before whacking it across 10’s ribs.

She flinched - it’s fun. She took another step back as a grunt fell from his mouth as he barely struggled in the nurses hold.

“Try it.” A baton was held out to her and she looked at it in alarm and disgust.

“No.” She replied in a weak voice, almost quivering. “You need to stop.”

An unfamiliar voice delivered a blow that nearly made her lose it. “Hey, you’re the one who put the idea in our heads, this is all you.”

Me.

She was frozen with dread and guilt as they continued their assault on the subject. The most gentle, less threatening of all the subjects. She wanted to leave, she didn’t know how much longer she could endure what she was seeing.

Through the pain and the fear she found her voice again, an idea forming in her mind as she tugged on every string in desperation.

“That nurse he healed for the first time when we discovered what he could do was by choice! He can choose who to heal and who not to heal. He can do that with himself too, he can choose not to heal himself through your beatings. He could choose to let you kill him.”

The smiles on their faces began to dissolve as she spoke.

Feeling confident she continued. “If you kill him, that’s not on me. That’s on you, all of you.”

She backed out of the cell, feeling heavy, emotionally worn and a mess. She found herself in the furthest away bathroom stall and for the second time in two days she cried her eyes out. She was glad only the skeleton of staff stayed on for the night shifts, she walked out of the bathroom, eyes red and puffy, lips swollen her her cheeks red; and no one was there to witness it.

With trepidation she went back to subject 10. His cell was empty, no sign of what had taken place little over 20 minutes ago. All evidence was gone except for the frail form of subject 10 on his bed. He was shaking, his bruises yellowing already, the cuts on his lip and body slowly healing and he looked at her as she stepped inside with a stocked trolley of bandages.

His eyes scanned her open face, confused at the tears that stained her face. She had a bowl of warm water, bandages, band aids and packets of gauzes.

“I’m just going to clean you up.” Her voice was soft, he was weary of her and she could tell.

His trusting nature had been tested and she could see the panic in his eyes. She knew he would be hysterical if he had the energy. She hooked a drip bag high up and stared down at him with apologetic eyes. She said what she said to Lendal to keep him alive, not to have him beaten every night as a celebration of his curse.

“This will help.” She said as she pulled out the fresh, sterile needle. “Can you give me your arm?”

The last thing she wanted was to strap him down, force him to take her help; he’d had enough forceful hands on him. Gingerly he gave her his arm and she carefully hooked him up to the drip. She wiped warm, damp gauze's across his blood stained skin and slowly colour returned to his dimpled cheeks with every passing second.

Bruises completely faded, cuts healed and vanished as he regained his strength with the help of her.

She pulled the needle from his strong arm aware now he could grab her, take his revenge more brutally and finite on her. He’d heard the men’s words, how she was to blame, but as she had cleaned him up he couldn’t find it in himself to believe them. He laid still as she put her equipment away with a heavy heart.

She paid him a sympathetic glance, her eyes now clear of her earlier meltdown and subject 10 spoke to her.

“Thank you.”

[happymetalgirl]

5 Albums I Missed in 2017

I was pretty pleased with the thoroughness with which I covered the output of metal in this blog’s first year last year, all other obstacles that popped up considered.

This year has already been better; I’ve covered more music and in more depth, and I’ve had less in my way this year it seems. I was trying to do this piece in a more extensive series, or just one monster post, around June. But metal had a substantially prolific mid-year and my own academic obligations of course reared their head again, so after pushing it out again and again, I decided to just trim it down to one regular post.

These are just a few albums from last year that I either didn’t hear or just didn’t didn’t get around to writing about.

Steel Panther - Lower the Bar

I was kinda-sorta planning on giving the album a listen. I had always respected Steel Panther for their commitment to their very comedic act of satirizing one of metal’s most widely acknowledged embarrassments (80′s hair metal), but I never really followed them too closely because I thought their act wouldn’t be around for long. And the repeated release delays their fourth album suffered from cast an unfavorable light upon it and led me away from it.

Buuuuuut, fast forward to this year and the band’s guitarist, Satchel, has the joke police knocking on his door for naming a guitar effects pedal the “Pussy Melter”, and simply out of principle for my not wanting to see comedy needlessly suffer, I decided to listen to Lower the Bar, with my expectations exactly where the album told me to place them. And honestly, I was pretty entertained throughout the course of the album. Yes, the subject matter is obviously juvenile, but that’s kind of the point: to take the piss at all the dumb hedonism and comically goofy masculine posturing that metal likes to not talk about having happened 30+ years ago. And the piss the band takes is an accurate, no-spray stream right into the bowl; the mockery they make of hair metal is clearly a loving one, a parody coming from fans, well aware of hair metal’s ridiculousness, of the groups who spearheaded the genre. The performances are tight from the glamorously narcissistic guitar solos to the glorious quasi-operatic vocal highs, and the consistently well-constructed lyrics that take the band’s light-hearted joking beyond toilet humor and middle-school-tier sex jokes and into a condensed comedic embodiment of all that was wrong, and all that was intoxicating at its time, with hair metal.

Adrenaline Mob - We the People

Post-Portnoy Adrenaline Mob still aren’t exactly hard rock or classic heavy metal heavyweights at this point, but We the People was an album whose strongest moments (“Til the Head Explodes”, “King of the Ring”, the indulgently heavy “Ignorance & Greed”, and the extremely Dio-esque “The Blind Leading the Blind”) have stuck with me since its undercooked political message left me with simply not enough I felt like I wanted to say about it. The band have MVP Russel Allen’s emphatic vocal presence to thank for what character this album does have, despite its basic and often formulaic writing (especially in its first half). I had seen so many people hail this as a stunning ascension from what their first two albums brought, but I honesty didn’t hear what was so special about this album, and I still don’t really. After the death of bassist David Zablidowsky, I just didn’t feel like detracting from what silver lining of critical praise the band could look to for comfort after losing Zablidowsky so tragically.

