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vkelleyart · 5 years ago

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Story Time: Get a load of what happened to me at Starbucks today.

There’s a running joke among people who know me personally that I unwittingly go out in public with a sign on my forehead stating “I Am Non-Threatening. Come Talk To Me.” Because if there’s a chance a bizarre conversation with a total stranger is going to happen, I’m typically the person it happens to.

Some context: I have been pretty darn sick this week. (It’s not Coronavirus, don’t worry.) Since the work in my queue for my day job is comprised entirely of audio narration right now, and I currently sound like a waterlogged Demi Moore, I haven’t been able to work these last couple of days. As a result, I’ve been using my down time to knock out as much of Manu’s redesign as possible. Today, to ensure I didn’t spend the day languishing in sinus misery, I medicated the crap out of myself and took Manu to the Starbucks down the block from my son’s day care.

I hit the bathroom, then picked an empty table, but as soon as I sat down with my venti Comfort Tea and started tweaking the inks on my iPad, I felt the eyes of the man next to me looking over my shoulder.

When I looked up, he had his phone out. “I’m sorry,” he said (in a thick accent I couldn’t place geographically), “I don’t want to disturb. I notice you art. You are artist!”

I tried to smile. “Yes, I’m... Well, I’m trying to be,” I croaked.

He leaned in, like he was sharing a secret.

“I am artist, too.”

He stuck out his hand.

I gently took it, grateful for the bathroom trip I just took in which I washed the scourge off of my fingers.

“Can I?” he asked, holding his phone up.

“Take a picture? Uh... sure,” I said. It’s not like he would be able to steal Manu out from under me or anything, I figured. The panel I was tweaking was magnified out to Guam.

“I am artist. Architect and Designer,” he clarified while he steadied his phone over my iPad. “I am Ilker. What is your name?”

“I’m Venessa” I said, trying to be polite. This, I thought warily, is precisely how I get myself into trouble. I’m too damn nice.

“You know, I come to America twenty years ago from Turkey...”

I put down my stylus. This was going to be a while.

“I like Turkey,” he explained. “I like the country and I like the people. But I am artist. I am not... religious man.”

I nodded.

“I told my wife I was going to go to America and she said, “what are you going to do? You don’t have job! You don’t have money! No Visa!” And I said, “I am artist and architect. I will paint and sell my paintings.

“So I come to America alone. To New York City. I sit outside, and I paint. And people, they liked my paintings. They bought them. This one for $30, that one for $50.

“One day, a man comes over to me and he say, “I like your painting. I see you are also architect.” And he gives me his number and asks me to go to meeting at his office. Because he wants to offer me a job. He starts to talk about a building contract.

“I tell him I don’t know anything about contracts. I have no Visa. I am not American citizen. But he says, “That’s okay. I will take care of everything. You will have nothing to worry about.” And this man, he gave me a job. $173,000 a year. And my wife, he gave her a job too. She was project assistant. I bring her and my two daughters over from Turkey.”

“Wow,” I said, not fully believing the veracity of what sounded like a full-on immigration fairy tale.

“Here,” said Ilker, unlocking his phone and opening up his Facebook app. “I show you my work.” He paused and looked up at me. “I am interrupting. You don’t mind?”

At this point, I was invested. I had to see. Because whatever he was about to show me would either prove or disprove this yarn he was spinning. “Please,” I said, gesturing for him to go ahead.

He opened his photos and my jaw dropped. His work... was UNREAL.

“This is building I designed on Madison Ave.... And this one in Chelsea...”

Holy crap. I had just been to Chelsea with my sister last month on a trip to see a broadway show. I had crossed the intersection of the building he was, at this moment, telling me he designed.

He flipped through more buildings. These, he’d designed in Washington, DC. In Bethesda. In Arlington. All beautiful, streamlined, modern structures I had visited and parked my car in front of. He told me he did much of his concept work freehand. That he worked exclusively in natural media. His preferred media was pen, ink, watercolors, and chalks.

Between photos of his wife and daughters, he went on to show me photos from the RUSSIAN EXHIBITION OF HIS ARCHITECTURE ARTWORK.

Y’all, I was stunned. I couldn’t believe the talent I was sitting next to. Scattered among these gloriously rendered images of some of the most beautiful building concepts I’d ever seen were paintings of scenes in Central Park, the National Mall, and nudes from a life-drawing session he attends from time to time.

When he was done flipping through his phone, he looked at me and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind that I interrupt you. I show you all this because what you are doing is very good. And you should be encouraged. To draw is to make beauty.”

I nodded, a lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I managed. “Your work is astonishing. I don’t even know what to say. What is your name again?”

He held out his hand once more. “Ilker Kocahan,” he said. “I am getting more coffee. Can I get you one?”

I looked at my still-full venti cup. “No thank you. But here, please take my card.”

He held my dinky business card like I’d handed him a treasure and thanked me.

Then Ilker got his coffee, and left the coffee shop.

At some point in his ramblings he talked about America as a place of dreams. How he credits this country with helping him rise to the top of his field where he is now able to sell his paintings for $800-$1000 a piece now that he’s retired. My heart ached to hear him talk about that, knowing how our leadership’s positions on immigrants have taken such a dark and horrifying turn.

Imagine the buildings and museums and public places that would never have been if a business man in the park hadn’t lifted up a Turkish painter who spoke little English.

And now that painter was paying it forward on me.

I still feel pretty darn sick. I’ve still got body aches and a nose that has taken the rest of my face hostage.

But today was a really good day. And I just wanted to share it with you in case you are looking for reasons to keep drawing/painting/dancing/writing. It all counts and it is all good.

If you would like to see Ilker Kocohan’s work, please click here.

#Immigrants. We get the job done.#Edit: I’m sorry this post is so long. I made the mistake of writing it on my cell and now I can’t put any read-mores in. ☹️

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jakey-beefed-it · 4 years ago

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Today was... almost completely unproductive, even for me, due to various mental Crises that arose in the like... Venn diagram overlap of my sundry issues. Mental health talk below the cut so you can avoid it if you’ve got your own shit to deal with/might be triggered by that kind of thing.

Kinda did almost a checklist of disorders being problems. ADHD brain? Represented. Autism? Probably! Depression? You betcha. Anxiety? Hoo boy and then some. Mania? Maybe! Self-loathing? Energy levels off the charts, cap’n. Basically my brain was the equivalent of blaring alarms from all quarters and spinning out of control.

Anyhow I eventually managed to... not be doing that ...and in the process kinda realized that maaaaybe I haven’t been Handling My Shit as well as I thought. Like I’m medicated... for depression. Which is good! I haven’t thought seriously about literally killing myself for several years now. That’s a big improvement! Not to be sneezed at. But it’s hardly a panacea for the rest of my bullshit.

Anyhow anyhow I’ve internalized a loooot of really horrible shit I’m always speaking out against as an anti-capitalist pro-mutual-aid aspiring feminist; basing my self-worth on lots of unattainable things that I don’t even believe in but that somehow equate to me being a Failure as a Man(TM) for being a hot mess disability soup. Some of it is also no doubt related to the whole ‘Gifted’ Kid Burnout phenomenon as well. I was ‘a pleasure to have in class’ and always sought approval and validation because I had anxiety, not because I was gifted, sheesh. Whole childhood equating my value with being ‘smart’ and then having my entire ego collapse under the inevitable weight of not being able to hack it in my first attempt at college because my brain was actively trying to kill me with self-hatred that only got worse the more I failed to live up to my ‘potential’.

I’m much less of an elitist shitbag these days regarding myself as no different from any other h. sapiens sapiens in that we are all fundamentally dumb, panicky apes who sometimes need a minute to remember the whole tool-use or reason things. But while I’m really good at not holding it against other people for being dumb panicky apes, even though I don’t regard myself as better than anyone (far from it) I still somehow hold myself to these standards I long since dismissed as unreasonable to expect of anyone, much less a guy with a grab-bag of mental illnesses that makes his spongy thinkmeat even less effective than biology normally dictates. And inevitably fail to live up to them, of course. And then feel worse about myself. Forever. Well, ok, not forever, even if I do continue to manage the no-self-murder streak (which seems likely) I’m still definitely going to kick off at some point. But for my whole damn existence, which sucks plenty.

Anyhow anyhow anyhow here goes the first of hopefully many simple admissions of imperfections and forgiveness of that.

I am not a digital artist. I could spend lots of time and effort to develop those skills, but frankly I don’t... wanna. Instead of feeling guilty at having abandoned pursuit of the lovely art tablet my family got me many years ago that they ‘wasted’ their gift, I can just admit that I’d much rather continue drawing in pencil, inking in pigment liners, and scanning into a digital format for sharing on the internet. I like tactile hobbies; it’s why I get so much out of painting miniatures. And digital art is still tactile in that you’re holding a stylus and/or tablet, but it’s not the same, and I prefer physical art on physical paper. And that’s okay.

I am not a fantastic dungeon master. I’m aight. I am, in the words of the best mug ever (a gift from my sister), the “World’s Okayest Dungeon Master.” I can put together a campaign, it will mostly hang together, my combat encounters will vary from ‘pretty good’ to ‘super boring’ but my plots are generally interesting and my players keep coming back so I must be doing something right.

This one’s kind of cheating because I’ve acknowledged it before both publicly and internally for like... fifteen years ...but I am not, and never will be, a world-class miniature painter. I don’t have the manual dexterity, the patience for producing and executing many many layers of very fine glazes, or a strong enough desire to devote more effort to improvement than befits a hobby I mostly do to relax. And that’s okay. I paint pretty good, and I slowly get better. Sometimes I’m the best painter in my local store! And that’s good the hell enough to satisfy my external competitiveness, while my internal competitiveness of striving to do better than I myself have done before gets all the real attention. I do want to improve! And so I do, but at a steady pace that doesn’t stress me out.

I’m not a diligent writer at all. I like writing, and I love coming up with plots and characters, but I’m terrible at sticking to a daily writing habit. I’d like to get better at that, and I can, with effort. Honestly giving myself permission to write more fannish bullshit (Warhammer stories, SW:tOR stories, D&D stories) might help clear some of the roadblock. I don’t shit on other fan writers; I long ago admitted that it’s valid and cool when other people do it, but to this day I have still only written a handful of Warhammer bullshit and one (1) Mass Effect fanfic. All the while my idea for a novel has grown and evolved and never really gotten past a very rough first draft that is now almost completely useless due to rethinking everything because I’m not in the habit of actually writing. I can do something about that!

I desperately want everyone to like me and think well of me and never be mad at me but you know what, that’s not... remotely achievable much less healthy. I have various tendencies toward ‘people pleasing’ that tend to end up with my own boundaries trodden upon and far more people taking advantage than real friends. I am very fortunate in that I DO have some real friends, many of them online, but yeah. It’s okay if not everyone likes me. Even if they somehow did, it wouldn’t make up for the all-consuming singularity-like wound of self-loathing that the people-pleasing urge is probably trying to fill.

I can be unreliable due to my many, many issues. Most of them are mental, but some of them are physical. I can’t always do things that should be ‘easy’, whether it’s my brain saying no, or my body. Instead of making too many promises for fear of ‘looking’ disabled and/or trying to make everyone happy... sometimes I need to admit that there are things I do not have the capacity for. Preferably ahead of time, rather than bailing at the last minute or just.... not showing up. This probably would’ve been good to know about myself before I nearly failed out of college in my first attempt but hey, hindsight and all that.

I might be about as cis and straight as a guy can get, but I am not and will never be anything remotely like an Idealized Man due to my weight, disabilities, general body type (even at my thinnest I had a belly pooch and flabby chest), shit, right down to my hair but that’s got some big overlap with the Idealized Man being a straight-haired white boy when I’m merely a wavy/curly-haired white-passing boy. And shit, if I had some gender fuckery that’d be a whole other animal, but even though I kinda got assigned male and went ‘Yeah that’s about right’ I still deserve to not have to live up to some unattainable ideal.

There’s... a lot more, obviously (hoo boy is there a lot more) but that’ll do for a start.

#rengh #Jake is a big fat crazypants

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captainrexisboo · 4 years ago

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Dumb Luck #3

Note: Heyoooooo two updates in one weekend, whaaaaat? No, actually a fun fact, this was started out as my part 2, but i liked my other idea of building the tension with Sweets seeing Rex with his helmet off for the first time better. There will be a part four, it just wont come as quick! I’m gonna have several more parts to this, I have plans y’all. This chapter has ~slight angst~ if you squint hard enough. Again, I’m open to criticism or Hot Takes TM, I’m still a novice writer! Both my asks and messages are open to everyone! Also... y’all, Jesse is a bro. He’s great.

a link to part two- https://captianrexisboo.tumblr.com/post/623995723815452672/dumb-luck-2

Warnings: suggestive language (the usual)

Tags: @persaloodles @starflyer-104 @imalovernotahater @holamor @000ayfh

“Hey, Sweets-“

“Not now, busy,” she threw over her shoulder, not even bothering to look at who was walking up to her corner of the hangar.

Y/N was greatly enjoying herself as an assistant to the head mechanic aboard the flagship. She quickly learned about not only the venator-class destroyer, but also about gunships, shuttles, frigates, landers, even more about her beloved droids, and her absolute favorite to work on, the starfighters. If she were alone in the hangars, she would walk over to the rows of starfighters and just study them, marvelling at every screw, panel, and wire and how it built something so amazing. And right now, she was actually able to work on one of these beautiful machines, and she’d be damned if she let anyone stop her workflow.

Rex lifted a brow at her mannerisms as he watched her dive elbow deep into a much older fighter model, one that hadn’t ever been repainted and typically was the last to be boarded and flown out by shinies who didn’t know any better. She was squatting low to the ground, a panel gone from the ship while she tinkered with its insides, hair barely secure, strands falling out of the haphazardly tied bun she had kept in place with only a single stylus. He was still conflicted at her presence on the ship. She had proven to be smart, quick witted, and of course was an absolute stunner, but she was also stubborn as hell, distracting, and always there. Always a mere moment away, in the hangar, in the generator room, in the mess, the repair bay, the armory- and he hasn’t known peace since.

Let’s be honest, he hasn’t known peace since he met General Skywalker, but he was able to have an illusion of what it was like whenever he was alone with his thoughts. Now he didn’t even have that, his internal narrative shaping into her curves before too long, even in his solitude. Things were different with her here, they were more on edge, like he was tiptoeing around her in a delicate dance to avoid a situation where either of them could build onto their practically visible tension. Kix had told him, ever the blunt medic, that he could cut their tension straight through the air with a scalpel it was so obvious. But he was a Captain, and had a job to do, so when he heard that she had been seen speeding down the halls to the hangars with her tools despite all the ships passing inspection just a few hours ago, he knew he had to be sure she wasn’t doing anything out of protocol. He had grabbed Jesse before making his way to the hangar, in case a mediator was needed, and was now grinding his teeth at the woman concentrating so intensely she didn’t even care to look who else was in the room. He shared a flat look with Jesse before clearing his throat to make his presence known, “You might want to take a break, Y/N.”

She paused what she was doing, her shoulders tightening. Only Rex ever used her actual name, especially when he was in one of his damn moods. This was weird, though, him seeking her out. Recently it seemed as if he had been avoiding her, or making sure they weren’t alone if they had to be in the same room. Try as she could to get his attention, get him all flustered, he’d always just be slightly out of reach, and she was getting increasingly frustrated. She rolled her eyes, summoning her signature bravado before she smoothly stood up to turn around, jutting a hip out and giving a lazy salute, “Ahoy, Captain.”

Jesse tried to mask his giggles under a cough, watching the two interact was his favorite pastime. Rex took note for later to ask a different intermediary for the next strife, before pointing his head to the ship, “What are you doing to that fighter?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” she smiled brightly, almost prideful, wiping her grease slicked hands on the pant leg of her GAR jumpsuit, “Messing with this lovely hunk of junk.”

“Messing with it?” Rex questioned, barely hiding his glance at the handprint now crudely placed on her thigh.

“Gave myself a project to work on,” she explained sauntering towards the pair of troopers with an arm outstretched to the ship, “Boys, meet my baby.”

“Your baby?” Rex slowly tore his gaze off her to look over the fighter blandly, “What a miracle of science.”

“Is Artoo the dad?” Jesse snickered, before receiving a light smack on the arm from the woman. She still chuckled at the quip, showing good humor to him. Despite being absolutely infuriating, Jesse was quickly becoming a good friend to her, like a brother she never wanted.

“Did you get permission before completely gutting the engine, at least?” Rex asked, looking around at the parts that lay on the floor, surrounding her workspace.

She sighed, “Yes, I did, just a bit ago. Ask Caine, he was the final sign off on it. Went through all the proper channels.”

Rex's jaw twitched, stiffening the hand holding his helmet, “It didn’t come through on my end.”

“Maybe it didn’t need to,” she shot, eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms, “I’m sure there are some things on this ship that don’t require your approval, sir.”