Venenum - Trance of Death

I arrived about a year late to this debut album’s party, and it was the first album that made me want to really make this piece, not because its a particularly ground-breaking piece, but because it fills the space it does so thoroughly. 

Trance of Death is a mostly blackened death metal project, but with its black metal influences coming largely from nihilistic ambient black metal and DSBM. Taking death metal into more depressive territories without diluting its power, Veneum debut with one of the most oddly ambient death metal pieces I have ever heard, and they make their appeal not simply on the tokenism or mild novelty of the sound. Trance of Death is magnificently written and complete with strangely eerie black metal ambiance that sounds more rooted in death metal grandiosity than psychological torment, readily armed with fierce riffs that jolt away from the dark serenity of, and even proggy pieces like the instrumental second installment and the sprawling third installment of the titular trilogy of songs that comprises the album’s second half. There exist even hints of doomy sludge at some moments on the album. It’s a perplexing, but thrilling listen, and I wish I had heard it sooner, because it has distracted me from many albums this year. 

This is the kind of debut most bands hoping to carve out their own niche hope to achieve, one that both presents their sound in a fascinating manner, but without expanding all their creativity and leaving plenty to be explored on what’s to come, which I will definitely be looking forward to.

Ne Obliviscaris - Urn

I had heard so much ranting and raving over Ne Obliviscaris in the years before this album, and I decided to see what all the hype was about earlier this year after seeing the accolades Urn had received. So when I heard what I thought was some pretty standard progressive metal with flashes of black metal on Urn, I had to figure out what I was missing, it had to be something.

After repeatedly not being convinced of its apparent genius I took a lot of time away from it and came back again earlier this year, ultimately to similar results. Not entirely as epic as it’s convinced it is, Urn is certainly not short of theatrical bombast and instrumental proficiency, but it throws all its ingredients in the same bowl at the same time and mashes everything together in a recognizably messy and undazzling soup of proggy bits and death metal with a dry personality. It reminds me of Rivers of Nihil’s new album this year, minus the thrilling energy and the emotional diversity that helped a physical copy of that album into my collection. Urn is like the shy version of that album. The two-part song that leads the album exemplifies the album’s dilemma, reeling in hazy progressive death metal strangely droning and devoid of direction. And it only gets a little bit better on the closing song pair.

Bell Witch - Mirror Reaper

I wanted so badly to discuss this album when it came out, but October was a turbulent enough time for me last year, and being that Mirror Reaper was born out of and mournfully embodied the tragic loss of drummer Adrian Guerra, and in such a unique way, I had to give it time and even by the end of the year I hadn’t really found the word for it. And to a great degree I still don’t. It’s a slow and incredibly sorrowful album that doesn’t necessarily cultivate a type of patience while listening, but demands it. It’s a single 83-minute opus and one built of solidarity and fortitude in the face of grave tragedy. And in a fitting manner, its lyrics don’t gush tears theatrically or even turn Dylan Desmond’s focus inward. Its melancholy and its focus on the slowness of time that the music matches and the coldness that brings all to a frozen standstill of mournful petrification reveal an honesty in the approach to this album’s creative process and Dylan Desmond’s approach to Bell Witch’s present and future.

On one hand, I grappled with feeling like I was disrespecting this album by relegating it to this list, but on the other I wanted to express how much it’s come to mean to me now. The death of a bandmate is a traumatic moment for nearly every group that experiences it, but in a band of only two members, the casualty that leaves the other alone yields a different aftermath. I wasn’t really much of a Bell Witch fan before this album, but the strength with which it stood its ground in tribute to Guerra was something I couldn’t ignore and eventually became enraptured by. Having already been on the creative trajectory of focusing on mourning through funeral doom metal, having a close and personal real life experience of loss has certainly made Bell Witch’s already-somber dirges more gut-wrenching to the point of being uncomfortable. But the strength with which Mirror Reaper approaches such a close death, it’s impossible not to admire and I can’t say enough to do its solemn beauty justice.

[mysmesomespacechips]

Merry Choi-mas! - Day 8

Summary: 12 days of Choi-mas: A collection of fluffy holiday-themed one-shots with the Choi twins. (AO3)

Christmas Baking: Saeyoung x MC

by @spacechip707

There was a time in his life when Saeyoung hated the kitchen. Besides the fact that it reminded him of his horrendous cooking skills, it had been a place that was mostly empty. Empty pantries. Mostly empty fridge. Empty sink, because he couldn’t bother to scrounge up enough of an appetite to actually eat a meal needing of dishes.

Then, she came into his life, and subsequently his kitchen, like a whirlwind.

She banished the room of its hallow atmosphere, stocking it with snacks and ingredients, albeit healthier than he would've like. The sink was almost always brimming with plates, pots, pans, utensils. And when it wasn’t, she was prompting him to eat something—a command he obeyed greedily. For first time in his life, his hunger was a ravenous beast, spurned by happiness and contentment.

It was why he was ambling towards the once desolate room only hours after dinner was consumed.

But, his feet froze a few strides short of the doorway when a sweetness wafted through the air. Normally, MC prepared her nightly jasmine tea around this time, filling most of the bunker with that delicate aroma. But this was hardly jasmine…it was thicker—and warmer.

Saeyoung’s mouth was already watering as his brain recognized the deliciously tantalizing smell of vanilla. He hurried to the entrance and found his suspicions confirmed. “You’re making cookies—mmph!”

MC abruptly slapped a hand over his mouth, her own finger pressed against her lips. “Shh!” She hissed, peering behind him to the hallway. “Do you want to summon Saeran?”

Saeyoung snorted, causing her to retract her hand with a grimace. “You say that like he’s a scary monster.”

“A Cookie Monster,” MC nodded solemnly. “I’ll give him some, but…I kind of want to make them first. You know how he is with cookie dough.”