There it is. The way she said that word got him all riled up. It was one little word, one he got called by from every trooper on every hour of every rotation, but it was her honey-coated voice saying it that drove him to his limit. Every time she spoke the word to him it was like a challenge, daring him to expose his desirous aggression toward her, taunting his mask of composure. Every time she spoke, with a demanding storm in her glare and candy pink lips being teasingly assaulted by her own teeth, it stirred a fire in him he didn’t quite know how to quell. It was maddening, and got worse and burned deeper with every encounter. Before he could dig himself deeper into her trap, he simply pulled on his helmet with a slight growl, and turned on his heel to stalk away from the conversation, barely grumbling out a gruff, “I’m going to talk to Caine.”

“What crawled up his ass and died?” Y/N felt herself wilt a bit as she watched him go, taken aback by the retreat, and admittedly a little disappointed. Usually he’d last longer.

Jesse let out a stale bark of laughter, “Same thing that crawled up yours.”

“Jesse,” she warned, cold eyes coming up to focus on him, drawing out his name as she placed her hands on her hips.

“Sweets,” he mimicked her tone and stance, chuckling low, “Why don’t you just go after him? He’s all pent-up and frustrated, I don’t think the troops can take another feral sparring session. Hell, I don’t think I can take it. Think of the poor shinies.”

She shrugged at him, rolling her eyes as her head lolled to the side, “What can I say, I’m a self-destructive mess that likes to delay my own happiness and ultimate satisfaction.”

“Bantha shit,” Jesse rolled his own amber-hazel eyes at her, “I think you're just a brat.”

She laughed lowly, batting her lashes at him, “Same thing, trooper.”

She turned around, intent on continuing her work before she felt a gloved hand wrap itself around her elbow, turning her back to face the ARC, “I’m serious. Why are you dragging this out, adding to the pressure? If you keep this up, one of you will explode before too long, and then- whether it’s a good explosion, or a bad one- there’s gonna be one hell of a mess to clean up in its wake.”

She lifted a brow at his wording, “Was that innuendo literal, or-”

“Ew,” Jesse blanched, letting go of her arm and scrunching his face at the mental image., “That’s my ori’vod!”

Y/N threw her hands up in a mock surrender with a devilish smirk on her lips, “Look, you’re the one who said it.”

“Just answer the question, maker!”

She was silent for a minute, pursing her lips as she gathered her thoughts together. Jesse was staring intently at her, crossing his arms as he waited for her. Her eyes narrowed into thin slits in her focused state, and she exhaled slowly through her mouth, “I...I don’t know if he actually likes me or not. Sure, we banter, and I flirt, but I don’t know if he legitimately thinks of me the same way. I mean, today he just walked away from our conversation, and it made me feel kind of dejected. He seemed...I don’t know. Exasperated. Like he’s tired of me.”

Jesse had never seen her so vulnerable, so small. Sure, she was easily more than a head shorter than them, but her confidence and charisma always made her seem like she was eight feet tall. She twirled a lock of stray hair around her fingers, looking anywhere but Jesse as she continued, “His responses always vary, so I can’t pin down his exact feelings! He can either be cold and dismissive like today, or he can be actively matching my turn of phrase, there's no in between. So I always just...well, I tease him, you’ve seen it. I’m just testing the waters, seeing if he’s interested.”

“Sweets-“ Jesse cut himself off as he let a heavy hand fall onto her lithe shoulder, “Y/N, look at me.”

At the sound of her name, she blinked up at him, biting her lip to keep from pouting. Jesse was about to continue, barely opening his mouth to begin, when there was a greeting from behind them.

“There she is, right where you left her, Captain!”

Rex had come back, face unreadable as he looked between Jesse and Y/N. An older, brown man walked next to him, tall and lean with a salt and pepper fade, his smile as wide as his stride, “Sweets, lass! Making headway on that pile of scrap, huh?”

“Yes sir, Caine,” she greeted, standing upright and saluting him properly before turning offhandedly to Rex and crossing her arms, “Captain.”

Rex felt his jaw twitch at the sudden chill coming off of her, his brow furrowing at the sudden switch in her demeanor. Caine continued waving his arms, animatedly gesturing to the fighter, “This ship will run better than the day it was bought when you’re through with it, I know it. But, our most thorough Captain here has made it known to me that we did skip a step in approving your request.”

She looked Rex up and down, crossed arms tightening over her ribcage, “Oh really? And what step would that be?”

“Admiral Wulff Yularen,” Rex answered, tone even and cool to match her own, “You’re right in that it wouldn’t pass over my desk, however these are still Republic owned ships. He needs to approve...whatever you’re doing before you continue.”

She bit her lip and tightly squeezed her eyes shut, breathing deep through her nose, before responding, “Fine. I’ll clean up my station. Is there a time I can meet with the Admiral to discuss my mistake?”

Rex began to respond, before Jesse stepped in, “I’ll go explain the situation to him. Caine, would you mind tagging along?”

“Let’s stop by my office to get her approval request forms. Anything that makes this take longer, it gets me away from the repair reports,” Caine guffawed as he walked away with Jesse, leaving the Captain and mechanic on their own. He shifted as her burning stare held onto him for an extended moment after the two had left.

“What?” he growled out, growing aggravated at the silent attitude she was giving him.

“You’re a fucking tattle tale,” she spat out before turning on her heel to begin picking up her tools and various discarded parts of the fighter, “Going to my boss because a form didn’t come your way.”

“What are you, a youngling?” he shot back, but striding over to help her out, “I’m doing you a favor! If Admiral Yularen had found out one of his ships had been tampered with, without his permission, he’d blacklist you from the GAR and put you in a ship to drop you on that same dirt ball we found you on.”

Admiral Yularen was much more empathetic than that, and would not go as far as that for a punishment. But she didn’t need to know that right now.

“I’m not tampering with it- don’t touch my tools,” she looked over to see him dropping her wrenches and welders unceremoniously into her box, “I’m not tampering, I’m fixing. I’m a mechanic, it’s what I kriffin do, I’m sure he’d understand.”

He continued to pick up her scattered tools as she turned back to the disorganized pieces of metal with a roll of his eyes, “That may be so, but the GAR has a very strict way of doing things, and unfortunately the line of command doesn’t just stop at Caine for you. In fact-“

“I said don’t touch my tools!”

“Y/N, I’m trying to help you!” he nearly yelled at her, his voice booming in the high ceilings of the hangar, “Anything I’ve done today, is to help you!”

She scoffed, unmoved by his commanding demeanor, “Sure, help me. You didn’t even want me on this ship to begin with!”

“That’s-“

“You still don’t like me, do you? Is that why you don’t respond to my advances?” she was stalking toward him now, her mess and tools pushed to the farthest corner of her mind until they got this discussion over with. He stood his ground as she got closer, standing at his full height but looking her directly in the eyes nonetheless.

“Y/N-“

“I flirt and tease you all damn day and you just ignore me! Or worse, you respond and then leave when you realize you might’ve reacted a little too positively. I’d at least like a solid no from you, make yourself clear, please!”

“Hey!” he laid two strong hands on her shoulders, giving her a slight squeeze, “Shut. Up.”

She glared at him, but complied, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth as she stood defiantly to him, as tall as she could under his grip. He allowed himself a slow breath, inhale through his nose, hold, exhale through his mouth. He softened his hold, and let his deep honey eyes search her stormy glare, delving into the depths of her soul to make sure she understood, “I think I like you, Y/N. More than I ought to.”

He let that sink in, his cheeks flushing at his own sudden boldness but keeping a lock on her gaze. She raised her brows in surprise, eyes going wide as her agitation subsided, being replaced with something more delicate before sputtering out, “Oh. Okay. Uh, great. So...why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

He let out a dark chuckle, letting his eyelids get heavy, “Always one for tact.”

She shrugged under his grasp, a slight grin gracing her features at his amused expression, “Would you expect anything less?”

He shook his head, letting his lips twitch upwards as his thumbs absentmindedly rubbed circles into her shoulders, before clearing his throat, “If you had let me finish earlier, your chain of command doesn’t stop at Caine. It includes Yularen, Skywalker, and me. If I’m seen to be ‘romantically involved’ with a crewmember, I could be court martialed. And then you’d be-“

“Sent back to that rock you picked me up from,” she finished for him, letting a hand come up to rub gently at his right wrist, before sighing, “Maker, I hate it when you’re right.”

“It’s a miracle you still like me, then,” he let a cheeky smile pull through his face, causing her to let out a soft giggle. Somewhere between their dispute and his confession, his voice had shifted to a low, coarse whisper that made her want to hang onto every word. He let a hand off her shoulder, gripping her chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger, “Do you understand, cyar’ika?”

Her breath was stolen from her as she watched his eyes glance down to her lips, his thumb gently pulling at her skin to have her bottom lip pop out of it’s sharp hold. She shuddered, a pleasant quiver going down her spine as she nodded at him. She fluttered her lashes at him as he chuckled low at her response, “What does that mean?”

“Promise not to get mad?” he smirked at her, as a matching blush sweeping over both their cheeks.

“Rex,” she quirked a brow at him playfully, drawling out his name almost musically. He smiled wide at her, practically spellbound with how his name sounded on her lips.

“It’s Mando’a,” he paused for effect, looking around to make sure no out of place soldiers were looking over before dipping low, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, “for sweetheart.”

She laughed, the sound warm and full, splaying a hand over his armored heart, the plastoid cool underneath her palm, “Fine. But only you are allowed to call me that.”

She pushed him lightly, having him let go of her shoulders. They stood there, smiling at each other, skin burning where the other’s hands had been, gazes soft with mutual ache. Y/N sighed, “So, what does this mean? For us.”

Rex thought for a minute, walking around her to continue where they had left off cleaning. After she had joined him, he hummed in response, “I think it’s a promise.”

“A promise?” she repeated, finishing up putting all the spares and discarded parts in an unlabelled crate next to the fighter. She leaned against the crate, arms crossing as she grinned at him, “What kind of a promise?”

“After the war is done,” Rex explained, tone surprisingly optimistic, “we can travel the galaxy together. No enemies to be on lookout for, not having to worry about getting caught by my nosy men-”

“Does it have to wait till after the war?” she whined, but still watching him as if he were hanging the stars as opposed to just picking up her tool box. He handed her the plasteel case, latching it closed with one deft hand.

“We can discuss that later,” he sent her a sly wink. She rolled her eyes, righting herself off the crate and looking up at him with the familiar teasing glint in her eyes that he’s come to find very charming.

“Just because you’ve finally confessed, don’t think this means I’ll stop toying with you, sir.”

All he could do was let his smile grow, just thinking about all the alluring ways she’ll drive him crazy, “I never wanted you to stop.”

#captain rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex imagine #star wars #star wars the clone wars #clone troopers #ct 7567 #501st #female!reader #mechanic!reader #tcw fic #my writing #part 3 #clone trooper jesse #ct 5597 #we're not smooching yet but we'll get there #slow and steady boys

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fallenfurther · 4 years ago

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A break in the clouds - Part 5

Finally gotten round to writing up and reading through the next few chapters of this one. It’s almost finished (I might actually get this off my WIP list soon!). I hope you all enjoy the next island resident’s interaction with Scott’s son.

Scott, Virgil, Gordon, Grandma

*********

Jeff

It had been an emotional rescue. Jeff had tried to help as much as possible. John, though more accurately EOS, had fed him tasks when they came up, but the feeling of helplessness had still settled within him. He had relayed information to the local authorities, reviewed visual data that required human eyes, and second checked all her communications. It had been scraps, leaving Jeff plenty of time to watch the drone footage and listen to his boys communicate to one another. They were professional, continuing on despite the harrowing sights they endured. It was an aspect of the job he wished he could take away. They weren’t always keen, but Jeff had made a counselling service available to the whole family, fully vetted and qualified to deal with their circumstances. It was always there if they needed someone to talk to and help them process the events of any rescue. He hoped at least one of them would be using it after what had occurred today.

Slipping the stylus from its place, Jeff signed off on the mission report, then sent it to the GDF and local authorities with a sigh. His head fell into his hands and he closed his eyes against the world. Taking deep breaths, he tuned into the world around him, letting the sounds take over his mind. The gentle hum of the air-conditioning unit, an electrical buzz from somewhere to his left and the soft padding of bare feet. Eyes still closed; Jeff zeroed in on the familiar sound. Only one of his sons would creep around the place barefoot and no matter how much Gordon tried, he hadn’t been this light-footed in years. It was a sound that transported Jeff back years. Before he could open his eyes, the clatter of metal hitting the wood of his desk filled the room.

“Vroom! Vroom!”

A smile crossed Jeff’s face as he raised his head, putting the stylus down in the process. A small head bobbled along his desk, just ahead of the toy plane that was being forced along the table by a small hand. There was a small pause in the plane’s taxiing.

“Vroom! Vroom!”

Jeff pushed his chair back as he stood, allowing those young blue eyes to meet his. A glance at the clock confirmed Jeff’s suspicions. A small guilty smile crossed the boy’s face as he continued to roll the plane down the makeshift runway. A few quick strides around his desk, and Jeff slipped his hands under the boy’s armpits, scooping his grandson up into his arms. There was a small grumble from the child.

“You should be asleep.”

“Fly plane.”

“It’s naptime, young man.”

“No.”

The boy shook his head vigorously, taking Jeff back to a very similar time in Kansas, when a similarly aged Scott had refused to nap. If his grandson was anything like his father, then it was not going to be easy to get the boy down again. The slight shift in time zones never helped the child either. Carrying the boy to his room, Jeff placed him on the plane covered bedspread. Immediately, his grandson went to climb down. Jeff grabbed the boy and sat in the bed with him, only to be given a pout when the plane was removed from the child’s hands.

“My plane.”

“We can play with the plane later. Now, we sleep.”

The little boy was having none of it, and started wriggling away from Jeff, who just wasn’t quick enough. A small knee landed in a sensitive area, stealing Jeff’s breath with a groan.

“Careful there, boy.”

Jeff wheezed as his grandson paused in his escape for a second to peer at the older man. Twisting to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing the mild throbbing to the back of his mind, Jeff made a grab for the boy. He caught him, but not before the plane was back in the toddler’s hands. He looked down on the child.

“You aren’t going to go to sleep, are you?”

“No.”

Jeff sighed. His grandson would be a pain later on, having not had a good nap, something Scott really didn’t need right now. The least Jeff could do was give Scott some time to rest.

“If you’re not going to sleep, why don’t we play planes quietly in here?”

At least Scott wouldn’t worry about his son’s whereabouts if he came to check on him. The lad grinned as Jeff let him wiggle out of his grip. He watched as the child pottered over to the box of toys and dug into it for another plane. Jeff had had a similar box of planes as a child, a passion his mother had a hand in, even if it was only a hobby for her. Scott had shared the interest, which he was now sharing with the next generation. Not that Jeff could blame him. With the most technologically advance machines taking off around him, it would be surprising if his grandson didn’t pick up even the smallest interest. Carefully Jeff lowered himself to the floor, finding a comfortable position against the bed. A plastic GDF flyer was brought over and placed in his hands before his grandson darted off to start circling the room. A few energetic laps later and the boy finally realised Jeff hadn’t moved. Pausing mid-flight and pointing at the flyer, the child made his demand.

“Fly Grampa. Fly.”

Jeff responded with a serious face and a nod. Carefully repositioning the plane’s engines so they pointed down, he slowly made the plane rise in a hover. This seemed to be exactly what the boy wanted as he continued his loop around the room before turning and heading straight for Jeff.

“Fire!”

The boy blew raspberries, which had Jeff biting his lip to stop from laughing. His grandson could be so damn cute. As his grandson approached, Jeff played dutifully, pretending to dodge all the bullets being fired at the flyer. He swung it this way and that until it was time to admit defeat. Jeff spiralled the flyer and crashed it into the floor.

“Bang!”

His grandson’s face lit up with glee as her flew his plane away at a slower pace than before. A yawn stretched across the child’s face and Jeff smiled. He knew it was just a matter of time now. His grandson continued, rolling the toy along a chest of draws before slowly plodding back to Jeff and falling to his knees. The boy was visibly fighting to stay awake now, the last burst of energy ebbing away. The flyer was retrieved and both planes were wafted about in a slow dogfight. Another large yawn stilled the boy’s body. His arms fell to his sides and the toys clicked as they hit the ground. Large sleepy blinks broke the boy’s gaze, and the flyer was released so he could rub his eye. Jeff opened up his arms.

“Come here, son.”

His grandson shuffled forward, and Jeff guided the boy into his lap. His grandson leant against his torso. Wrapping his arms around the boy, he took the plane from the child’s hand and held it up before him. It was an old Spitfire. Jeff spoke softly into the boy’s ear, whispering all the facts he could recall about the plane. He pointed out the guns and explained the colours and symbols. The child’s head had slumped before he had finished the explanation. Quietly placing the toy to the side, Jeff peered down at his grandson. The closed eyes and gentle rise of the chest confirmed he’d fallen asleep.

With the utmost care, Jeff lifted the boy and tucked him into his bed, slipping the blanket up and over his small body. He knelt for a minute, taking in the peaceful form on his grandson. He heart was full of love, not only for his grandson but for the sons he’d put to bed so many times, so many years ago. Brushing his fingers through the child’s hair and away from his eye, Jeff leant forward and planted a kiss on the boy’s forehead.

Jeff’s body complained as he stood, age and time in deep space taking its toll on his joints. Turning to leave, he paused at the sight of Scott leaning against the doorframe. There had been no sound of footsteps that Jeff could remember so he had no idea how long he had been observed. Scott just nodded and Jeff headed out, turning on the forgotten baby monitor so they would be alerted when the child woke. It was only after he had softly closed the door, that Scott spoke.

“Thank you, Dad.”

It was barely a whisper, but the relief in that man’s exhausted eyes was clear. Jeff placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. The man was a great father. Jeff was so proud of him.

“No problem, son. I suggest you have a nap also. He’ll have a new bout of energy once he’s awake.”

Scott sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. Jeff knew how tiring parenting could be, and Scott had a demanding job on top of all that. His son had struggled to sleep before he’d become a father, so Jeff was happy to see Scott nod and head towards his own room, yawning and stretching with each step.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #jeff tracy #tracy baby #scott tracy #scott's son #naptime #not wanting to sleep #pilot in training

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monstersandmaw · 5 years ago

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Embers - Male dragon shifter x reader, Chapter Five! (sfw)

So... this was supposed to go up on Friday but no one reminded me and I’m clearly not able to set a weekly reminder like an actual adult.

Hope you’re still enjoying this weekly series... Don’t forget to show me it some love if you are.

And I seem to have thrown my 'short chapters/800 words only' thing out of the window. This one is the longest so far, at 2455 words long. *rolls eyes at self*.

One, Two, Three, Four

An entire week passed without word from Mikaeïl. You had almost given up on the whole commission for this departmental murder mystery dinner, when one lunchtime your phone buzzed and you answered with barely a glance away from what you were doing. With a searingly important deadline looming for work, your stress levels were possibly at their highest since university finals, and you had been staring at the computer screen for what felt like days without a break.

“Yeah?” you barked, still tweaking the design while holding the phone with your other hand.

“It’s Mikaeïl,” came a surprisingly shy, male voice at the other end. “Is now a bad time?”

Your heart skipped a beat or two and you grinned despite the lingering frustration that the design wasn’t looking anywhere near ‘there’ yet. “No, not at all,” you smiled, “I’m at work, but I’d much rather talk to you.”

That seemed to fluster him a little, but he cleared his throat and said, “Well… I spoke with the department and showed them your preliminary design. They loved it and are very happy to commission you to do the posters for the event.”

“Fantastic!” you grinned, genuinely thrilled to have a more exiting project to work on than this steaming pile of minotaur shit currently sitting on your computer.

“I thought we might discuss it in more detail when you bring Celia over on Friday...” he said, his softly-articulated words doing odd things to your insides and heartbeat. You could imagine him standing amongst his hoard of plants, one arm folded protectively across his slim chest as he stood, ramrod straight, surveying the gardens beyond.

A second after that image had flashed through your mind, you realised that it wasn’t your turn to being Celia to her flute lesson that week. When you said as much, he sighed and said, “Never mind.”

“I mean... Celia doesn’t have to be my only reason to come over and see you, does she?” you asked playfully, doodling with the stylus on a new layer of the design. As you listened to him speak, his eyes began to stare out at you from the screen as you drew them, all distant and guarded, but glittering and somehow soft all the same.

“No,” he said slowly, the slight smile audible in his rich voice. “No, of course not. I’m rather busy with work this week, and I’m presenting a paper at a conference on Thursday, but if you’re alright to meet up in town instead during the week we could do that?”

“Stickybeaks?” you suggested, thinking of the cafe where you’d first met him.

He clearly along the same lines because he gave that sonorous chuckle that made your stomach churn pleasurably. “Perfect. What day suits you? I’m free most days after five, except this Thursday.”

“Friday?” you suggested. “I think Stickybeaks stays open til seven. We could have an early supper? That way you can tell me all about the conference too, if you like.”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you,” he said reflexively.

“Oh, I think you’d have to work quite hard to bore me. I’m really quite a curious person...”

There was something melancholic about the tone of his clipped response. “If you say so,” was all he said. “Well, Friday works well for me. Shall I meet you there at half past five? That will give me enough time to walk over from the department.”

“Perfect. Looking forward to it.”

A beat too late, he said with a slight crack in his voice, “So am I.”

You rushed out of work that Friday and ended up getting to the cafe way too early, so you got out your A3 sketch pad and started to draw a number of variations on the same theme that you’d doodled back at Mikaeïl’s house. When he stepped through the doorway at precisely 5.29pm, Mikaeïl glanced around, the lenses of his round glasses glinting in the low light, and when he saw you, the hard line of his tense shoulders eased just a little.

Mikaeïl nodded politely at Lidaë, who was fluttering around behind the counter as usual despite the fact that there weren’t all that many customers in at that time, and then he strode over to your place in the back corner. The pathway through the sleek, modern tables gave you the opportunity to admire the slender form of his body and the effortless grace with which he moved, almost like a dancer. Today he wore a butterscotch coloured trench coat, belted tightly at his slim waist over black skinny jeans, and his autumn-red hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail again, with the shorter sections at the front falling down to mask the full intensity of his bright golden eyes.

“Hey,” you said, half standing.

“I hope you haven’t been here long,” he said by way of a greeting and staring at your drawings again with that odd expression again.

“No, not really,” you said, awkwardly sitting back down again. “I finished work a bit earlier than usual and came straight here. I roughed out a few more designs for the poster anyway.”

“You’ve been here long enough to have finished your drink,” he said pointedly. “Can I get you another?”

You eyed your empty cup and then glanced at your watch. “I just turned in a major project that’s been bugging me for weeks,” you grinned. “I think I earned a grown up drink…”

He cocked his head slightly and the corner of his pretty mouth twitched ever so slightly to show his amusement. “Congratulations. And I think I might join you in that.”

By the time he returned, you’d shunted the sketch book to one side and once he’d set your drink down, he took his coat off to hang it on the back of his chair. It was a real effort not to stare at the beauty of his figure. Perhaps it was the artist in you, but you really noticed the strong, straight lines of his waist and thighs, his body clearly tightly corded with extremely lean muscle, and the elegant movements of his fingers as he worked the buttons of his coat.

When he was finished, he sat and shyly drew his ponytail over one shoulder, twisting the end of it between his fingertips and blinked softly at you. “What?” he asked in a breathy murmur.

“I… Uh…” you blushed, and settled on a bashful, “Nothing. Have you come straight from teaching?”

He nodded.

“Oh boy,” you laughed. “Your students must love you.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” he said bluntly.

“I wasn’t,” you said, feeling a heat creeping up your neck. Did he seriously not have any idea how attractive he was? “Don’t take this the wrong way then,” you said, sipping your drink and letting the warmth of the alcohol ignite a little courage in you, “But if you were my professor, I’m not sure I’d get much learning done…”

“Then I’d be failing in my duties as a teacher…”

Damn but he was hard work.

“Never mind,” you said. “How did the conference go?”

“Very well, to my surprise,” he said, holding the stem of his wine glass as if it were a rare specimen rose. He inhaled the scent of the wine before drinking, and closed his eyes briefly as he savoured it. His throat worked and you watched his sharp Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and that newly-kindled heat in your cheeks flared a little hotter while blood rushed south away from your brain to somewhere a little less articulate.

“What was your paper on?” you managed to rasp.

He cleared his throat and swirled his wine absentmindedly around his glass. “It’s… hardly a dinner time conversation,” he said.

“What, because you study bodies and death?”

His golden gaze flicked up to meet yours. “Most people find it repulsive.”

“You’re searching for answers,” you said. “I’m sure you’re respectful about the way you treat the remains. What’s repulsive about that?”

Mikaeïl blinked, and then his hard, wary expression flickered to something a little gentler, bordering on relief. “Well, alright. I was presenting my preliminary findings on the use of MRI and CT scans to determine the presence of necromantic activity in long-dead remains…”

“That stuff shows up? Even centuries later?” you asked, instantly intrigued.

He made a side to side shake of his head. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. X-ray has been used in the past, but because any damage caused post-mortem usually presents exactly the same whether the person in question was truly alive or undead, it’s not always particularly accurate… I want to explore the use of other technology to explore the effects that necromantic magic in particular has on the body after the heart has ceased beating.”

“That’s awesome,” you breathed, and he smiled again. “Was it well received?” you asked tentatively.

“Yes, for the most part. Non-invasive examination is always preferable, so there was a deal of interest from others in the field. I even had a lich in the audience who was willing to undergo some testing, which was encouraging.”

“Did you study medicine at the university here?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Quite some while ago though,” he said. “I worked as a medical examiner for a long time.”

You frowned, and he read your next question in your eyes.

“I’m not as youthful as I look,” he said. “My kind is long lived. And before you ask, I’m just over two hundred and sixty.”

“Whoa…” Honestly, it wasn’t actually that much of a surprise, given how… ‘remote’ he seemed at times. A moment later you added with a wry smile, “You must have enjoyed watching the leaps and bounds that science has made then in the last hundred or so years! I’d love to witness something like that…”

“That’s…” he faltered into silence.

“What?”

Mikaeïl steepled his long, fingers and rested his lips against his index and middle fingertips, elbows resting on the table. “That’s… honestly not a reaction I’ve had before.”

“I don’t understand?”

With a dry chuckle, he said, “Most people - though the number is admittedly few - discover I’m old enough to be their ancestor, and they start to act strangely. Friendships have been hard to initiate, and even tougher to maintain, though I’m sure that’s partly due to my own…” he swallowed, apparently unsure of the word before settling on, “‘Quirks’.”

You shrugged. “It sucks, I’m sure, but anyone who doesn’t at least try to understand or get to know you is missing out, and probably isn’t worth the effort anyway, at least in my limited experience. Can I ask you another question though?”

As his lips hitched up on one side, he nodded. “Of course.” And with that, he seemed to relax a little more in your presence.

“Is it super rude of me to ask what you are? I had thought you were at least part tiefling, but that was literally just from the horns and the eyes.”

“A common misconception,” he said over the rim of his wineglass before he took another sip. “And one I usually let slide. But no, I am not any part tiefling. I am… my family is… that is to say…” He set his wine down, took off his glasses, and cleaned them with a little cloth that he drew from his top pocket while he said quietly, “We are dragon shifters. Wyvern, technically.”

You blinked in silence for a stunned moment. Dragon shifters were exceptionally rare these days, having been hunted ruthlessly for sport, mostly by orcs but also by humans, about five hundred years ago. They’d been massacred in droves almost to the point of extinction. “No way,” you finally breathed.

He acknowledged the truth with a brief pursing of his lips, and returned his glasses to his face. Tersely, he added, “Please don’t ask me to prove it here. I won’t fit into this corner of the cafe, and besides, shifting is a huge inconvenience to say the very least.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said hastily. “I’m just… amazed? Surprised? Honoured?”

Mikaeïl deftly and promptly steered the conversation onto your drawings and drafts after that, and you allowed him to slide the limelight onto you. Clearly an intensely private individual, Mikaeïl had just honoured you with the truth about himself, and, curious as you were about what he might look like in his wyvern form, you respected his gift by focusing on the real reason you were there. This was not a date after all, no matter how much you wished it were.

Despite that fact, however, it was five minutes before closing time when Lidaë flitted over to you, her iridescent hummingbird’s plumage shimmering, and politely asked if you’d mind wrapping up so she could close up her cafe.

Mikaeïl startled from your conversation as if he’d suffered an electric shock. “I’m so sorry, Lidaë,” he said, standing abruptly and pushing his chair back with a decidedly ungraceful scrape on the wooden floorboards. “I had no idea it was so late.”

She patted his arm fondly and shook her head. “Never you mind, my lovely. I’m glad to see you having such a good evening.”

For the first time since you’d met him, his pale cheeks flushed and he glanced briefly at you before fumbling to pick up his coat. Once he’d slid it on, he fished out his wallet and insisted that he pay for everything.

Outside, with your bag packed and a design finalised, you looked up at him and he turned his deep, golden eyes on you. In the light from the street lamps overhead, his yellow eyes reflected the soft glow in a decidedly inhuman way, and you felt something stirring inside you again.

Feeling perhaps a little uncharacteristically bold, you reached for his shoulders, took them gently in your hands, and leaned in to kiss his smooth, cool cheek. As you withdrew, you saw that he’d gone rigid, his eyes wide with surprise. Allowing yourself a small giggle at his expense, you grinned at him.

“I’ll bring the finished design with me when I bring Celia over next Friday, if that’s ok.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed softly.

“Looking forward to it,” you said. “And thank you again for supper.”

“My pleasure,” he croaked, bowing his head. “Sincerely.”

Tossing a final grin and a wave his way, you walked off down the street, leaving him standing there, and when you glanced back, you saw that he was walking away in the opposite direction, his fingertips just brushing his cheek where your lips had kissed his skin.

To be continued next Friday! (don’t let me forget!)

—

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon!

You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier or higher!

#exophilia #dragon shifter #dragon #dragon x reader #dragon shifter x reader #weekly story #weekly series

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years ago

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Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.48

Lance couldn’t wait for the day to be over. Matt was as passionate about technology as Pidge was, Pidge was living on his sofa because she missed her brother. Work had sucked and he actually had to make an appearance in Platt thanks to a case, which he hadn’t told Keith about yet, and Keith was still feeling the effects of drinking milk.

Dinner had been loud, Rieva and Shay had hit off, Lance learning more about her during dinner than he’d learned the whole week before. Hunk and Shay kept making “lovey” eyes over the dinner table, and he hadn’t been able to do the same with Keith. Pidge had teased him gently about getting faking sick to get Lance into bed, Keith had laughed it off, but hell, he was only kind of human and he’d really missed having Keith around the house. Curtis had tried to fill in on the role of kitchen hand, but he really didn’t get along with technology so it was easier for Lance to just do everything himself. Matt had peed on his death soil, while as a wolf, and Lance had felt he seriously deserved some major Keith time after cleaning that up. He hadn’t spent three months making it just for Matt to decide it smelt funny and needed his scent instead. Yeah. He was bummed that Keith wasn’t feeling well when he’d turned up, but he had scored pretty much a whole day of relaxing in bed as boyfriend slept it off. Keith couldn’t help that he was lactose intolerant, but of all the days he could have messed up, it really could have been the day that wasn’t coming over.

After dinner Pidge insisted on a games night... Lance just wanted to cuddle with Keith and pretend they weren’t keeping their relationship on the down-low, but Pidge wanted Keith to spend time with them before he left again... Keith was towed away by Pidge to the living room, Hunk and Shay staying to help with the dishes. He still proud as hell that Hunk had snagged Shay, and loved having Shay over. She came with great customer service stories, and was just so likeable that he’d wished he’d cornered Hunk into asking her out sooner. Yet he totally felt like the third wheel. At least when it was him, Curtis, Matt, and Rieva, he and Curtis both had each other to hang with. He’d gotten Curtis into teen rom-coms, the exhunter soon as invested in them as he was. And there was the fact Curtis had started to loosen up. He still pointed out things he didn’t need to, but things were moving more towards friendship rather than babysitting.

Pidge’s game night consisted of breaking up into three teams. Her, Shay and Rieva. Shiro, Hunk and Curtis . Him, Keith and Matt. Hooking her tablet up to the TV the first game was Pictionary, where they all failed miserably at using the stylus to draw. After five rounds, Pidge’s group claimed victory, which she was well and truly smug over. It totally wasn’t his fault that Keith and Matt were as hopeless as he was when it came to art. In his mind he knew everything he needed to do, but that didn’t translate to his drawings. Adding alcohol to the mix, they moved onto charades. Lance liked to think he was a pretty good actor, but somehow that was taken out by Shiro’s team, who’d definitely had found favouritism somewhere along the line as their prompts were much easier than everyone else’s. When Pidge got mischievous and suggested strip poker, Matt firmly noped out of that. Pidge instead setting up JackBox.

It was well after midnight before they headed up to bed. Keith acting nervous again. Sending his boyfriend to the bathroom to change, Lance changed into pyjamas before climbing into bed to wait for him. His anger loaf had loosened up, his competitive side showing that he didn’t take losing well. Spending the night with Keith and having fun was something he’d missed. Even when all they were doing was watching some lame movie, it was different when Keith was there. He’d never felt as pathetic as he did over the way he missed Keith in his adult life. Still, he was kind of proud that Keith seemed to be adjusting to living alone with Shiro again. Their apartment looked pretty nice, and Keith had sent him a photo of his bed with his new duvet cover. His boyfriend hadn’t been able to find a red one, so instead he had a black duvet cover with red pillow slips. It was very Keith, and only made him miss him more. Well aware of how pathetic he was acting, Lance tried not to snatch up his phone each time he got a new message from Keith. Trying to play it cool, while wanting to reply straight away. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he planned to tell Keith he’d gone into heat, he’d planned on telling him... just not that it’d happened more than once.