She shifted to the side to reveal the disaster on the counter. Streaks of flour lined the marble top, chocolate chips and smears of peanut butter painted the normally clean surface. Saeyoung was pretty sure he saw icing splattering the tiles and the cabinets in the far corner.

"How many cookies are you making?” He breathed in awe. Already, three metal bowls filled with uncooked batter stood tall in the midst of the chaos.

“Five kinds, and three batches of each,” she shrugged.

Saeyoung’s stomach grumbled as another wave of vanilla hit his nostrils. Enchanted by the confectionary spell, his finger reached into the nearest bowl and swiped a generous amount of the creamy, raw goodness. He stuck it in his mouth, an unearthly groan squeezing from his throat.

“Hey!” MC gasped. A mix of betrayal and horror spread across her features as her eyes darted between his finger and his mouth. “You’re just as bad!”

“Sorry,” he said, ducking his head before taking another scoop with his thumb and shoving it into his mouth. He recoiled at the sting of the spoon swatted against his hand. “Ouch! That was the last one, I promise!”

She set aside the metal utensil in favor of a spatula and pointed it towards him with a threatening jab into the air. “It better be.”

Saeyoung squeaked and hid behind his fingers. “Oh, so scary,” he said, successfully eliciting a laugh on her part.

While she preoccupied herself with adding to her mess of flour and butter, Saeyoung waltzed over to the counter and sat on one of the island chairs with a flourishing spin.

He had every intention to watch her—and help if she so asked, when a mini mountain of wrinkled papers caught his eye. They lay sloppily scattered across the the only slab of countertop that was free of baking debris. They seemed old too. The parchment was tainted a yellowish-brown, and splatters of unknown substances stained the corners. But the thing that made them appear so ancient was the fact that they were handwritten.

He traced the lettering with his index finger, almost afraid it would smudge with the oil on his skin. “What is this?” He asked, though he could clearly read “Chocolate Chip Cookies Recipe” scribbled across the top.

“An old family recipe,” she replied in between rhythmic beating of a whisk against metal.

Saeyoung wasn’t sure why her answer left a resonating pang in his chest. “Oh,” was all he could manage.

The whisking ceased. He was aware of MC’s gaze shifting towards him, flaying him with the concern that was no doubt pooling in her eyes. But, it wasn’t enough to tear his focus from the tattered document.

Despite having sworn off his past altogether, he sometimes wondered about his own family tradition. His mother was the worst parent to him and his brother, and their father’s benevolence was still ambiguous and would probably remain so. But biologically, he had a family tree. Grandparents…great-grandparents…a whole line of people who had normal families with things like Christmas traditions, funny stories, heirlooms.

How much of that had he lost as casualties of his tragic life?

“Saeyoung?” MC called, startling him out of his trance.

His eyes stung as he blinked for the first time in nearly a minute. He dashed away the smarting tears with his thumb. Clearing his throat, he leaned an elbow onto the counter in attempts to appear casual and forced a smile. “Yeah, sorry. Blanked out.”

Her brows wrinkled in a furrow just as her teeth drew along her bottom lip. Once again, her eyes flickered over his body, inundating him with that worried frown. “You okay? You went paler than this cookie dough.”

Her attempt at levity did little against the sudden weight inside Saeyoung’s chest. Absentmindedly, he dug his thumb into the area above his ribs. His mouth grew dry, and he debated whether he should even say anything. “I was just thinking…” he said finally. “About tradition. And how—well, I’ve never had any Christmas traditions.”

“Not everyone does,” she replied. The bowl hit the marble with a clink, and her hand reached across the counter to cover his. They were a little sticky, but that had no effect on their usual warmth. “But does it bother you?"

“Kind of,” he muttered. He threw his head back, preferring to look at the ceiling instead of the unspoken condolences rolling off of his wife. “It’s something I wanted to do as a kid, you know? Even if it was just with Saeran. The only Christmas tradition we ever had was trying to escape the wrath of our more-than-usual drunk mother.”

A humorless chuckle stole from his throat. He made the mistake of looking back at MC. Her face had grown exceptionally long in the few seconds he had averted his gaze. Her bright irises dimmed, the rosiness on her cheeks fled, and the ever-present smile on her lips was replaced by a dismal frown.

Panicked that he’d ruined her entire evening, he hurriedly grabbed the hand covering his. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “I didn’t mean to make this all depressing. I was just overthinking. Forget it, okay?”

She shook her head, her thumb grazing over his palm. Saeyoung swallowed hard. Had he made her so upset that she couldn’t even speak? Eager to fix it, he extracted himself from her grip and grabbed the metal bowl and whisk. “I’ll make it up to you! I’ll help.”

“Saeyoung…”

“No, it’s fine,” he said, brushing off the grave tone behind her voice. “Should I put some Christmas music on too?”

He was painfully aware of her reticence. Still, he beat the butter and sugar with increasing vigor, hoping the quickening tempo would prompt her to add the next ingredient and leave the entire conversation behind. He should’ve known better.

Her fingers appeared in his line of sight. Their gentle touch was enough to make his tense hands yield and slow to a stop. He let out a huff and released the bowl into her hold before resting his head against her shoulder.

He felt her comb through his hair with her signature kindness dispelling the void in his chest just as she did within the very room they stood.

“Saeyoung,” she repeated softly. “It’s okay that you didn’t have everything. But it’s equally okay to want those things. I know that everything we do now won’t always make up for what happened—or what didn’t happen. But, you know you can ask for them, right? Especially from me.”

“Yeah,” he rasped. He buried his face further into her shoulder, his arms winding their way around her waist. As he pulled her closer, that tang of vanilla drifted from her skin and filled his head, serving as a balm to his nerves. “Can I ask for some more cookie dough then?”

Her chest vibrated underneath him as she laughed. With a barely grudging sigh, she pushed him back into the seat. She grabbed a spoon off the counter and heaped it with a charitable amount of dough before offering it to him. “Only because I love you.”

He replied with a tiny smile, his tongue lapping at the gooey mix. MC watched him for awhile, her own smile gradually matching his. Then all at once, she stiffened. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

She beamed up at him, her hands gripping the side of his chair and spinning it around. “I got it!” She said, making her way to the pantry. It was a miracle she didn’t slip on the stray mixture spotting the floor. “Family recipes are usually just a main recipe with some added things here and there that supposedly make it better, right?”

Saeyoung glanced sideways at the stack of papers again. Baking was not his area of expertise, but he’d humor her. “Uh, I guess,” he drawled.

“So, let’s make our own,” she announced. She produced an extra apron from the pantry and extended the crumpled cloth to him. “A Choi family recipe. How does that sound?”

It sounded wonderful.

She waited for his verbal reply, practically bouncing on her toes. It was almost as if her entire body was trembling with giddiness, and the best part was that it was infecting him too. Saeyoung’s head was buzzing, though he wasn’t sure whether it was from ideas or from sheer elation.

He calmed himself for a brief moment, his instinctual logic giving him a mental kick. “MC…you don’t have to do this just for me.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Who says it’s just for you?” She said, though her softened features betrayed her intent. “I want our children to have something especially from us. We would be pretty boring parents without at least a disaster story, if not a recipe.”

Saeyoung’s face heated at the mention of “their children”, but he managed a few easy laughs. “Okay,” he said, taking the apron from his hands. “Thank you.”

She gave him a shy nod as she fingered through the stack of papers in search of a base recipe.

He expelled a sharp breath as he waited. Even with the new resolution, the solemnity in the air was palpable, and Saeyoung was mentally slapping himself for it. Baking was supposed to be fun—not birthed from stress. This wasn’t an episode off of Grandpa Lamsay’s show, after all. He desperately needed to fix it.

Racking his brain for a way to lighten the mood, he slid the smock over his head. A pleased smirk yanked at the edge of his mouth as he read the print on the cloth. Bingo.

“Hey, MC,” he said, grabbing her attention away from the pile. “Did you do this on purpose?”

He stretched out the cloth so she could better read the “Kiss the Cook.” Judging by the blush blooming across her cheeks, she hadn't. He leaned towards her, his lips puckered and emitting exaggerating smooching sounds.

MC turned her head at the last moment, leaving Saeyoung to nearly plummet through the air. He caught himself against the counter and shot a glare in her direction.

“It says ‘cook’,” she said. “We’re baking.”

Saeyoung opened his mouth to reply, but she had a point. Fine. If she wanted to play that way…

He bumped her aside with his hip, ignoring her cry of protest. He opened the drawer and sorted through the litter of rubber bands, vitamins, and candles until he found a plain black marker. He wedged the top in between his teeth, and it came flying off with a pop. He crossed off the offending word on the apron and replaced it with a sloppily written, “Baker.”

“There!” he cried in triumph, turning to proudly display his deed to his wife who was gaping at him through grin.

She took a few steps forward before cupping his face and bringing it down to place a peck on his lips. “You’re too much.”

He hummed in satisfaction, nudging the tip of his nose into the bridge of hers. “Must’ve picked it up from you.”

A gasp spluttered from her mouth. She flattened her palms against his chest and shoved him in the opposite direction. “Don’t be cheeky,” she scolded with zero conviction. “Let’s just get started.”

If the kitchen was in disarray before Saeyoung arrived, it was a war zone after nearly two hours of his experimenting. MC couldn’t bring herself to mind though. Not when he seemed so….happy. It was the only word to describe the light radiating from his face, even when he wasn’t smiling.

Even now, he wasn’t. His mouth was curled downwards in a concentrated scowl as he carefully lined a batch of cookies with icing. His brows were almost knitted together, and MC had to suppress the beguiled squeak churning in her throat every time his tongue peeked out from the edge of his lips like a little kitten.

She was equally as happy. She had been joking slightly when she mentioned the start of a new tradition to pass down, but actually creating one…it was solidifying them as family.

She dusted the flour off her hands and abandoned her newest batch of cookies in favor of admiring the objects of her husband’s efforts. He had decorated quite a few with his childish caricatures made from sprinkles and icing. Granted, there were only about a dozen little biscuits that had actually survived the baking process. The first batch didn’t rise, and the second turned to coal while Saeyoung and MC had been distracted in a flour fight.

But she was proud of the fruit of their labor. They hadn’t tasted any yet, but they hadn’t veered off much from the basic cookie recipe they had started with.

MC peered over Saeyoung’s shoulder to get a glimpse of his current endeavor, which had taken the most of his time so far. She watched as he piped on red curly hair on two cookies shaped like gingerbread. He had already detailed the face as best he could with golden sprinkles for eyes and more red icing for shirts. “Are you making you and Saeran?” She cooed, noting the similarities.

“Nope,” he replied, never breaking focus. “It’s the first two of our children.”

MC choked on her next breath.

“It’s what?” She wheezed through her coughing fit. Heat flooded her face—no, her entire body—when she caught the smirk unfurling in the corner of his mouth. “You’re teasing me."

He turned on her with wide eyes and flimsy piping bag. “You started it with the whole kids talk. I’m thinking about making some more though. We have another two gingerbread. Do you think four kids is too few, MC?”

She swiped some of icing that had fallen onto the counter and smeared it across his smug face. He recoiled, but still released a few chuckles. “Shut up and taste one of the cookies already,” she whined. She poked at one of his elaborately embellished cookies shaped like a tree.

“Do you think they’ll taste good?” He asked, lifting one to his nose and taking a tentative sniff. “They smell fine.”

She urged him just to take a bite. He sunk his teeth into one end, mulling the piece in his mouth for a little while. His brows rose all the way to his bangs, and he shot her a thumbs up. “Mmmm!” He hummed.

MC grinned and extracted the other half from his hold. She was glad they had turned out well. Maybe this would save them from another experimenting session next year.