Lance was mortified the second time it happened. Matt and Rieva releasing pheromones before they’d gone to bed. Half an hour later the whole house was filled with the sounds of sex, leaving him feeling like a pervert as his body reacted. He’d washed and changed his sheets, yet Keith’s scent hung in the air, his body missing the way his boyfriend held him. He still found himself turning to say something to Keith only for him not to be there more than once. He couldn’t see why Keith was ashamed of being lactose intolerant, when being in a heat was far more shameful. He could only chalk it down to something happened, someone had said something and he hadn’t gotten over it.

Coming back into his room, Lance’s sweats he’d offered as pyjamas were too short for his boyfriend. The shirt a little tight, Lance blushing hard as Keith pointedly didn’t look at him

“Don’t say it”

“Nothing to say”

Nothing to say about the way Keith’s snail trail and hips were showing... There was something sexier about Keith in his clothes. He’d seen him naked and fuck... he had no words for that, but there was kind of an air of mystery when he was wearing clothes

“This is ridiculous”

What was ridiculous was how hot Keith was, even when he was sick

“Get into bed already”

“I can’t sleep like this”

“Then strip off... or at least take the shirt off”

Keith huffed as he did, and damn was Lance’s blood supply fast heading south. Being that grizzled and chiselled should have been illegal. Lance wasn’t in the mood to be fooling around with his boyfriend, not when Keith was ill, but damn if he didn’t want to touch him. Stifling down a groan, he knew if he continued on this train of thought, his stupid heat would pop its head up. Today was about Keith recovering, not him being a horny idiot with no filter on his mouth. He preferred the intimacy of cuddling, because at least then he had some experience in that area.

Climbing into bed with near him, Keith turned his back towards him. Lance didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t been mocking Keith. He’d just given him the first pair of clothes that he’d grabbed out his closet. Keith had been fine with cuddling him before, so why not now? Maybe he liked his own bed better and was regretting staying the night? Hunk and Shay had left. Pidge was downstairs becoming one with the sofa. Curtis was sharing a room with Shiro. Everyone was paying attention to everything other than them... so was Keith... being self conscious or had he said something and upset him without meaning too? He couldn’t think of anything he’d said wrong. Maybe Keith just didn’t want to spend the night next to him? That thought hurt. He was doing his best to get his life back on schedule around missing Keith. Crying wasn’t going to change the fact that Keith had his own job, which Lance wanted him to prioritise. Why was there this weird difference between them now? Rolling away from Keith, Lance pushed his face in his pillow. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t know why he was making a big deal out of this. Keith probably still felt sick and didn’t want to cuddle because of it.

Laying in this awkward silence, Lance sniffled took loudly, drawing Keith’s attention to the fact he was crying. Feeling Keith move up behind him, his boyfriend slipped his arm around his waist. Lance hated that it took crying to draw his boyfriend’s attention, and he hated that he liked Keith cuddling him. He’d tried to downplay his concern over his boyfriend’s health because he really didn’t want Keith feeling self conscious. He wanted Keith to be able to relax when he came home... when he came back to Lance’s house.

“Hey, what is it?”

Keith asking made him feel infinitely worse

“It’s nothing”

“It’s not nothing”

“It is. Just tired. Long day and all. You better get to sleep”

Now he was brushing him off... why was he being so lame?

“Lance, talk to me”

“We’re talking”

“You’re crying”

“It doesn’t matter”

“Yes it does”

Why did Keith had enough to be so Keith like?

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because you didn’t want to... I might just sleep downstairs tonight”

“What the hell? Where’s that coming from?”

“I just thought you might be happier up here alone”

“What the fuck?!”

Now Keith was mad at him. He didn’t know what he kept doing wrong. Keith made him forget how to think straight

“I didn’t mean to make you mad. I’ll go”

Taking Keith’s arm off him, Lance slid from the covers

“Lance!”

“I’m sorry”

Yeah. He was being a coward. They’d had fun as a group and now it felt like he didn’t know what to say and do to keep that mood between them. Grabbing up his robe, Lance fled from the room. Rushing down the hall and nearly falling down the stairs in his rush to hide his shameful side from Keith.

He would have fallen down the stairs if he hadn’t run smack into Shiro. The hunter letting out a grunt of surprise, as Lance quickly bounced back then moved to keep fleeing down the stairs

“Lance?”

Why was he being like this? Keith was leaving again tomorrow. Things had to stay good and normal until then...

As he reached his office, the first cramp hit. His stupid heat hitting as his head began to swim. It didn’t explain his less than stellar behaviour, but it’d definitely come on because of it. Shutting the door behind him, Lance locked it. All this thanks to Keith wanting to sleep on his side of the bed was pathetic. He was overreacting big time. He didn’t want to be like this with Keith. He needed to apologise to him.

“Lance, it’s Shiro, can we talk?”

Now wasn’t the time. The only person he should be talking to is Keith. He should be fucking begging him to forgive him... or fuck him. No. That was the heat. He didn’t deserve Keith forgiving him

“Now isn’t good!”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just vampire things!”

“If you’re in heat...”

What? He’d send Keith down to satisfy that burning desire bubbling inside of him?

“I’m staying in here!”

“Okay... okay, but if you need help...”

Oh god. No. He didn’t just want anyone. He wanted Keith. Shiro might be all tall and handsome, but he wasn’t Keith. He wasn’t the one he wanted to bend him over his desk and make him scream

“Shiro, now isn’t a great time! Thanks for concern”

“Okay... I guess I’ll see you in the morning”

“Yep, sure thing buddy. Sleep tight”

Lance flinched at his own lameness. Shiro would go straight to Keith. Keith would tell him he’d been a giant dick about things. Keith would be upset that he didn’t trust him enough to tell him. Falling in love wasn’t perfection. It wasn’t like in the movie. A kiss wasn’t an apology. A million roses wouldn’t be enough of an apology for what he’d done. His Mami had been so happy for them, but the truth was that Keith was in love with a monster... he was a monster who’d hurt Keith.

Keith had no idea what had happened. Lance hadn’t curled up around him. That was what his boyfriend usually did. He preferred holding Lance, but Lance liked holding him... and now Lance was crying and he didn’t know why.

Trying to stay away, Keith couldn’t. Lance obviously had something on his mind. But he preferred to clam up instead of talking to him. Sure, Keith was embarrassed. Lance’s clothes had been way too small. For a moment he’d wondered if it’d been a dig at him, until he told himself that Lance wasn’t like that. Maybe Lance thought he still felt sick? He did, but he’d thought they’d had fun... Kind of? Matt was a dumb smart person... and Lance had zero luck at drawing... Then they’d headed upstairs and Lance got weird... and he got weird. He’d slept all day and now they were going to bed again... That was a little weird? Or was he making too much out of it?

Heading out of Lance’s room, Keith shivered. He should have brought a blanket along, the house was bloody freezing. Tucking his hands under his armpits, he kept his steps light, not wanting to run into Shiro. Having zero luck, he ran into him on the bottom step of the stairs

“Fu-... Keith? Don’t do that”

Shiro clutched his chest. The old man was showing his age. Did people just not go to bed and stay in bed?

“What are you doing up?!”

“I was trying to go bed, then I ran into Lance”

“How was he?”

Shiro had seen Lance? He should have gone after him

“Crying. Did something happen?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I came down to ask”

“He’s locked himself in his office. You’re going to have to wait until morning, I think he’s in heat”

Keith shook his head. There wasn’t any scent when he’d l

“He wasn’t in heat when he left. Did you hear anything?”

“Only him trying to cover his crying. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nah. I’ll talk to him. You head up to bed”

“You’ll be alright with him?”

Keith snorted, hoping to cover his nerves

“You left me with him all afternoon. I’ll be fine”

“If anything happens, get Matt”

“Yeah, yeah. Go to bed already”

“If he doesn’t want to talk, don’t push it tonight. We’re not leaving until the afternoon”

That was change in plans, but a welcome one. Keith assumed it was to do with the fact Shiro and Curtis had time to talk alone. Whatever, he had his own relationship to think of.

Knocking on Lance’s office door, Keith then pressed his ear against the wood. He could hear Lance crying

“Go away, Shiro. We’ll talk tomorrow”

“Wrong brother. Lance, open the door”

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“No. I want to know why you apologised to me and why you wouldn’t stay and talk”

“Keith, not right now...”

“If I did something...”

“It wasn’t you. It was me... I’m sorry. I thought... I thought I made you mad... I’m sorry”

This was getting nowhere

“Just open the damn door”

The lock on the door clicked, Keith quick to grab the handle and turn before Lance could change his mind. Opening the door, his boyfriend’s scent smacked him, Keith barely had time to process before he had his arms full of a crying Lance

“I’m sorry. I was horrible and I’m sorry and I’m sorry... thought you were mad at me and I couldn’t work out what I did... and... I really want you to want me still, but I’m a monster who hurt you because you didn’t hug me when you got into bed”

Lance’s explanation came out in a panted mess. Keith kind of shocked that the action had reduced Lance to tears, and upset Lance was calling himself a monster again

“You usually like holding me... Hey, no. No more tears, it was a misunderstanding”

“I thought you must regret coming here because I can’t even hold your hand. I can’t kiss you... and...”

Pidge was bound to hear Lance crying and his scent was pungent enough that Matt and Rieva could smell it

“Come back up to bed with me”

“I can’t... I’m barely controlling myself as it is. Right now all I can think about is having you beneath me. I don’t want to rush things”

There was no pressure to rush, provided that didn’t include the rush of blood southwards in Lance’s tight sweats

“Hold onto me”

Lance was confused as Keith lifted him up. The vampire’s teeth scraping against his neck as Lance shook in his arms. They’d had a misunderstanding and Lance had stressed himself into this. This wouldn’t do.

Keith struggled up the stairs, but was determined to prove his point. By the time he got Lance back to his room he’d worked up a sweat. Getting Lance on the bed, Lance turned away from him as he gripped the blankets beneath him. He’d spend all night wanting to touch him. To kiss him. Hunk and Shay could be open and in love. They were taking it slow and without the complications but it was hard not to let it show. Keith hadn’t very social, taking a while to warm up to everyone during dinner, then they’d had a games a night and he still hadn’t been able to touch Lance. Now he finally had him alone again, he wasn’t sure what to do with him. Lance was in heat and Keith’s self control was slipping.

Pulling Lance onto his back, his boyfriend stared up at him with hooded glassy eyes

“I’m going to kiss you now”

Climbing between Lance’s long legs, he pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. Keith had been dying to do that all damn day. One kiss turned to another with ease, Lance’s teeth scraping his lip as his boyfriend rocked against them, the pair making out like the inexperienced idiots they were. Grinding against Lance felt more than good, it was like all the confusing stuff had been chucked out the window and it was just the two of them again. This wasn’t how their first time would go. Keith wanted that to be special, and not in a house full of their sleeping friends. Breaking the kiss, he kissed his way down to Lance’s Adam’s apple, nipping lightly at the smooth flesh. Moaning, Lance rocked his hips harder, clothes now in the way of him touching his boyfriend

“Shirt... off”

Lance moved to obliged, Keith eager to see him beneath the light of the bedside lamp. He loved Lance’s reactions. Loved his little gasps and moans. Everything was amped thanks to his heat, and he smelt incredible.

Lance grew shyer with his shirt off, Keith’s hands sliding across his torso

“What do you want, babe?”

“Babe” had slipped out, Lance was being extra careful with his teeth, normally he’d be biting his lip

“You...”

“How”

“I want you... I don’t care... just mess me up inside”

Keith felt himself smirk, Lance’s legs were still wrapped around him. Thrusting against his boyfriend’s grinding hips, Lance fisted the blankets beneath him as he moaned

“Is that what you want? Me to pin you down and make you come?”

Lance nodded quickly, eyes scrunched tightly closed as he fought to control himself. Keith didn’t know where his burst of confidence had come from... They couldn’t have sex... but there were other ways to have sex

“I want you to get your hands and knees for me. Put your hands on the bed head”

“K-Keith?”

“Let me touch you. I promise I won’t cross that line”

Lance got on his hands and knees as Keith asked. Settling himself behind his boyfriend, Keith pulled Lance’s pyjama bottoms and underwear down, before freeing his erection. He wasn’t sure how the mechanic were going to work, only that he had a vague idea

“Okay, sit back against me”

Lance did as he was told, wetness smearing across Keith’s dick as his boyfriend sat back. With a little manoeuvring, Keith slipped his dick between his boyfriend’s thighs, rolling his hips experimentally

“Fuuu...”

“Keep your thighs together for me”

Lance sitting for him wasn’t working the way he wanted. Moving to kneeling, it made it easier for Keith to slide between Lance’s legs, his boyfriend wet enough that he didn’t need lube. He may or may not have seen this in porn, and may have some reservations until Lance started moving, matching every thrust as he panted. Holding his boyfriend against him, when Lance turned for a kiss, Keith was quick to kiss back, drunk on that sweet smell and being with a man who truly cared for him. Broken kisses fell between the sharp hitching in Lance’s breathing, moving his hand, Keith gripped Lance’s erection lightly enough not to take control, but loosely enough that his boyfriend was fucking his fist. Shuddering, Lance came with a garbled kind of whimpering moan. Keith continuing until his own orgasm hit. Riding the waves of bliss, he pulled Lance down to sit in his lap as he came between his thighs. Moving from kissing, Keith nuzzled into Lance’s cheek, panting as his body shook

“Fuck... babe...”

Staying like that until they’d recovered, Keith pressed kisses to Lance’s cheek

“You okay?”

“I don’t know”

It was an honest answer. They’d both gotten into it and maybe a little carried. It wasn’t penetrative sex, but it was still sex

“Was that too much?”

Keith went into panic mode as Lance sniffled. Ignoring the mess and his pants around his knees, he pulled his boyfriend back so they were both sitting semi-properly

“Lance, talk to me?”

“My heat...”

He sounded so guilty

“It’s okay”

“It’s not... you’re sick...”

“Not as sick as I was”

“I... I was so mean to you”

“You weren’t”

“I was. I was horrible to you and you... I wanted to take care of you but... I got all worked up and acted so rude. I just wanted to cuddle”

Keith’s heart fell

“You didn’t want to do this?”

“I want to be able to do with you without my heat”

“Lance, it’s okay”

“It’s not... I feel like I’m going crazy. I miss you so much. I keep going to talk to you and you’re not there and I wanted to have a normal night but my body can’t even settle down... I really like you. I like you so much”

Could Lance be any nicer?

“I’ve missed you too. I’m so angry at myself for wasting our time together sleeping. I was looking forward to today. Then I got sick, and you got your heat... but you know, we did look after each other. And it’s kind of natural that I want to touch my boyfriend”

Lance’s scent had lessened since coming, but was still there. He knew his boyfriend’s stomach had to hurt with craps similar to his earlier ones

“I just... want to be normal with you”

“I think normal went out the window a long time ago. Have you met our friends?”

Lance snorted wetly as he nodded

“Yeah... yeah. I’m sorry. I think my ego was sad you didn’t cuddle me”

“I wanted to. All night I wanted to”

“Me too. Can... can we clean up and cuddle?”

Lance definitely felt nice in his hold, he might just have to fight his boyfriend for the right to be the big spoon. Kissing Lance’s shoulder, Keith then nodded

“That sounds good to me”

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid

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smolbeandrabbles · 5 years ago

Text

I Think He Knows - Orson Krennic x Reader 1 (Rogue One)

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the request dearest Anon! This was a lot of fun, and I got to come at the relationship from a different perspective. I genuinely... LOVE writing him like this.

This also includes the original ending to Gratitude that I lost and subsequently found in my notebook... And fits in well here! 😊 (But is not the end!)

Disclaimer: Star Wars Characters not mine / Plot is request / I own nothing! / Slight AU Premise (As Requested By Anon ❤ ): I have been thinking a lot about an au with a ofc who is outranking Krennic and at first he kinda hates her, but with time he seems to notice the way she looks at him, secretly helps him. And when he accidentally finds that she was trying to promote him, he’s confused and come to her for answers There might be a slight change on the ending you wanted... But I hope you enjoy anyway 😘😘😘💜💙 Words: 5676 Warnings: N/A... Some mild swearing / drinking

__________

I think he knows his hands around A cold glass Make me wanna know that body Like it's mine He got that boyish look that I like in a man I am an architect, I'm drawing up the plans He's so obsessed with me, and boy I understand Boy I understand ...Got that, oh! I mean Wanna see what's under that attitude Like, I want you, bless my soul And I ain't gotta tell him I think he knows I think he knows So where we gonna go? I whisper in the dark Where we gonna go? I think he knows

--- You knew exactly who Orson Callan Krennic was. You’d known all about him since the Futures Programme. Not because you were anywhere near in the same year or class, although, technically you studied the same thing… But because he seemed to show up every so often and flaunt how brilliant he was. Now, you knew the ranking system, so every time you saw him you wondered who exactly he thought he was, and why he’d talk so loud if he was at least as far down the order as he looked. Luckily, you didn’t see him often – but when you’d graduated you’d started working in the same field. Mercifully you didn’t have to work with him, he outranked you and was off in far flung exclusive corners of the galaxy you weren’t going to reach in a hurry, working on projects that at the time you could only dream of being a part of. Only, you didn’t cause problems. You were quiet, you got on with your job and you did it exceptionally well. That earned attention, and luckily the right attention. Because you’d also noticed that every time you heard whispers of Krennic’s name around here it was usually said with distain, and accompanied with all the Galaxy’s gossip about what he was doing to piss someone off this time. The harder you worked, and the more experience you gained – the more niche your skills got, you found yourself becoming indispensable to the Empire. That knowledge swept through your division pretty quick, and soon enough you were stretched to (almost) capacity working on things. People were desperate to have your name attached to anything they could – and now you were a centre of attention that people would back-stab each other to gain on their work. You were careful about that too, and allocated yourself as professionally as possible. What did all this mean for you? Your rank increased, and kept increasing. And suddenly you were sitting in rooms you weren’t supposed to take information out of. That you weren’t even allowed to take equipment into the projects discussed were so secret. In fact – once you passed from one rank into the next you almost stopped hearing Krennic’s name altogether. Because when you walked into a room people stopped talking rumour; just incase you passed it on and they lost their jobs. At first you missed that, but realised quickly that you’d hear it anyway… only now directly from the source. You were almost free to forget about the man entirely. And the first time you ever had to have face-to-face contact with him, in all those years, came as a shock to you. You were sipping coffee in the elevator to your next meeting about another start up project that this time you were expected to head. No problems, you’d lead projects before and you would be trusted to do so with accuracy and efficiency. This one might be a little bigger, but you were confident you could deliver exactly as you were known for. Your assistant was running through the list of assignees to the team and suddenly you found yourself trying not to spit coffee all over the elevator floor; “Sorry, who!?” “Commander Orson Krennic… He’s uh, architecture, intelligence…” “Oh, I know who he is… Did you say Commander?” “Uh, yes. Th- That’s what it says…” He didn’t like the sudden broad smirk that crossed your face as you tried not to look at your own rank bar. You outranked him. You got to walk into a room and look at him and slam your folder down on a table and tell Orson Krennic what to do? Perfect! He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Sure, Krennic had never met you. But he never forgot a face – and when they introduced the project lead he had to check twice. Because this surely wasn’t happening. He remembered you from the Futures Programme. Maybe you’d been in one or two of the lectures he gave; but you always sat with your arms crossed, looking at him like you didn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth. (That or downright bored; leaning on your hands the way that you did). And now you outranked him!? Outranked him and were about to order him around on this particular project, of all things? He was looking forward to this one before you’d walked into the room with your rank bar displayed like that. Stars, what did I do to deserve THIS-!? You spotted Krennic straight away, staring at you with absolute distain. That just made you smirk more; you simply couldn’t help yourself. Seems like someone remembers me calling bullsh*t on all the pretentious nonsense he used to tell us in class. And he didn’t even lecture me all that much. You laughed to yourself, stepping up to give the project presentation, you were the only one in the room briefed, so this whole thing rested on you. You could take the pressure, and you were about to enjoy every second of this! Your eyes flicked to his and you simply had to wink; Payback’s a bitch, Orson Krennic. *** He couldn’t think of anything worse. For the most part, in truth, you left him alone to do what you knew he was best at. But you also kept him on a tight schedule, and it didn’t give him nearly enough time to go sneaking around trying to undermine you. (Apparently something you’d caught onto pretty quick that he liked attempting to do. God bless your colleagues for alerting you to this). You liked knowing what he was doing and where he was going (for you’d left him in charge of a pretty good chunk of the sourcing too), on the hour by the hour. Which was good for you, just in case he got the idea you weren’t watching him incredibly closely. But Krennic hated it (though, he hated it anyway) because every chance you got your sweep out of your office and loudly call him into it. Probably to remind him that he didn’t have his own. Probably also to let everyone know you needed to speak with him again. “KRENNIC! A word-!” Orson shot you a look; absolutely not. He was in the middle of a very important calculation, and if he messed it up, or left it, he’d never get back to it. You could damn well wait. Though, you didn’t like waiting, and when you came out of your office 5 minutes later to find him sitting in exactly the same position he was in before, you sighed; “Krennic! SOME time today!” He slammed his stylus down and his turn to you was quick; “I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME!” Then immediately regretted it when the floor fell silent, and the look on your face told him that, as usual, every jab you made was to get a rise out of him. And it wasn’t often you weren’t successful. He sighed angrily and was forced to concede, feeling his face burning in the moment – he couldn’t tell quite yet whether in rage or embarrassment; “Can I just finish this?” Your eyes narrowed, and your face was almost stern as you folded your arms, “If you’d had said that five minutes ago, I’d have said yes. Not now, get in here.” Krennic stood, and his footfall into your office let you know how mad he was. “I need you to take care of something for me.” Krennic wanted to get argumentative, more than anything – he’d love to have a one on one screaming match at you if that’s what it took. But the more leash you’d give him the better. So he held his tongue. No matter though, it showed clear enough on his face; “Yes?” “You’re from Lexrul, right?” “Yes.” What would this have to do with his home world? “Good – I need to source something from a respectable trader, only my informants indicate that he pretty much won’t speak to anyone who isn’t from his home planet.” Ah, so she needs me. “He’s from Lexrul?” “Correct.” “...I suppose I can do that, if you give me the contact.” “Well, I’d like to be there.” He sighed internally – not enough of a leash, it seemed. “…So it’s set?” “Thursday, yes.” “Then I would be happy to help.” “Good. Kept those figures in your head?” He hesitated for a minute “Excuse me?” “From your calculation…” “Oh. Yes.” “Good, then I was quick enough – get back to it, I don’t want you to forget them… OH! And Krennic!” He turned before he left, “Yes?” “Your work so far has been incredible. Keep it up.” “…Thank… you?” He stepped back out of your office and then scoffed, yeah right… If she thinks she can kill me with kindness she’s got another thing coming… ** Work continued like this for the entirety of the project. And it only served to get worse. Every time you would put Krennic on something that sounded exciting – or might give him that little bit of power - you’d pull him from something else. Or you’d only let him conduct this one meeting, or sit in on this one deal. He realised you were either keeping him from certain information, or making sure you didn’t have to grant him certain access. No matter what your reasoning was. He’d be glad to see the back of you once this was over. But there was something else about you also. That the only time you’d vocalised that you were impressed with him was that meeting. After that you’d kept silent, but your admiration for his work appeared to be from afar. Like you thought saying words would only cause further conflict. Orson would often look up from his work to see you watching him. And he was worried to find that it unnerved him. Not that you watched him; even with his ill feelings for you, it was your job to make sure he was doing his, but it was the way you watched him. Krennic noticed that at first you seemed to hide it with an inquisitiveness, he worked at the other end of your spectrum – your niche was in another silo of architecture altogether. It would make sense for you to be interested. But he noticed that you never asked him about it. And pretty soon he also noticed that you weren’t watching his work, but him. And it wasn’t with interest, or admiration. If he thought he could do anything about it, Orson Krennic knew he would. That using what he saw would give him power over you. He knew that look, he read that look so often in other people – wasn’t he after all also in the intelligence bureau? And this would be intelligence that he could use. You didn’t look at him like a man working on a part of your project. You looked at him like a man you were falling for. Like the man who would take you down with him if he could… *** 9 months later… The lift slid to a halt about 10 floors before he expected it to an he glared momentarily at the buttons. All he wanted was a nice quite ride alone, Thank You! It only got worse when the doors parted and you were standing on the other side of them. You flicked your eyes up and down him and didn’t even bother with a verbal greeting – he’d likely throw back a snide remark or get all grumpy about it anyway. You stepped in and swept around to the keys; only noticing that the floor you wanted was already pressed. Press something else! Press something else! PLEASE be going anywhere but this meeting!!! If Krennic could get it to happen by sheer will he would have – but you took a step away. NO! You were curious though; “Looks like we could be heading to the same project meeting, Commander.” You noticed his intake of breath, and how his body seemed to rise an inch as he straightened and tensed his shoulders. Oh, now you’d pissed him off by addressing him by rank. He also didn’t answer you, which only confirmed your thought, and it became the longest 10 floor ride of either of your lives. You turned to him as you stepped out of the elevator, and once again he saw that look cross your face the same one you’d left burned into his head after the last project, only now you’d learned to hide it well. It was fleeting. And he cursed himself for wishing he could look at it for longer. “Well, Krennic, I’ll see you in the briefing…” With that you swept into the crowd – no doubt to mingle with those of similar rank. He sighed, looking at the bright red strip of his own. One day, he thought to himself, one day I’ll outrank you… and then you’ll see. * The first strategic meeting was okay (The one where everyone with some kind of stakeholder interest in this was present, beyond the working members of the main team themselves), even though he noticed you were sat over there near the front, being lorded on by the higher ups. Not everyone here would be working on the project and Orson realised that, but still... Why he had to sit all the way back here whilst you got to live it up in direct eye-line of anyone important he felt was insulting. And he found himself glaring at your back for the majority of the presentation. Just you wait until you need me for a niche piece of architecture you can’t figure out on your own... The first planning meeting, the one with all the real movers and shakers in it, was where it really heated up. Krennic was almost surprised to receive the invite; he expected hand-me-down information from you at a need to know only level from you at best. When he got to the meeting however, he realised why you’d likely wanted him present. He was among the lowest ranking. The only ones around his rank, or lower, were your assistant and the administration team taking the minutes. He also noticed the place holder names around the table put you directly opposite him. And he knew immediately you’d had a hand in that, even if it had meant swapping them around yourself. But the meeting was hell. If you wanted to embarrass him, to belittle him in a public forum, in front of not only his peers, but people he admired and wanted the admiration of then, by the Stars, had you managed to do that here. In fact at the end he felt so utterly defeated he almost slammed his datapad into your chest and spat his feelings bitterly; I want off this project. I can’t work with you. But that would be showing weakness, and proving you’d broken him. And Krennic couldn’t have that. And that feeling of spite (maybe you wanted him off. And he wouldn’t give in to anything you wanted) was the only thing that made him hang on to his role here. There were lots of points in the meeting, before you’d continually shot him down, that Krennic was happy to be here. Even excited, elated that someone would raise something particularly difficult that he could do. And he would (politely!) raise his arm; “I am more than capable of completing such a task. I would certainly be happy to take it on...” Before you’d come in and cut across; “Our team will take it. Though I am happy enough to put Krennic on my team, you can route the work through me and I can decide where it goes.” He hated you, and he’d never hated you more than right then. Because you knew, you knew, he could do it, you know how desperately he wanted to boost himself a rank and you knew he wanted to prove himself to this particular table. The only reason they even swivelled to you and nodded in agreement was because of your damn rank bar. Without that, in this room, on this subject - that hasten to add, he was an expert on - you would be nothing. Krennic was writing books on this before you were even in the academy and now he had to submit his skills to you. ** There was a bitterness to this project. More so than the last one. And the tension was horiffic – you felt that in the air, and you had to be careful, one foot wrong and it would snap, and you’d be at all out war. Although, you tipped your head surveying him again and biting your lip, when weren’t you putting one foot wrong in his opinion? Krennic spent the project just about acknowledging what you asked him to do, but he gave you no move verbal communication than was absolutely necessary. If he could get away with yes or no then he would. And you hated to admit that it hurt. If he was giving up on snarky sparing matches with you (that you obviously enjoyed) then something was very wrong. You knew he wouldn’t be able to see what you were trying to do for him... but he wasn’t supposed to, you had to go about this correctly. Besides half of the meetings you’d asked him to sit in on for this particular project he wouldn’t be in without you; he had nowhere near the clearance level; and you were giving him that for free. You couldn’t let him simply go off on his own and do it. You needed someone to stare at the magnificent creation and ask you who did it; whose idea, can I work with... “Orson Krennic. Yes.” He’s great. But you knew what Krennic really thought; You wouldn’t let him have any freedom. You didn’t trust him. You’d crush his creativity. There had to be something you could do to show him that wasn’t your aim. After all, that would do neither of you any good... “Orson?” You tried a different route this time, maybe it was gentler to address him by his first name. You knew that rank didn’t work already(!) “Yes...” Apparently not. “I just received the next part of the project.” “Yes?” “I need you to run lead on it.” “Which part?” “All of it.” He looked to you with slight annoyance in those blue eyes, disbelieving. “Who is in charge?” “You are. We’ll finish up here, you’re wasted on this bit.” You placed the drive on his desk that contained exactly what you needed from him; “Do what you do best. Book a meeting with Commander D’Omnynn; he can brief you.” “I assume you want in on this meeting?” You gave a shrug “No...” and stepped away; “This is all yours... just, keep me regularly updated. Okay?” You walked away without either of you uttering another word, and his eyes fell from your frame walking away from him to the drive sitting in front of him. There’s a catch. Where is the catch? He picked it up. What if there wasn’t one this time? Then that left Krennic with one question. Why? *** Krennic worked so hard. So, so, so hard. And you got to watch this from afar with a smile. And hoped he wouldn’t see it. And it was incredible, the amount of files you got back with; This is excellent! Who is working this? or comments about work they’d seen your project, where you got to give a smile “Oh, that would be Krennic...” And more than once it raised surprised eyebrows that you were happy to see proven wrong. So, by the end of the project cycle he was practically running half of it. And Orson seemed a lot more confident; and on occasion he even wore a smile. That meant he was present at the end of project drinks reception... but you were surprised to find him standing alone, sipping from a whisky glass. “Impeccable work, Orson.” He never turned that smile on you, not once. But he couldn’t help doing so at that. And that made you happier than you had been at the outcome of the project. Finally, he might trust you enough to give you his smile. “I suppose, without getting the opportunity to project lead...” “Say nothing of it. I knew you would be the right man for the job...” His face clearly read confused; Either she’s already drunk… or she wants something else… “Surprising really that you didn’t have me on a tighter leash the whole time.” “Why would you say that?” You were curious as to his reasoning. Orson gave a nonchalant shrug; “Oh, well...” he breathed, “you like it don’t you. Lording that rank bar of yours over me.” Part of you rebuked that, part of you couldn’t help but think he was right. And you felt a little ashamed; “I just like being in charge. I earned this rank... just like everyone else.” “Yes, but not everyone else sat in my lectures dying for the day that they could prove me wrong, did they?” “I didn’t necessarily want to prove you wrong...” you still held that small smile, “Maybe I did wanna wipe that smug smirk off your face.” But he didn’t really take that as a light hearted joke. In fact he laughed, almost bitterly and tipped his glass to you; that was sarcasm. “Well, congratulations, Y/N. You succeeded.” He finished the glass, set it down, and fixed you with those blue eyes. You’d lost him, you knew, they were hard and cold and nearly grey. “Now if you’ll excuse me...” Krennic turned away from you, then figured he had more to say and turned back; “I would appreciate it if any time I am put on another project with you, you will pass up the chance to work with me.” “Orson I-” he held up his hand not wanting to hear it, and trying to ignore the pains in his chest at saying this. He had his reasons; he knew what the looks you were giving him were doing to him. It was a confusing and he didn’t like it. Krennic’s only option was to cut it before it began. So he did. “Please. I would like to decline any other offer of work. So, simply don’t make them... maybe I’ll see you around the galaxy, Y/N.” It was all well and good him ignoring his own pains... but you gathered your hands to your own chest. He couldn’t help you ignore yours. *** There was a sharp knock at your door, and you thought twice about answering it – you were busy. If it was important they’d come back. Only the knock was persistent, and sounded a little more than just urgent. When you opened it, you didn’t expect to come face to face with Orson Krennic. Your eyebrows furrowed; oh, now he was actively seeking you out to add another point to his futile argument. Despite the fact you hadn’t seen him for another few months since the Weapons briefing, and also he’d told you he didn’t want to work with you anymore. That left you a little icy with him, if only to try and protect yourself, his words had stung pretty bad; and you’d exchanged pretty sharp glances the entire way through the briefing. You both knew the other one wanted this one badly. Instead of looking angry like he was about to jab accusations at you, he looked perplexed. For a second both of you stood in silence – because you wanted him to admit to you why he was here, and he didn’t want to voice it. So instead you were standing in a silent corridor staring each other down with two equally confused expressions. Krennic conceded, and his eyes lowered from yours as he held up the thick sheet of folded paper; “…I… Don’t understand…” You were glad he wasn’t looking at your face, because for half a second you knew that sheer panic crossed it. He wasn’t supposed to know about it! He at least wasn’t supposed to know it was you who had recommending him – you narrowed your eyes slightly. Bastards-! You couldn’t trust anyone in this Galaxy! You took a moment to compose yourself and spoke; “Why?” His eyes raised, and he looked at least slightly ashamed “…I thought…” “You probably thought right, but I know someone worthy of a promotion when I see one.” Krennic gained a slight squint at your ‘compliment’ – but he wanted more of an answer than that; “That doesn’t explain why…” You nodded to the paper, “You shouldn’t even know it was me. I don’t need to explain anything.” “I don’t have the commendation – I just have your name.” You folded your arms and leant against the door frame; “So, you think I’m just going to let you read it?” “…E… Even if you just give me the highlights.” “No.” “Why?!” “You have no right to information! That’s meant to be anonymous – they’ll probably tell you when they give you your new rank bar. Are we done?” You stepped back but he took a step forward; “Y/N! I’m not leaving until you tell me why.” Narrowing your eyes again, you attempted to push him backwards, but he wasn’t budging. “Orson Callan Krennic! Until you get that new rank, I still out rank you! GET OUT OF MY ROOM!” He sounded both panicked and exasperated as he ran his hands through his hair; “That’s not the point! I thought you wanted this!!!” “The battle station project? – I do. But I still know when someone can do the work better than me. And you can. More importantly, that’s what the Empire needs… and you have the process and resource. You do that right, you’re going to be more than just promoted.” He looked to the paper again; apparently every word out of your mouth was only serving to confuse him more; “…But it’d do the same for you.” “But you want it. So take it. Besides…” You offered a small smile “You know me, I’ll work quietly in the background, and should you fail…” You gave a shrug “Guess it’s mine.” Suddenly your smile transferred to him; “If I fail, you’re in as bad a position as me.” He waved the letter “You promoted me.” “Orson, honey, you can be one in a long line of mistakes I’ve made – the trick is, if you make yourself indispensable. People overlook that – how is it my fault if you don’t live up to expectations.” There was a subtle step back at that, not the sentence. The word. You’d just given him a cute nick-name without a second thought, and he didn’t know if that or the letter was the more confusing thing of the day. And now he was having trouble focusing his thought pattern on where he was previously heading… Krennic was usually quicker than this, and as you had to wait for another retaliation, and he searched your room as if somehow the words he was looking for would be somewhere in here – you sighed. “Orson…” Your voice was soft and it brought his focus back to you “Come here… sit down… If you won’t leave without knowing why, and you’re gonna stand in my doorway looking like that, we might as well get comfortable and talk about this…” He was slightly hesitant at first, but the good intentions look on your face persuaded him to take the offered seat on your couch. “Drink?” He gave a firm nod and you crossed the room; you would assume him a whisky man, and would join him. Why would you drink anything less - by the look on his own face both of you might be in need of this by the time the night was through. You turned back to him eyeing your living quarters suspiciously, which made you chuckle. “Relax yourself Orson, this should be more of a celebration afterall... you’re not in trouble. When they present you your bar, I’ll hardly even be able to tell you what to do - which I think is what you want, isn’t it?” But that meant you wouldn’t look at him the way you did, or smile at him like that absentmindedly either. Would you work together now? Could you co-head projects. He smiled at his own thought - he might enjoy that a lot, he realised. Equals. It would be a new experience, but he would like to get used to it. You sat up on the couch, curling your legs up under you and handing him his glass; “…I’m not going to repeat the letter. But part of me is surprised you’d actively seek me out to find out why.” “…I…” He tipped his head and took a sip, words were clearly going to be a struggle for a man who didn’t exactly use them sparingly; but knew smarter ways to use them. “…Guess I just wouldn’t expect you to be the one. All you’ve ever done is push me.” “Yes.” “…And it hasn’t exactly ever been nice pushing. Every chance you get you push me down. Our last project you stole everything from me our first meeting and then went ahead and gave it to me anyway once I was assigned to you. Even I know it’s so you can walk around with that rank and…” He paused at the perplexed look on your face “…I’m…wrong?” “A little.” You gave a smile “Yes. I pushed you; and now you’re here. Doing work, no offense, you wouldn’t get to do without me. In meetings you wouldn’t be in without my invite. I didn’t do what I did in the briefing to undermine you – I did it to strengthen your position.” You set your glass down with a sigh; “Think about it. Sure you’re experienced; but even you know you have a reputation in this galaxy Orson. And it’s not the same reputation as me. They trust me to get it done, and they will overlook you. In a room like that the project is going one way even if you’re the smartest man in it.” You pointed to yourself “I’m not even sure it’s rank related; but if you want to use that against me, I suppose you’re more welcome.” It was clear he didn’t like some of the words that came out of your mouth, but he decided to swallow his pride with his whisky instead of argue with you. “You’re telling me you did all of that for my own good.” “Yes.” “Bullsh*t.” “Believe that if you want to. You’re outstanding at what you do. If I have to make people see that I will. Now you have the opportunity to make them see it for themselves. Go do it, don’t squander it.” You narrowed your eyes slightly; “And be respectful that it’s my name on that promotion slip.” He finished his glass and set it down; “Is it really because you think I deserve it?” You scoffed “What else would it be?” When he turned those blue eyes back on you, it was a knowing look. And it saw right through you. Your breath momentarily caught. “…I know, how you look at me.” He shook his head, “And I think I understand that feeling even less.” You bit your lips together, and you couldn’t hold those eyes. Faint pink crossed your cheeks, but it didn’t need to for him to know he was right. “…I can separate personal and professional, Krennic. It has nothing to do with my… feelings.” “So you admit you have them-!?” He was amazed at that, that you would just outright tell him. If your aim was to confound him even more you were certainly succeeding. You sighed, almost sounding defeated, and finally when you looked back to him, it was that look in your eyes he missed so much from the first project you’d worked on together; you weren’t hiding it, and you weren’t holding it back. And you came to a sudden realisation of your own; he already knew. “Y/N… I-” Krennic paused. How could he not know what to say? Maybe there wasn’t anything to say? But how could there not be. There was so much to say – too much to say? And he was as caught between personal feelings, that he’d kept at bay so easily since he’d walked away from you at the celebration, and professional ones; the things he should say at your commendation to lead to his promotion. He’d be a Director now. That was all on you. He’d head a Division of his own. He’d work on the battle station. He would lead that work. There was a long silence, and when he opened his mouth again you knew why. “Thank you.” Suddenly every feature was sincere “…I don’t think I’ll… say it enough…” It was quiet admittance. And you knew he’d probably never say it again. You smiled, that same small smile that always brought him back to you from a galaxy far, far away. “You don’t need to say it. I know.” Something in his blue eyes stirred and he realised you had no idea, that he would know how you felt from every non-verbal interaction you’d ever given him. That you had no idea he felt similarly. Until right now. Something was so clear about the way he was sitting across from you, that he would even bother coming here to ask questions – and wouldn’t just take the promotion whilst brushing the name aside. You took the initiative. “So, the question…” you nearly smirked, knowing he’d like this; “…Director, is where do we go from here? Because I think for once, I’m pretty unclear…” Krennic leant closer to you, and you realised you weren’t about to back out of this; “…I don’t know…” His lips hovered over yours; “…But we can start here…”