She eagerly chomped down on the biscuit, slightly unnerved by its softness. At first, it tasted like nothing, and then it tasted sweet--like sugar and vanilla. She was about to praise their concoction until it hit. A salty, bitter, almost sour flavor attacked her tastebuds, and it took everything within her not to gag.

“You tricked me,” she said through the half-chewed disaster in her mouth.

Saeyoung grimaced and spit his own mush into his hand. “But at what cost?” He shuddered.

Unable to take the acrid flavor anymore, she pulled his hand down and spewed the food into his palm. “Sorry,” she muttered when he tensed.

“You are so lucky I love you,” he muttered. He dumped the reject into the bin before thoroughly washing his hands.

MC deflated into the chair behind her. “Sorry it didn’t come out so well. I was really hoping we had something.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied, rubbing his hand against a towel. He tossed it to the side and glomped onto her side in a hug. His voice lowered into something more solemn as he spoke. “Even if we never find our own recipe, let’s make this a tradition. You, me, and tons and tons of flour every year. Saeran can join in too, if he promises not to eat everything.”

She laughed, slipping her arms around him to return to the embrace. “Sounds good to me.”

Their moment was cut short when a familiar set of footsteps thudded down the hall. Saeran slid into the doorway, a franticness glazing over his green eyes. They darted about the room, only to narrow in on the counter. “I knew I smelled cookies.”

MC opened her mouth to warn him, but her words were muffled into Saeyoung’s hand. His mouth turned upwards in a wide grin, and she knew exactly where this was going. “Yeah, we made some!”

She knew she shouldn’t have.

Not with Saeran being so innocent as he dropped over those cookies. But she couldn’t resist it. Besides, she’d just give him a dozen of the good ones later. She scooped a bunch in her hand and offered them to the younger twin. “They’re all for you actually. Surprise!”

“Thanks,” he muttered, though he had an appropriate amount of skepticism.

Saeyoung and MC stood from their seats, not bothering to watch him eat. By the time they heard the crunch, they were already by the doorway.

“What the heck!”

“And, that’s our cue to run,” Saeyoung said.

They bolted down the hall rushing to the safety of their bedroom lest Saeran bypass the security of every other room in the house. They slammed the door shut behind them, hearts racing and legs wobbling.

“Do you think he’ll be mad long?” MC asked.

A laugh burst from Saeyoung’s mouth. “Either way, it was worth it. Did you see his face?”

MC groaned, already imagining the hundreds of antics that would follow her husbands incorrigible pranks. “I just hope that my chocolate chip cookies will be enough to appease him later. As much as our attempted tradition went bust, I don’t want it to be our first and last attempt.”

Saeyoung softened as he turned to her. “Even if it is,” he said with a kiss to her cheek. “I’m happy to die next to you.”

“Saeyoung!” She cried in the midst of his giggles.

He was impossible, but she still looked forward to many more Christmas nights with him in the future.

[aj-writes-here]

I’ve been having this idea for a while now, and I was just able to finish it today! So I hope you guys like it :)

Summary: After an expedition, y/n takes care of an injured Levi.

Better than Tea

That expedition was the epitome of mayhem. The day was looking good, no clouds to be seen and even some felt more motivated than the usual, but that changed in matter of minutes. All of that confidence was shattered to pieces when not one, but three abnormals appeared. The grass turned red, and the singing of the birds was opaqued by desperate screams of comrades trying to defeat fate. As if it was the perfect imagery of the soldier's head and emotions, from one second to other the sky turned grey, filled with dark clouds over the battlefield, and it was no longer sweat on their scared faces, the rain was washing away the blood that covered them, but emphasizing their desperate expressions. At what moment did more titans had appeared? No one had any idea, but the best option at that point was to retreat. y/n was trying to control her horse, and at the same time her eyes were looking for Levi, the man she had fallen for but no one had a clue, but he was enigmatic, and the things she thought might be clues of a mutual feeling, probably were just simple actions to him. Prepare her some tea, tell her to be careful, or the lasts words he had told her before that living nightmare they were at ''Make sure you get your ass back into the walls, I trust you'' He trusts she was going to make it out alive? Or did he trust her as a person? Maybe both, who knows. Her thoughts vanished in one second when y/n saw one of her squad members trapped in the palm of a titan, she made her way as fast as possible. In a fast move, she sliced the beast's hand, using then the ODM to slash the creature's neck. But then, still on the air in that micro fraction of a second, she saw him. What had happened? Was he wounded? Had his equipment failed? y/n saw Levi falling from a considerable height, his body rolling on the ground, over the rocks and crashing next to a tree. He didn't move. Damn it. y/n went back on her horse and rushed where Levi was, and once she was next to him on the ground her head was trying to comprehend what was happened. He was there, eyes closed, his shirt was covered in blood. Surely he had gotten a cut because of some pointy rock, and maybe something was broken. Shouting with all she had, she called for backups, someone to help her put him on the cart and going back inside the walls. Hopefully, Commander Erwin had called for a retreat, the casualties were too many.   But this anguish was far to be over. The storm that had started made if difficult to going back, and it took longer than the usual, y/n stood galloping next to the cart the entire way, looking at the body on the cart. Everything felt like ages.

—————————————

The nursing was chaotic, soldiers with missing limbs, others in an evident state of shock, injured soldiers, that was the scene after an unfortunate expedition. Hanji was next to y/n when a nurse joined them, cutting Levi's ripped shirt with a pair of scissors. He had a cut over his torso, almost getting to his left pectoral. The wound looked bad, to be fair. The borders were a mix of hard red and y/n was sure she could see it a little bit yellowish, of course. If he had cut with a rock, then he rolled over the ground, some dirt and God knows what else could have gotten into his wound, that and the fact that the wetness of his clothes because of the rain may have created the perfect environment for an infection. That would explain why he was burning, the fever had started. His would was cleaned as fast as possible, an antibiotic ointment was also covering the area so he could get the area slightly bandaged. It was decided that keeping him in his room was better than the infirmary, and so they did.