---

🙏🙏 Thank You For Requesting! 💙🥰

@dennismitchell @happyskywhale @wltz-bby #MendoTagSquad.

#77 #Linzi Writes Requests #Orson Krennic #Director Orson Krennic #Director Krennic #Director Krennic x Reader #Ben Mendelsohn #I almost forgot him again!#Rogue One #My tagging is so inconsistent God help me!#BW1 #Oh Look another song from Lover...#it's a little Vince but I figured it worked for this too!!#And I feel it's true to her as a reader character. And his particular attitude in this Fic.#Linzi Writes #AU:Lorena

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theficempire · 7 years ago

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Shopping Trip - part 1

Wordless Leia drives Killian into a shopping spree beyond limits ( Inspired by a friend who told me about her father bringing her out when she could barely talk and came back with a bag full of toys).

The dew pearled onto the apex of the leaves outstretched from the boughs of the Apple tree in their backyard. The weight of the water droplets rocked their laminas back and forth, glistening in the morning sun as light reflected off its misty surface. The aroma of fluffy pancakes wafted throughout the air, accompanied by the bitter-sweet diaphanous fragrance of coffee. A hint of cinnamon was not to be forgotten as hot chocolate was the beverage of choice for the adolescents and toddlers of the Swan-Jones residence.

It was a pleasant Saturday morning for the family, however, work and studies broke the unspoken rule of sleeping in. Emma and Killian got up at the unconventional hour of 8am - half making breakfast and half swooning over each other and whispering sweet nothings.

“You know Swan, this hot stove is making me feel a tad bit feverish and I heard that touching certain parts of your body helps cool you down.” He nibbles her left ear and attracts his hand and hook to her core, caressing her hips as he pulls her back closer to his chest. Burying his face into her blond tresses. Breathing in her amorous scent of hibiscus and lilacs. Making her bite her lower lip at the flirtatious nature of her husband and leans back to feel the warmth he radiates and also a bulge prodding her rear end.

“Stop..ha ha ha!” She slaps the back of his hand that was advancing south.

“We have to make breakfast for the kids!” She breaks into giggles at the tickles of his left hand. The couple was soon immersed in their bout of playfulness. Poking and tickling each other while laughing jovially.

“Oh god..get a room you two!” Henry was halfway sloppily descending the stairs when he heard the giggles, by then he already knew what antics his love-struck parents were up to. Henry gaited towards the dining table and took a sit, with a slighted expression.

“Good morning to you too lad!” Killian smiled at the boy, who couldn’t help but flash a toothy grin. Despite being tired of his parents’ frequent lovey dovey tomfoolery, Henry was still happy and grateful that they were so compatible, and that alone was enough to make up for the embarrassingly romantic demeanour the couple exhibited.

“Ma Ma! Pa Pa!” Leia came padding down the stairs next, dashing to her parents. The little one was only two years of age and was limited to the two words, enough to call for her parents. Demanding to be held.

“Hello sweetie! You’re going to be spending today with daddy! Are you excited?” Emma cupped the face of their little girl as Killian carried her in his arm.

Her reply was a zealous nod, earning a kiss from her parents on both sides of her cheeks.

“Alright lass, it’s time for you to eat your breakfast. Big day today! Daddy’s gonna show you one hell of a time!” Killian babbled to Leia, making her bounce in his arms. He proceeds her to spin her around, holding her carefully and setting her down on at the dining table - like his little princess. Killian goes back to helping Emma plate the pancakes and draws a smiley face with whipped cream on Leia’s.

“A little over the top there, daddy.” Emma winks at Killian to which he clicks his tongue as a response. Henry pretends not to hear it as he tries to teach little Leia how to say his name in the background, but she hasn’t quite reached that level of speech.

“Breakfast….is served!” Emma arrived at the table and set two plates down, with Killian following behind and doing the same. The family of four sat down and ate their breakfast, laughing joyously like they usually did. Soon Emma left for work, Henry left to study with his friends and Leia and Killian departed for a day out.

The pair entered the main street. Leia donned a little baby pink dress that accentuated her grassy eyes and complimented her blonde pigtails - courtesy of Emma. The only thing Leia was missing was a tiara to match her white slippers. Killian was in his usually get up. Leather jacket jet black, a crew neck white shirt underneath, fitting navy jeans, and black boots. Leia stood side by side her father, holding onto his hook as they walked. It’s shiny and sharp appearance never bothering her, in fact, it was with Killian that she felt safest. It was with him that she was filled with laughter and smiles and even though she could not talk, her happiness spoke volumes to Killian. It made his heart melt just to see her smile and he would have sailed past tumultuous seas and fought the most vicious beasts, just to see it again. Killian Jones’ fierce and intimidating exterior could be rendered none in the presence of his daughter. But don’t be fooled as he would have slaughtered without mercy at those who would dare harm a hair on her precious little head.

A toddler’s tug stopped Killian in his tracks, he turned his head and looked down at his baby girl, wondering what had caught her attention.

“Pa Pa.” Little Leia mumbled out, looking at her father and then at the stuffed rabbit in the toy shop, white polyester fur-coated animal, with beady black eyes and a rosy beige nose, alluring any child within a 50-metre radius. Killian was still confused until he saw what she was looking at.

“Leia, lass.. would you like the rabbit?” Killian asked his daughter, to which she replied with only a smile, one that he couldn’t resist. The pirate who had relinquished gold doubloons for credit cards, entered the store, with Leia by his side and ready to fulfil her every request.

Little Leia padded into the store, arms waving in excitement and giggling, with Killian following closely behind with quickened footsteps. The shop was abundant without any discrimination. The little white rabbit was in Leia’s arms and with rapid ardour red capped Paddington took its place, followed by many more. Soon, Killian lugging was a bag, brimming with the store’s inventory. Leia ran amok, liberating giggles with every spring in her step with arms stretched out, if she had wings she would have soared. She went out of the view of her father who began to search for her feverishly.

A crest caught her eye, one made of black velvet. It had a sterling strap laced around its edges, as well as a nautical symbol of an anchor imprinted at its core. The little girl did not shy away from breaking the confines of masculinity and femininity and gaze upon the hat before crowning herself, along with a matching eye patch which she had found to wear. After fixing her perfect look, Leia felt that something was missing, she stared contemplatively into the mirror, hoping that it will answer her. Something in the corner of her reflecting waved at her, telling her what she was looking for.

Turning around, she dashed across the room. She stopped at a tub of swords and wielded the styrofoam blade by its plastic hilt. Her outfit was complete.

Meanwhile, Killian was panicking, combing the store with a satchel full of toy hanging by his hook and looking for his daughter.

“Leia! LEIA! WHERE ARE YOU LASS?!” Killian hollered as a million thought races through his mind on the whereabouts of his daughter.

“Pa Pa!” Leia called out from behind.

“Oh thank the gods.” Killian breathed a sigh of relief as he turned around to meet his baby girl who was in a prideful stance and dressed as a pirate. Leia’s eyes suggested to him that she wanted to know what he thought about her new look.

“Aw…sweetheart you look absolutely adorable!” Killian cooed as he lost all control over maintaining his image and scooped Leia up, tickling her with kisses. Leia responded with a giggle fit and rubbing her grin marked cheek against the one placed on her by her father’s embrace.

“It’s your wife, it’s your wife, it’s your wife!” the ringtone, that was set by Emma for her call, enumerated an incogitant buzz. Killian put Leia down and pressed on the urgent green with a stylus embedded inconspicuously on the tip of his hook. He kept a wary eye one Leia as he brought the phone up to his ear and as well as when he was speaking to Emma through the gadget.

“Hello, Swan! How’s work? Did you miss the little princess and I too much?” Killian cocked a mischievous eyebrow.

“Hello…hubby.” Emma cooed, with a seductive aftertaste.

“Mmm…” Killian approved.

“I’m done with all the damn paperwork, and I’m getting off work. How are you and Leia doing?” Emma asked, half exasperated but fuelled by the thought of getting out of the station.

“Our little…pirate and I are doing great! Shall we meet for dinner?” Killian rethought his choice of words with a stifle of a hearty laugh.

“That sounds fantastic, I’ll see you later…Captain.” Killian could feel Emma wink through the phone.

“See you soon love..” Killian turned around for a moment, his back facing Leia as he tried to be discreet while planting his legs down facing her.

“One more thing Swan…” he smirked

“Hmm?” She raised her eyebrows in question.

“You’re not the only one getting off….see you tonight.” Killian thought it appropriate to end the call and focused his eyes back onto baby Leia with a smile that he hoped she could not comprehend.

Emma bit her lips at her husband’s delightful crass innuendo but thought back to something.

“Little pirate? That’s new.” She wondered.

“Leia love, are you excited to see Mommy?” Killian squatted down to establish eye contact.

#captain swan #cs ff #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan baby #cs baby #once upon a time #ouat #future fic #killian jones #captain hook #emma swan #henry mills #oncers #captain cobra #swan jones family

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thefreckledone · 8 years ago

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fluff friday “gas station” {borage}

is it still friday? hell no, but I don’t care!

A bracing chill greets Sakura as she opens the cooler. She draws out a glass bottle of Coca-Cola, enjoying the jolt of cold that sweeps through her as her fingers encircle its body. As she meanders toward the counter, Sakura grabs a few different types of sour candy, a sickeningly sweet bar of white chocolate, and a bag of Hershey kisses.

She places her spoils upon the counter in front of the cashier, whose bored gaze looks over her items, unimpressed. “Will that be all?” he asks, scratching along the raggedy mustache he wears to appear older than he is.

Sakura hums, looking at the display behind him. “A dozen packs of Camels, three of Marlboro, and one Lucky Strike.” She rocks on her heels, ignoring the cashier’s suddenly incredulous look. “And two lotto cards; any type.”

“Are you even old enough?” he asks.

Sakura frowns at him severely, tossing him her ID. She bites back her automatic retort of: “Are you?” and settles to looking out the window.

The shadows are growing long and Sakura hums in distaste. He is far too impatient for his own good, despite his proclamations of disinterest.

“Your total is $86.78,” the boy says, tossing the candy and cigarettes into a bag.

Sakura nods, swiping her card and plucking her beverage from the counter. “Have a nice day,” she says sweetly, flouncing out the front.

Sakura removes the pump from her car fondly, patting the hood with genuine affection. “You’re doing wonderfully, Edelweiss. Not too much longer now…” She glances down at the stretching shadows, far too long for the time of day. “Patience. I’ll deal with you in a moment.”

Sakura climbs into her car, grinning into her rearview mirror. “You are far too hasty,” she says, dumping the contents of the plastic bag into the empty seat next to her.

The candy falls, but all of the cartons of cigarettes are caught, suspended by a strange translucent but dark matter. Sakura has long since gotten used to these strange shadows, though they still mess with her peripheral vision. The heavy scent of smoke fills the vehicle as a grunt of dismay is made.

“Lucky Strike, really? You know how much I hate the taste.”

“Just trying to keep you on your toes, Shikamaru,” Sakura replies, resisting the urge to glance to the backseat where his voice emanates. He will not be there; she hasn’t expended enough energy to bring him fully to this plane. “You know how I like to tease.”

“Torture more like,” comes the muttered reply, breath warm against her ear.

Sakura refuses to jump and Shikamaru exhales against her ear before leaning back.

“You bought lottery tickets too!” Shikamaru says, shadows picking up the tickets. “You know your chances of winning anything…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sakura replies. “Relying on luck here.”

“Better to not expend your luck on a waste like this. We don’t have the luxury to spare.”

Sakura shakes her head, cranking up the car. In truth, she bought the tickets just to heckle Shikamaru. She doesn’t particularly care what he chooses to do with the tickets.

Sakura shifts gears, moving the car out around to the back of the gas station where a dirt trail begins. The shadows thicken as the car moves beneath the trees, blocking out the sun. Sakura turns, catching the flickering form of Shikamaru’s body.

“You’re growing stronger,” Sakura comments, turning her eyes back to the road as it begins to get bumpier.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” the still ill-defined shadow figure says.

Sakura rolls her eyes affectionately. “We’re here,” she says, parking the car on the side of the road and grabbing her satchel, candy, and Coke.

“What are you planning?” Shikamaru asks, suspicion clear in his voice.

“The same thing I’ve been planning since this all started,” Sakura replies, heading into the copse of trees.

It is even darker here and Shikamaru’s form is almost fully visible. Sloe eyes, claw tipped hands, and long, strong arms become visible against the shadow backdrop of his body.

Sakura looks around, nodding decisively and sitting down beneath a tree that towers high above them. She unwraps her sour straws, popping a few in her mouth as she opens her satchel. Her fluorescent pink candle is set up quickly and she tests the ground with her metal stylus. It gives way easily and Sakura sends a quick prayer of gratitude to the heavens for the recent rains.

She draws out a strange combination of hieroglyphs and runes in a circle around the candle.

“You’re summoning him?” Shikamaru asks with distaste, the scent of cigarettes overpowering the sour sweet taste in her mouth.

Ash coats her tongue, bitter and acrid, as she replies, “He has the best information. I have to find her.”

Shikamaru sighs, smoke wafting around Sakura’s head in a haze. “Try not to overexert yourself,” he says, hand clasping her shoulder.

Sakura notes that he is fully present now, pale claw tipped hand firmly resting on her shoulder. She feels a jolt of energy and glances up at him severely. “No helping,” she says. “You did enough last time.”

“Troublesome,” he mutters, but he pulls his hand away and sinks into the shadows of the trees. “Tell me when you want me to send the bastard away.”

Sakura shakes her head, eyes slipping shut as she breathes deeply. She feels a flicker within her chest, a timid flame burning at the wick. Sakura blinks drowsily, looking down at the candle.

It is lit.

There is a low rumbling in the air, a soft hum that lulls and soothes. Sakura refuses to close her eyes.

“Madara,” she calls quietly. “Madara, I know you are here.”

She is hit with the scent of cloves and myrrh, an interesting combination to be sure, but a welcome relief to the cigarette smoke that clings to her like cobwebs.

“Never can trick you, can I?” is breathed so close to the shell of her ear that she cannot keep from flinching.

Madara appears in a fit of laughter, red eyes amused as he stares her down. His are eyes of death, the harbinger of ill tidings. His are eyes that truly see.

It is the reason she has summoned him after all.

“And how may I assist you today?”

“I need intel,” Sakura says, ripping into a pack of sour chews. She feels the zipping shock of energy that keeps her focused. It is rather difficult to tether two others at once. “I need to speak with the information broker but he has been quite elusive.”

“I am an information broker,” Madara says, looking strangely upset. “I possess the Sharingan, the seeing eyes.”

“And can you give me information on her?” Sakura presses. “You are good, Madara, but your leads on her have run cold and dry. I need something new.”

Madara frowns, averting his gaze as he taps his fingers along his knee in what Sakura has come to recognize as a thoughtful gesture. “And my reward?”

“A kiss, as usual,” Sakura replies evenly. “Unless you want to change the price?”

“No, a kiss is just fine,” Madara says, smirk sinuous. “Very well. As you well know, we brokers function on different planes and separate domains from each other. Keeps down the bloodshed. While no other broker comes close to my level of skill, the second best option is probably Kakuzu.”

“Kakuzu,” Sakura murmurs, unfamiliar with the name.

Madara nods. “He’s a stingy bastard, but his information is always good. He’s not like the rest of us; he’s tetherless.”

“Tetherless?” Sakura asks. “How am I supposed to speak to him if I can’t summon him?”

“He doesn’t need to be summoned,” Madara says. “He lives within the mortal coil.”

“Is he…” Sakura trails off.

Is he like me? remains unspoken.

“No,” Madara replies. “No, he is of a similar type to me. Kakuzu has discovered a way to linger in your realm without human assistance. He refuses to reveal the secret, but he will not long be the only one.”

“Anything else I need to know about him?” Sakura asks, biting into another piece of candy. It is so damn hard to stay focused in these moments, to tether two beings at once.

“He’s a bounty hunter,” Madara says. “That’s why he stays so connected with all that happens within this realm. You need to be careful; you already have a bounty on your head.”

Sakura glances at Shikamaru, smirking slightly. “We’ll manage.”

“Well you need to head here.” Sakura sways as a map appears in Madara’s hand and he passes it over to her. “Kakuzu lingers at the Blind Donkey.” Sakura wrinkles her nose. Madara chuckles. “I never said he had taste.”

“Thank you for your time Madara,” Sakura says, bowing her head and reciting the words to break their contract.

“And my kiss?” Madara asks, eyes lidded.

Sakura tosses him the bag of Hershey kisses. “Here.”

Madara examines the bag, a wide, triumphant grin curling his lips. “This isn’t a new type of kiss,” he says. “You’ve given me this kind before.” He stands and moves toward her, tilting her head up with gentle fingertips. “Pucker up.”

Sakura raises a hand to block him, taking the bag from him. “These are ‘air delight’ Hershey kisses,” she says. “They’re aerated milk chocolate. I haven’t given you this type before. My debt is paid.”

Madara scrutinizes the bag, shoulders slumping. “Well, it was worth a try.”

His wry smile is the last thing Sakura sees before he is engulfed in golden, shimmery light and disappears.

Sakura rocks back on her heels, limbs heavy. Something cool touches her shoulder. She looks up, meeting Shikamaru’s gaze.

“Here,” he says gruffly, thrusting the chocolate bar into her face.

Sakura pulls away the paper, biting into the overtly sweet chocolate. “Thanks.”

“I don’t like relying on Madara so much. We know what he wants,” Shikamaru says, hands tightening on her shoulders. “What do you plan to do when you run out of different Hershey kiss types?”

“Then I’ll give him a different type of kiss, just as our contract says,” Sakura says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll kiss his hand or something.”

Shikamaru hums, distaste clear but Sakura is thankful that he doesn’t comment further. She leans up against his chest, her flushed cheek pressed to the cold skin at his throat. They sit in silence as Sakura eats the candy bar and regains her strength.

Finally, Sakura stands firmly, gathering her materials.

She turns to Shikamaru, smiling. “Let’s go.”

Sakura drums her fingers along the steering wheel, staring at the bar across the street. It’s one of those holes in the walls without the eccentricity to make it quaint. The neon sign with some burnt out letters informs her that this is where she needs to be.

“I’ll be there as your shadow,” Shikamaru says. “I’ll be ready if things go south.”

“It’s fine,” Sakura says, patting her Apache revolver. “I’ll have Borage at my side as well.” She glances into the backseat, biting her lip as she weighs whether to bring her rifle or not. “I don’t think we’ll be needing Gladiolus today.”

“As you say,” Shikamaru says. “Try not to get into a troublesome situation.”

Sakura laughs, shaking her head as she climbs out of the car. “No promises.”

She tucks her revolver into the holster at her waist, slips on her coat, and briskly makes her way across the street. She smiles up at the bouncer, flashing him her ID and stepping into the bar.

The room is clouded with smoke and the thrum of jazz music seeps into Sakura’s bones, livening her. The patrons huddle into small groups, shying away from public view. It is rather obvious that Sakura does not belong here in her spring green dress, calf-high boots, and white pea coat. However, she feels at home here, waltzing over to the dingy bar and sending a dazzling smile the bartender’s way.

The bartender snaps to attention, making her way over to Sakura. “What can I do you for sugar?”

Sakura leans against the bar, smile still coy. “I need a person, Kakuzu.”

The bartender blinks, crossing her arms and frowning. “Never heard of him.”

“I need some information from him,” Sakura says, ignoring the bartender’s body language.

“Can’t help you—”

“He’s upstairs,” someone else interrupts.

Sakura turns, taking in sweeping silver hair and a single tired eye. “Thanks,” she says, feeling the strange sensation of Shikamaru pulling at her shadow. He doesn’t want her here.

“Staircase is over there,” the man says, pointing.

Sakura nods, weaving her way through the crowd to the rickety staircase in the corner. She glances around as she steps onto the stairs before kicking out at her shadow.

“What was that for?” Shikamaru hisses.

“Why did you pull on my shadow?” Sakura asks, turning away from the bar. “You know how uncomfortable it is!”

“That guy at the bar was…odd,” Shikamaru replies. “There was something off about him.”

“Well…he isn’t what I’m here for,” Sakura says. “What I’m here for is upstairs.”

“Just…be careful,” Shikamaru says, shadow form flickering as he brushes against her. “Something about this whole thing is making me uneasy.”

Sakura presses her fingers against the shadow on the wall. “I’ll try.”

She hears his muttered, “Troublesome,” as she heads up the stairs. The blare of the saxophone thrums through the walls as Sakura approaches the door at the top of the stairs. She pushes open the door, glancing around inside.

She immediately feels his presence. Kakuzu lounges behind a desk, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he leafs through the papers piled high on his desk. Sakura notices that despite his casual position, he favors his left side, where she assumes he keeps a weapon.

“State your business,” he says, not even looking up at her.

“I need information,” she says, striding forward and sitting primly in the chair across him.

“And what will you give me in return?” he asks, looking up. His eyes are a striking red and green and they narrow in behind her. “Well, well, looks like you have a managed to tether a familiar. Congratulations, you have my attention.”

“What is it you want in return?” Sakura asks.

Kakuzu leans forward, folding his hands on the desk. “I’d like your name.”

“Okay—”

“Your clan name.”

Sakura swallows.

“Sakura, don’t!” Shikamaru says.

“Do you have information on Ino Yamanaka?” Sakura asks, ignoring Shikamaru’s protestations. “She…fell into the between eight years ago. She’s human but she’s the most stubborn person in the world. If anyone could survive the between, it’s her.” Sakura jumps as Kakuzu begins to laugh uncontrollably. “What is it? What the hell is so funny?”

“You,” he says. “You are unbelievably naïve. It’s adorable frankly.”

Sakura leaps onto the desk, fisting her hand in his shirt and pulling her revolver from its holster. She presses the blade against his throat. “Do you know where she is?” Sakura demands. “Do you know?”

“Sakura!” Shikamaru says, manifesting in full form.

Kakuzu looks up at her, face serious. “It is interesting to see how undone this makes you. I could easily raise the price and you wouldn’t even fight it, would you? Nevertheless, my price remains the same. Your clan name for information on Yamanaka.”

“Sakura, you can’t give him that power—”

“Haruno,” Sakura says, staring him down unflinchingly. The blade of her gun is still pressed to his throat. “Now give me what I want.”

“Haruno,” he says, almost tasting the name, and his voice makes something within Sakura tremble with fear and anticipation. She presses the blade closer to his throat and watches the rivet of ichor that rises beneath the weapon. The revolver is cocked and the barrel is loaded. She is ready to break him if he backs out of the deal. “Calm yourself. I never break a contract.”

Sakura glances back to Shikamaru who is back in shadow form and sullenly silent. She will receive no help from him. She hops off the desk, pulling out a vial and allowing the golden ichor to drip into it. She knows better than to waste ingredients, especially one as valuable as this.

Kakuzu watches with an air of detached amusement. “Ino Yamanaka is a well-known name among those from between. I am surprised you have not heard yet.”

“She’s alive?” Sakura asks, needing the verbal confirmation. After so many years…is her journey finally at an end?

“She’s more than alive; she’s thriving.”

“She’s alright? She’s well? Then why hasn’t she returned?” Sakura presses her hands against the desk, staring Kakuzu down.

“You misunderstand me. She’s thriving by our standards. Ino Yamanaka is one of the rising rulers of the between. She’s been able to travel between your realm and ours for years without a tether.” Kakuzu leans forward, eyes dancing wickedly as he says, “Ino Yamanaka has made a name for herself as the bloodiest of the rulers of the between. She’s killed hundreds of your kind and thousands of mine.”

“No,” Sakura mutters, stumbling backwards.

“She’s been able to visit you for years. The only reason she hasn’t is because she doesn’t want to see you. Face it; you’ve been forgotten.”

“No!” Sakura screams, turning and fleeing from the room. She is unaware of the way all the lights and bottles at the bar have shattered. Everything is a blur as Sakura runs to the haven of her car.

She comes back to full awareness with her head down, staring at her scraped knees as she sits in the trunk of her car.

“How are you feeling?” Shikamaru asks, pressing a bag of sour gummy worms into her shaking hands.

“Terrible,” Sakura manages to say, rubbing at her eyes before digging into the candy gratefully.

“We shouldn’t have gone to Kakuzu. He’s going to take advantage of your clan name, I just know it,” Shikamaru says, clucking over her with worry like a mother hen.

“That’s not it,” Sakura says. “I can handle Kakuzu.”

“Then what is it?” he asks, ashy breath hot against her face.

“It’s Ino,” Sakura says, face crumpling. “Don’t you see? It’s my fault!”

“No it’s not!” Shikamaru replies vehemently.

“Ino didn’t fall,” Sakura says quietly. “She was pushed. By me. She didn’t come back because she hates me.”

Shikamaru falls silent, lost. He doesn’t know how to fix this.

Sakura stares down at her hands with a scowl, tormented by her memories.

“Ha!” Shikamaru crows, uncharacteristically loud.

Sakura startles, turning around and looking into the backseat of the car.

Shikamaru waves something in her face, smirking.

It’s the lottery ticket.

“Guess who just won you $500?” Shikamaru says. “Looks like our luck is looking up!”

Sakura glances up at the stars, suddenly aware of the fact that, somewhere, Ino is looking at the same sky. She stands, palming the offered ticket. She smiles at Shikamaru and closes the trunk.

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

yes, sakura names all of her possessions after flowers because ino taught her the language of the flowers. she’s sentimental like that.

borage means courage

edelweiss means nobility, purity

gladiolus means strength of character, honor, conviction

#fluff friday #my fic #Sakura Haruno #shikamaru nara #Madara Uchiha #kakuzu #shikasaku #some type of modern!magic!au #seriously look up an apache revolver #it looks so wicked

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keaalu · 7 years ago

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Remember Me, chapter two

Title (chapter): Remember Me (02)

Series: Transformers, G1-based “Blue” AU

Rating: PG-13

Notes: In which we find out that what do you know, Ramjet’s trine aren’t a bunch of total incompetents, or at least not all the time.

Today was apparently Slipstream’s turn to spark-sit.

It hadn’t been, to start with – but Footloose had been called away at short notice to an emergency in the recycling plant on the edge of the district and pleaded his help. He didn’t mind giving his twin a hand, especially if it might lead to the opportunity to blackmail her later.

Skydash might have been small, but that first-instar frame apparently had oversized tanks because she always had energy to spare. Keeping up with her was usually a collective affair. Only her dam Celerity seemed to be able to manage it on her own, and that was probably only because she was big enough for a cold-fusion core generator. (Slipstream tried not to be jealous of it.)

Slipstream had collected his little cousin from Surefire, currently on spark-duty in the makeshift nursery in Celerity’s office, then joined up with a small group of close friends and family to take his mid-orn break in one of Deixar’s small new parks. It was greener than most Cybertronians were familiar with, but the trees weren’t just decorative – a small energy collector grafted onto each plant’s trunk fed power into the grid, or any tired machine that wanted to take advantage of it.

After downloading the latest news to his wafer, the blue mech crashed out in the shade of a nice mature tree to read it while he charged. Longbeam and Whitesides sat together nearby, catching up on the gossip, sharing the remains of a bag of bright fulminating candies (probably swiped off Pulsar’s desk). Sunspot, one of Slipstream’s housemates, lounged full length nearby, chewing a stylus and preparing a playlist; the little yellow bike had almost offlined in shock at being invited to put something together for the Vosian celebrations, and had since spent at least ten orns solid doing nothing else.

All the inactivity had left Skydash bored. Nobody was doing anything except talk and sit. She wanted to call “Unnolawp” and get him to take her flying, but her little transmitter didn’t have a good enough power output yet to reach him (she knew; she’d tried already) and Unnolseem wouldn’t call him for her.