—I'll take a shower and I'll be back, Hanji. I can take the night shift. 

—Are you sure about it? You look very tired—She said with worried eyes.

—It's fine, it's not as if I was going to fall asleep anyway—Smiling at the scientist, she left the room.

—————————— It took here around thirty minutes to be ready and be back in Levi's room. Entering softly, y/n found Hanji looking through the window, but turning around as soon as she heard the door, smiling at the girl that just entered.

—His equipment had defects, that's what the report said—She huffed, giving y/n an answer, finally.—At least he's asleep, because if he were awake we would have to tie shorty to the bed—Hanji laughed tiredly.

—For real? Well... I guess someone should be penalized for that— She raised her eyebrows, surely the ones who were in charge of checking the equipment had to do something — I bet, he can be a real pain in the ass sometimes—She said with a lazy smile, glancing at Levi.

—You should trust your instincts, y/n —The four eyed woman spoke out of the blue.

—What are you talking about?—Answering with eyes wide open, even a little blushed.

—You like him! And you are so obvious! To me, at least—When saying that last line, Hanji furrowed her lips.

—I don't-I'm not- Agh, Hanji. I don't have idea what you're talking about—Drifting her eyes away, y/n tried to look natural, but she noticed that Hanji was then looking at Levi.

—I know him since a lot of time, and I've never seen him care so much about someone. It is hard to notice, I can't blame you. But I know him very well to say that you should... Try.

The scientist was not being loud as usual, she looked relax and also tired, but beyond confident of her words. Patting y/n shoulder, she left the room. She could feel how her cheeks were still red, was she that obvious? Damn it, she thought. y/n pulled her thoughts away and look at Levi, parts of his torso were still covered with soil and even dry blood, I bet you would hate being this dirty, she said loudly. Deliberately, she filled a bowl with warm water and grabbing a clean towel she sat next to him, thanking that she could reach him easily. y/n moistened the towel in the warm water, getting rid of the excess after. Slowly, she started cleaning the dirty zones of his body. His chest, part of his neck, arms. It was the first time she had seen him shirtless, and her eyes couldn't help but roam through his figure. Focus, girl. This is not the time, she said to herself. She put the water into the hot water again, repeating the process now over his stomach, peaking at the 'v' line that disappeared inside his pants. This idiot is perfect. Again her voice in her head. Once his torso was cleaned, she used her hand to see if he still had a fever, indeed it felt like he had a high temperature, but not as bad as before. y/n Just sat by his side, looking at his side profile with bright eyes thinking about Hanji's words. Had he feelings for her? It was hard to guess, really. But there was the chance. She used her hand to caress his black locks softly, but she pulled her hand back immediately when he flinched in pain, clenching his teeth. His head moved to one side, then to the other. He arched his back as if he wanted to sit down, but he couldn't. Light drops of sweat were on his forehead, and before y/n could wake him up, she heard him mumbling some words.

—I'm sorry. I tried, I really tried. Don't go, please don't.—His breathing was erratic, it felt real for him. It broke her heart to see him helpless, so before it got worse she moved him slowly to wake him up.

—Levi, come on. You're dreaming, wake up.—Moving him by his shoulders, she made it. After a few seconds, of course. His tired eyes looked at her, and y/n could tell he was disoriented.

— Isabel, Farlan, I'm sorry, I should've... I should've stayed—y/n couldn't understand, but she guessed it had to be hallucinations because of the fever. But she also knew, those names, his emotions... He must be reliving old memories. Those are not random thoughts or names.

—Hey, it's fine...—She said caressing his head, noticing his breath slowly coming back to normal.— It's ok, Levi—y/n mumbled one more time.

—y/n?—He said, discerning she was there. Levi held his eyes on her for a couple of seconds before closing them again, apparently falling asleep.

Fatigue took over y/n body, ending up falling asleep with her head and arms over the bed, next to Levi. The night moved fast, because she didn't even notice when the sun was lighting the room. Levi was already awake, his entire body felt somewhat heavy, but he managed to semi sit on the bed trying not to wake her up. Was she here the entire night? He thought, then, it was not a dream or hallucination when he saw her. She had been there. Once her eyes were open, she felt a comfortable weight on her back, Levi had asked one of the nurses who went to check on him to put a blanket over her shoulders earlier in the morning.

—I thought you were dead—He said with his serious voice when she got back up.

—Levi? You're awake!—She smiled with tired eyes, cracking her back seconds after— How are you feeling?

—Like shit. These people can't even prepare a goddamned tea right—Levi said looking at the cup on the nightstand— It's disgusting.

—I see you got your sense of humor back, that's good—She stood up and raised one eyebrow—I'm glad you're feeling better, you certainly looked like shit last night—And handsome, she thought.— Well, I have a long day ahead. Hanji will be here soon, she has the morning shift trying to convince you not to get up—She wanted to stay, but her feet and words did the opposite. She was about to open the door when she heard him.

—Oi, brat. Get your ass here.

—Do you need anything?—She asked with curiosity, walking back to the bed.

—Thank you. For staying last night.

—Oh... There's nothing to thank, Levi. It's fine. I wasn't sure that you would remember, though.

—It's blurry. But I do remember seeing you—Levi answered looking for her eyes— I wouldn't forget that, brat. So thank you—She couldn't help but get blushed, was it the right moment to speak? No, but her mouth thought otherwise.

—Levi I... I got worried as fuck yesterday, If something had happened to you I...—y/n was going to let out her words, but Levi spoke over her voice.

—I know, brat.

—What? What do you mean with that?—Her eyes were wide open, and of course, the red color on her cheeks was stronger than her.

—I felt the same. I don't know what would I've done if something had happened to you, reckless idiot.