Unimpressed by having her family refuse to take her with them to New Vos, Skydash was busy trying to get to the tallest point on the small tree nearby, to see if it’d be tall enough for her to see all the way out there. Unfortunately the spindly trunk wasn’t really up to supporting her weight, and every time she got a fraction higher than halfway, it bowed almost all the way in half to dump her back on her small aft.

So frustrating!

She sprawled dramatically over her cousin’s lap, on top of his newssheet, scrolling through a dozen or so pages at once. “Unnolseem. Why Day not take?”

Slipstream set his wafer to one side and flicked one of her tiny wing-nubs. “Didn’t we go through this two breems ago, Scraplet? Because he’s at work, and it’s a building site, and you’re still little and squish-able.”

“Took before.”

“He wasn’t at work before.”

“But want see! Make fly!”

“Footloose said she’d come and pick you up as soon as she was done with her latest trauma case, remember? Isn’t she good enough for going for a fly with?”

Skydash thought about it for a few seconds. “Yes? Not Day.”

“Ugh. Some people are never satisfied.”

With an exaggerated roll of the optics, Slipstream rolled her out of his lap and tumbled her down the little slope; giggling, she finally fetched up against Longbeam. The tall femme peered down on her for a second before posting a candy into the small mouth that opened expectantly at her, like the gape of a baby bird.

No wonder Dash kept them running most of the time. She was always getting topups.

Slipstream stretched out more comfortably and flicked his way back to his place in the news. It surely wouldn’t have been that big a deal to take the little scrap off to Vos? It wasn’t like she often actually detached from Thundercracker’s shoulders when the big jet was looking after her.

The sound of approaching jet engines shaded subtly into his awareness. Slipstream looked up from his wafer, curiously – of his family, no-one was due back in the region for ten breems, and no other airframes lived very close to Deixar.

He couldn’t see anything, and sent out a broad-ranging positional request instead.

…and got nothing.

Uneasy, he stood up to get a better look around. Why would someone privacy lock their basic signal data? He dipped into a police channel instead, and turned it into an official request for an ident.

Still nothing. Slag. He felt his pumps clicking subtly into a higher gear and defensive protocols coming online.

Longbeam picked up on the use of the official cipher and looked up at him. “Problem, Seemo?”

“You didn’t hear jets, just then?” At her nod, he added; “They’re not responding to my pings.” The sound of engines had disappeared; too abruptly to have just passed over. They must have landed.

“You think they’re in trouble?” She stood and moved closer, lowering her voice.

Something about the exact subharmonic frequency of the engine noise had upset his diagnostics in a very familiar way. “I think they are the trouble.”

She straightened, subtly, suddenly anxious, and mouthed Decepticons? at him.

“Not sure. Maybe?” He whispered the words back to her, even though he was aware that suddenly everyone was listening closely to him. “Might wanna get everyone out of the open, just in case.”

“Good idea.” Longbeam crouched next to her sibling. “Whitesides? Might need you to run interference for me…”

Slipstream turned his attention towards Thundercracker, out in New Vos. -sent anyone to Deixar?- he asked. -got company, no ident-

No reply. Wait, no. Not no reply… his signal wasn’t even getting out. Something was jamming him-!

At last, Slipstream realised Skydash was talking to him.

“…Who they, unnol? Who coming?”

Slag! Too close already!

Slipstream turned, alarmed, and barely had the chance to register the large white body hurtling in his direction before he was impacted by a violent tackle that sent them both crashing into the vegetation. The poor tree didn’t stand a chance, exploding into matchsticks around them.

The final impact with the ground destabilised all his gyroscopes and left him flat on his back, groaning. Ramjet!

“You’re coming with us, short stuff,” he heard the jet snarl, over the disorienting echo of rebalancing audios. A big hand clamped down on his wrist and yanked him unceremoniously back to his feet. He promptly went all the way over and ended up on his hands and knees instead, almost falling on top of Whitesides.

The smaller mech was already tensed into a subtle crouch, fingers curled into fists, looking like he was about to hurl himself into the fight; alarm flashed like cold fingers up the back of Slipstream’s helm. What the bike thought he’d actually achieve by joining the brawl, Slipstream had no idea; Ramjet must have out-massed him by three times his own weight, and was damn near impossible to incapacitate through brute force alone. The diminutive mech would get flattened in an instant.

“No, run! Get helmmmf!” Slipstream managed to splutter, before an arm came around his throat and a big hand flattened over his mouth, hauling him backwards.

Whitesides didn’t need telling twice. He folded up into his alt mode and was gone in a flash of dust towards the station. Sunspot high-tailed it in the exact opposite direction. Longbeam was already nowhere to be seen.

Late to the party, his wingmates dithered on the pavement, not sure which one to chase.

“Leave ‘em!” Ramjet snapped, struggling to wrangle the smaller mech. “Gimme a hand here, will you?”

“But they’re gonna raise the alarm-!” Thrust protested.

“Of course they are, Primus-! That’s the point! Leave them! The block on their comms won’t last long, we’ve gotta get back to the bridge before they can stop us getting through-”

Using his captor’s momentary inattention, Slipstream got his feet back under himself and shoved backwards, hard. It toppled Ramjet past his centre of gravity, and both went sprawling with a crunch. The smaller mech threw himself away to one side, scrabbling for his footing.

Ramjet secured a tenuous hold on one ankle and tripped their quarry over again. “So help me Primus, if you two frag this thing up-!”

Stung into action, Thrust finally piled into the fray. Before the teleport could triangulate an escape route, he lunged and landed square on his back. “Well if you could try and keep a grip on the sparkling, that’d be real helpful.” Wrenching Slipstream’s arms back behind him, he hauled him right up off his feet – unintentionally giving their prey a platform to launch a kick that connected with Ramjet’s face with enough force to knock him clean onto his aft.

Ramjet snarled and cursed; the kick had fractured his cheek. “He’s a slagging cop, for Primus sake, steal his pitfragged cuffs-! Dirge! The frag are you even doing?”

The blue jet was barely paying attention, approaching the splintered ruins of the tree Ramjet had destroyed. “I think I see something-“

“Dirge-! Primus, we don’t have time-! ”

Dirge ignored him, focused on the shape he’d spotted. Rounding the mess of broken branches, he found something tall and white, trying to pick something up off the floor without drawing too much attention to itself.

Their optics met and for an instant, they just stared at each other.

Dirge’s lips drew back in an unhealthy smile.

Longbeam exploded into action, apparently going to try and outpace him on foot, something small clutched in her arms. She barged into him with her shoulder as she passed, overbalancing him into the bushes, and was halfway up the street in seconds, apparently aiming for a narrow alleyway.

“Oh please.” Dirge watched her run, amused, then revved his thrusters, creating that precise engine harmonic that put even his allies on edge.

The bike made a little noise of alarm and stumbled, tripped against a kerb and fetched up on her hands and knees. The small bundle slipped from her arms and tumbled away across the pavement, disappearing into the alleyway.

Dirge followed, at a more casual pace. “Running away? Nice. That’s one I haven’t seen in a while.”

Longbeam was fast – already back on her feet, her small sidearm was in her hand, her arm swinging up to shoot – but Dirge was faster. He delivered a quick pulse from his cannon, instantly obliterating the weapon… and most of the hand holding it. The force of the blast spun her around and slammed her shoulder-first into the wall. She choked out a horrible half-sob of pain.

Dirge ambled over, still purring that hideous fear-inducing sing-song. She scrambled backwards on her aft, away from him, injured arm clutched across her chassis and fans huffing out increasingly warm air. She whooped her siren, trying to threaten him away.

“This almost makes up for not being allowed to shoot Starscream.” The blue jet dropped to one knee beside her, and flattened a palm over her mouth. “Tell Skywarp I said thanks, Squeaky,” he murmured, before pressing the emitter cone of one cannon into her midsection.

She knew immediately what he was going to do and braced her feet against him, to try and kick his arm away, but the battle was hopelessly one-sided, over before it even started. The shot was underpowered, but tore all the way through her flank, shredding superstructure. She arched under his hands, screaming against his palm, thrashing against the unforgiving dirt. A sludge of energon and other fluids immediately began to puddle beneath her.

“All right, that’s enough of that.” Keeping his hand flattened over her face, he gave her a single sharp shove, cracking the back of her head into the ground. Her siren died with a strangled squeak of pain. “Now, where did your little friend go?”

Leaving his wingmates still trying to wrangle Slipstream, Dirge followed the signal into the alley, towards a little gap between dumpsters. A chilly, flickery blue light filled the space, leading him precisely where he needed to go.

He crouched to find Skydash huddling into a corner, trying ineffectively to hide from him.

Dirge picked the small body up in both hands, and held the sparkling at arm’s length; she turned her face away, frozen in fear by the subtle noise of his cycling thrusters. “My. You have been a busy mech, Skywarp. I’d have thought your two little pit-spawn were more than enough.”

He re-emerged to an assortment of glares, and Thrust had his hands over his audio venting, as if that’d somehow help block out the sound. In spite of Dirge’s uncomfortable broadcast, they’d maintained the upper hand; with both his wrists and ankles finally cuffed, Slipstream had crumpled in the restraining arms, huffing softly in fright.

“Do you have to do that?” Ramjet snapped.

Dirge smirked. Yellow fingers had left three bright streaks of warpaint across his cheek. “Sorry. Only way I could catch it.” He lifted the sparkling with a hand around her neck, unable to help preening at his wingmates’ sudden looks of amazement.

“Where in Pit did you find that?!”

“I’ll tell you on the way.” Dirge tucked his small prisoner into his cockpit. “Didn’t you say we needed to get to the bridge before anyone could raise the alarm?”

----------

In the recycling plant in Deixar West-13-B, Footloose straightened up bolt upright, promptly dropping the arm of the poor mech she was working on. “Seem?”

The mech gave a shriek of pain and turned the air briefly blue, making her fellow paramedic jump and almost drop his other arm. Footloose ignored him; no-one capable of that many decibels could be too badly injured.

Without any warning, her twin brother’s signal had just… vanished. As split sparks, they could almost always perceive each other’s presence in some way, and now there was just nothing. It either meant he was a seriously long way out of range, or had stopped transmitting, and neither was good. For a spark to stop transmitting? Yeah, that was some seriously bad slag.

She lurched to her thrusters. “Sorry, Braze, I’ve got to go. This is our last patient, right?”

Her fellow paramedic looked up at her, alarmed. “What’s happened?”

“Seem’s gone right off the registry. I can’t see him any more. I’ve gotta chase this.” She shook her head. ”You can cope, yeah? Love you!”

She kicked off and after barely an astro-second of flight, teleported out of view.

Braze stared at the spot she’d occupied an instant previously, and wondered how bad the trouble was.

----------

In the breems after the Coneheads had fled, Longbeam had somehow managed to regain her feet, heeling dramatically over on her injured side and trailing dirty purple footprints.

After a small eternity, she finally staggered into the reception area of Deixar Central Station, still trailing a slimy mess of mixed fluids behind her, and collapsed against Whisper’s desk. She was dimly aware of the desk sergeant leaping from his chair and yelling for help, even as her legs lost their strength and she sagged to the floor, dragging energon-covered paperwork down with her.

A confusing swirl of colleagues surrounded her, but she couldn’t pick anyone out of the mass, or even process the words being spoken, any more.

“Decepticons,” she managed, before the light in her optics guttered and consciousness finally left her.

#remember me #transformers #blue au #Slipstream #ramjet #dirge #coneheads

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theficempire · 7 years ago

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Shopping trip part 1

Inspired by a friend who told me that when she was a toddler and could not speak much, her dad brought her out and went back home with a bag of toys

The dew-pearled onto the apex of the leaves outstretched from the boughs of the Apple tree in their backyard. The weight of the water droplets rocked their laminas back and forth, glistening in the morning sun as light reflected off its misty surface. The aroma of fluffy pancakes wafted throughout the air, accompanied by the bitter-sweet diaphanous fragrance of coffee. A hint of cinnamon was not to be forgotten as hot chocolate was the beverage of choice for the adolescents and toddlers of the Swan-Jones residence.

“Stop..ha ha ha!” She slaps the back of his hand that was advancing south.

“Good morning to you too lad!” Killian smiled at the boy, who couldn't help but flash a toothy grin. Despite being tired of his parents’ frequent lovey dovey tomfoolery, Henry was still happy and grateful that they were so compatible, and that alone was enough to make up for the embarrassingly romantic demeanour the couple exhibited.

“Hello sweetie! You're going to be spending today with daddy! Are you excited?” Emma cupped the face of their little girl as Killian carried her in his arm.

Her reply was a zealous nod, earning a kiss from her parents on both sides of her cheeks.

“Alright lass, it's time for you to eat your breakfast. Big day today! Daddy’s gonna show you one hell of a time!” Killian babbled to Leia, making her bounce in his arms. He proceeds her to spin her around, holding her carefully and setting her down on at the dining table - like his little princess. Killian goes back to helping Emma plate the pancakes and draws a smiley face with whipped cream on Leia’s.

The pair entered the main street. Leia donned a little baby pink dress that accentuated her grassy eyes and complimented her blonde pigtails - courtesy of Emma. The only thing Leia was missing was a tiara to match her white slippers. Killian was in his usually get up. Leather jacket jet black, a crew neck white shirt underneath, fitting navy jeans, and black boots. Leia stood side by side her father, holding onto his hook as they walked. It's shiny and sharp appearance never bothering her, in fact, it was with Killian that she felt safest. It was with him that she was filled with laughter and smiles and even though she could not talk, her happiness spoke volumes to Killian. It made his heart melt just to see her smile and he would have sailed past tumultuous seas and fought the most vicious beasts, just to see it again. Killian Jones’ fierce and intimidating exterior could be rendered none in the presence of his daughter. But don't be fooled as he would have slaughtered without mercy at those who would dare harm a hair on her precious little head.

A toddler's tug stopped Killian in his tracks, he turned his head and looked down at his baby girl, wondering what had caught her attention.

“Leia, lass.. would you like the rabbit?” Killian asked his daughter, to which she replied with only a smile, one that he couldn't resist. The pirate who had relinquished gold doubloons for credit cards, entered the store, with Leia by his side and ready to fulfil her every request.

Little Leia padded into the store, arms waving in excitement and giggling, with Killian following closely behind with quickened footsteps. The shop was abundant without any discrimination. The little white rabbit was in Leia's arms and with rapid ardour red capped Paddington took its place, followed by many more. Soon, Killian lugging was a bag, brimming with the store's inventory. Leia ran amok, liberating giggles with every spring in her step with arms stretched out, if she had wings she would have soared. She went out of the view of her father who began to search for her feverishly.

Turning around, she dashed across the room. She stopped at a tub of swords and wielded the styrofoam blade by its plastic hilt. Her outfit was complete.

Meanwhile, Killian was panicking, combing the store with a satchel full of toy hanging by his hook and looking for his daughter.

“Leia! LEIA! WHERE ARE YOU LASS?!” Killian hollered as a million thought races through his mind on the whereabouts of his daughter.

“Pa Pa!” Leia called out from behind.

“Aw...sweetheart you look absolutely adorable!” Killian cooed as he lost all control over maintaining his image and scooped Leia up, tickling her with kisses. Leia responded with a giggle fit and rubbing her grin marked cheek against the one placed on her by her father’s embrace.

“It's your wife, it's your wife, it's your wife!” the ringtone, that was set by Emma for her call, enumerated an incogitant buzz. Killian put Leia down and pressed on the urgent green with a stylus embedded inconspicuously on the tip of his hook. He kept a wary eye one Leia as he brought the phone up to his ear and as well as when he was speaking to Emma through the gadget.

“Hello, Swan! How’s work? Did you miss the little princess and I too much?” Killian cocked a mischievous eyebrow.

“Hello...hubby.” Emma cooed, with a seductive aftertaste.

“Mmm…” Killian approved.

“I'm done with all the damn paperwork, and I'm getting off work. How are you and Leia doing?” Emma asked, half exasperated but fuelled by the thought of getting out of the station.

“Our little...pirate and I are doing great! Shall we meet for dinner?” Killian rethought his choice of words with a stifle of a hearty laugh.

“That sounds fantastic, I'll see you later...Captain.” Killian could feel Emma wink through the phone.

“See you soon love..” Killian turned around for a moment, his back facing Leia as he tried to be discreet while planting his legs down facing her.

“One more thing Swan…” he smirked

“Hmm?” She raised her eyebrows in question.

“You're not the only one getting off….see you tonight.” Killian thought it appropriate to end the call and focused his eyes back onto baby Leia with a smile that he hoped she could not comprehend.

Emma bit her lips at her husband’s delightful crass innuendo but thought back to something.

“Little pirate? That's new.” She wondered.

“Leia love, are you excited to see Mommy?” Killian squatted down to establish eye contact.

#cs ff #cs baby #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #captain swan baby #captain hook #captain cobra #captain swan fanfiction #captain cobra swan #swan jones family #henry mills #once upon a time #oncers #post final battle #future fic

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