Her hand was grabbing his, and she squeezed it lightly as if she was afraid of his reaction. y/n sat on an empty side of the bed close to Levi, looking at his face, loving his serious and pragmatic expression. The black-haired man looked at her in silence, she was perfect. Even after not sleeping well. Both of them stared at each other lips for an eternity of seconds, and like magnets, they were slowly getting closer. y/n could feel his breath tickling near her chin, and Levi could feel his heart hitting hard against his chest when their noses barely touched. From one second to another, their lips were together. Kissing each other softly, almost shyly. Their lips moved slowly against each other, leaving no space untouched. When they pulled apart, he spoke with a low voice.

—Just a bit better than that shitty tea.

She smiled, and she could tell he smiled briefly before their lips got together again, this time in a more confident kiss. It was a hard thing for both, on the one hand, Levi didn't even want to fall for someone, but he did. And damn it felt good. On the other hand, her thoughts were right. He had feelings for her, and now she was a hundred percent sure about it, Levi's lips against her could reassure it over and over again. That morning was just the beginning of many more yet to come.

[cryptoriawebb]

Inspired by this piece of art I did.

“Mephisto!” He hears his name before he sees her; a flurry of auburn and molten butterflies hurtling towards him. Alarm bubbles in his throat, bursting into a startled grunt before he can call out. Then he’s got a face full of crumbling crystal and pain rockets through his nose and forehead and suddenly something’s raining down from above—

The pieces come together with a disorienting click. Mephisto bolts upright, hissing as the world around him swerves. Eyes squeeze shut, grappling at the ground for stability. The action jogs his memory and his vibrant-green gaze snaps open again. Praxina.

“Praxina!” He cries, scrambling to his knees. Stomach lurches, knocking his heart into his throat. No. No no no where is she? Then he sees it: that same, flustered flurry of reddish-brownish, identical hair color to his own. Fanning amidst chunks of glowing rubble, beyond the ledge that has become their battleground.  “Praxina!”

Praxina turns her head, blue eyes wide and dazed. Fly, he begs, and tries to say it aloud, but that battlefield tilts and he clutches his head and suddenly kneeling feels impossibly difficult to maintain. Nonetheless, his eyes remain on his sister; just as wide and glittering with fear. Come on, fly, get out of there. It’s just crystal, after all. Glowing crystal, but nothing his twin couldn’t escape. How long had they’d been chasing the cursed princesses? And how many of those times had they narrowly gotten away? These crystal casualties should be a—

He swears he hears her gasp. Hears her say his name a final time. Her eyes, however, scream louder than words ever could:  ‘Mephisto, I’m sorry, forgive me, I don’t want to leave you.’

Those eyes are the last thing he sees before the world explodes in violent purple light. He’s thrown to the ground for a second time, landing hard on his front. Copper erupts in the back of his throat, but it’s hardly a second thought. Praxina. Praxina, no!

“No!”  Agony lances up and down his body, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t care about anything but the very real possibility his sister might be—

Dizziness strikes again, tag-teaming the rattling throb inside his chest. Just as suddenly as he manages to stand, footing disappears, and then he’s falling, falling the same way Praxina had, hurtling helplessly towards the ground, below. His sister’s name passes through his mind before the world blacks out.

When he comes to, everything hurts. A grueling, all-encompassing pain that sits on his body like one of their monsters gone astray.

Their monsters. Their.

“Praxina…” Mephisto moans, sagging into the earth. Head dips and presses against a bed of grass, dusted in fine crystal but otherwise unblemished by chaos. At any other given day, he’d make some ridiculous comment about the princesses finding it surprising, even hopeful…but this wasn’t any given day, and he had no one to joke with.

Not anymore.

Tears fuzz his vision, and then they’re falling, disappearing into the mossy green. The princesses. Those damned, righteous idiots always won in the end! And for what? To add another stupid little gem to Ephedia’s crown? He and his sister were living, breathing Ephedians! Did they ever stop to think about that? No, he thinks, slamming a fist into the ground. The action immediately triggers nauseating pain. He stops, choking. No they didn’t.

He isn’t sure how long he lays there. How long it takes for his body to numb and dull to hollow resignation. For the tears to dry and stick to his cheeks; visible one moment, disappeared and gone the next, its only trace a raw and very real aching heart. Just like Praxina. He doubts very much anyone on this cursed world would remember her death, if they’d even notice it at all.

Right hand forms another fist, joined this time by its partner. Though sore and strained, they hold together. “It can’t end like this…” Princess Iris and her candy-colored crew could not get away without punishment. Can’t they? Countered a miserable voice—his own, dredged with exhaustion. You were barely victorious as a team. What will you do alone?

It’s a question he doesn’t want to answer. Praxina would know. Praxina always knew what to do when he failed to conjure a solution. Praxina isn’t here.  No, no she wasn’t, and that was the entire point. Mephisto was on his own. No direction, no temporary allies to rely on…nothing but beaten bones and a gnawing, rattled yearning for vengeance.

Vengeance can be yours, child.

What?

Mephisto looks up, a sharp twinge seizing his neck. He ignores it, a colder, more prominent feeling condensing in his stomach.

“Banes…?”

The beast stands before him, dark fire rolling across its back. The same flame coils around its tail, crackling and swinging methodically, behind. Beady white eyes bore into Mephisto’s weary greens, almost challenging, daring him to ask: ‘did I speak? Can a creature as I do such a thing?’

Ultimately, Mephisto decides it doesn’t matter. Not right now. If Banes is here, that means one of two things. Either Gramorr requires backup (although why he’d need Mephisto’s help with the crown poisoned is a question in itself), or—

…or the war was over.

As though reading his mind, Banes pushes something forward with its massive paw. Mephisto’s breath catches. For a split second, the sound around him drains and fizzles out.

“Gramorr’s mask…”  He murmurs. So it is true. The old Sorcerer had met his match and left nothing but a fragment behind. A fragment and Banes, he thinks, looking to the creature again. That soulless stare hasn’t wavered. ‘Take it,’ they seem to say, encourage, accompanied by a low and rumbling growl.  ‘Take it and show them what you can do.’

He wonders what his sister might think of all this. What she’d do if she could see him, now. Would she urge him on, as Banes did? Chastise his hesitation? Steal it for herself?

The wounded teen pushes himself to his knees. One arm stiffens, holding him upright. The other reaches for the mask. Dark energy crackles and stings his fingertips. He winces, but doesn’t pull away. Praxina saved my life. Maybe she’d have done the same, right now. Mephisto sits back on his heels. He turns the fragment over and puts it on.

They’re celebrating, as he knew they would be. Dazzling enthusiasm oozes like a harmonic pulse around the castle walls: all vibrant, all made up of those same, sickening blues and oranges and pinks.

He hates that color most of all.

With a snarl, Mephisto’s visible eye glares hard at Ephedia’s grand empire. His sister hated the color, too. So bright and cheery and full of nonsensical promises like joy and love and better tomorrows. Does it look like I’m doing better, Iris? Is this what they mean by happily ever after? Dark energy spirals up his ankles, writhing and twisting like snakes.

“Guess we’ll find out.” He mutters darkly, then disappears in a puff of black and green smoke.

Oh, if Praxina could hear the way they gasp his name, she’d finally be proud of him. He stands in the center of the throne room, so different from the shadowy cavern Gramorr had called home. Vibrant. Colorful. Glittering like sunlight through the towering, stained glass windows on either side.

Sickening, all of it.

Mephisto steps forward, hair grown longer swaying in front of his face. His outfit, too, has been altered under this new power: inky black solidified in armor, only color his glowing serpent emblem. They follow him, too, the snakes, looming shadows hovering behind his heels—seamless, colorless, save for their striking green eyes.

“Mephisto…?” Ventures a quivering voice. Head snaps towards the source, but he’s already identified the fool. Pretty-perfect Iris stands in the center of a crowd, hand clutched to her chest and crystal blues nearly bulging from her head. Good, he thinks with a sneer. Be terrified. See how it feels.

“Surprised to see me?” He laughs, a cold, hollow laugh that bounces around the room.  “Don’t be. I know you only care about yourself.”  

“Myself?” Iris echoes, as if she can’t believe he’d dare tarnish her with accusation. On cue, bodyguards blue and orange flank her sides.

“Don���t you say such things about Iris!” Orange—sorry—Auriana cries. Mephisto’s jaw tightens. Black humor jitters and threatens to give. Remember Praxina. He does. If nothing and no one else, he always will.

“Why not.” Mephisto spits, almost hisses. “It’s true, isn’t it?” Gaze darts back to Iris. He raises an arm. His reptilian entourage rear their heads. “You, all of you, so bent on ridding Gramorr from this world; where were you when my sister needed help!”

Blue stiffens now, baring teeth. Before she can speak, the aggressive purple one pipes up. “Are you serious? You’re the ones always terrorizing us!”

“Carissa, don’t.” Warns Iris with an outstretched arm. She reels it back in a moment later.

“I’m really sorry about what happened to Praxina.” Iris says, and it’s with such a sad earnestness he almost believes her. Almost. But he’s been through this before, been down this road and seen the closed door on the other side. There’s no place for truce among them. Not now, not ever.

“Sure you are.” He barks, and now it’s his turn to raise an arm. “You’re so sorry, you threw me a pity-party. Oh wait! No you didn’t.” The serpents dissolve as he speaks; they reappear around the royal family, mouths open and fangs bared. A silent cry of panic circles the crowd.

“Mephisto, stop this!” Auriana again. “You can’t blame us for your sister’s death.” He ignores her, crossing closer.

“I can, and I’m going to.” He growls; as before, it sounds like a hiss. “You’re going to pay for what you did. All of you.” He adds, just in case it weren’t clear. Auriana steps back. Talia stiffens. Then something happens he doesn’t expect. The king places a hand on his daughter’s delicate shoulder. With his other, he draws his sword.

“Stand down, evil one.” He declares; it’s just cliché enough to evoke an inkling of a smirk.

“You really underestimate me.” Mephisto flicks his wrist, summoning a dark cloud around the blade until it’s not a blade, anymore. The king gasps, dropping a newly-formed smoke-colored snake. Mephisto bends his wrist again, and the creature dissolves.

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.” He explains, bathing in the undivided, utterly terrified attention at his command. That inkling slides further across his face, coaxing and curling his upper lip. “I want you to suffer. And I know just where to start.”

He looks to Iris again, then casts a deliberate glance towards the sky. Three, two, one…

“What…what are you implying?”

Of all incompetent aggravations. “Earth!” Snaps Mephisto, expression souring again. “I’m going to attack Earth.”

If they notice this slip-up they make no indication, too distracted, it appears, by his startling announcement. Of course they are. He’d just sworn revenge against their precious, mortal loved ones. Given them a taste of helplessness. Promised a lifetime of irreparable, haunting grief.

“You can’t do this.” says Talia, fists balled at her sides. Mephisto’s visible eye narrows.

“Just watch me.”

The spindly, snaky forms disperse from the group, merging with the floor until they find their place around him, again. “Heed my warning, princesses. From this point on, the blood is on your hands.”

The final word trails off with that same, feral hissing. With one last, long look, he steps back among his shadowy friends. They follow his lead soon after, compiling together until all that remains is one massive, seamless serpent. Toxic light skitters across its form like lightning; the creature lingers, as Mephisto had done, then barrels forward and through the back wall.

As it does, the ghost of a snarl not its own echoes behind.

He untangles himself some ways away, panting and puffing but grinning like a loon. Or however the earth phrase went. Earth. Mephisto touches his mask. A planet unprotected, ready and waiting for his murderous hand. Our murderous hand. He throws a glance at Banes, seated between two jagged boulders. The old beast flicks its tail.

Praxina really would be proud of him.